Promising on paper 
                  this programme is, to be blunt, somewhat disappointing. Bracketing 
                  together Nin and his son Joaquin Nin-Culmell is an unusual tactic 
                  – most people probably don’t know that the younger Nin was a 
                  composer. The fact that there is little or no consonance between 
                  the works of father and son shouldn’t be unexpected or problematic. 
                  The fact of the matter however is that Nin-Culmell’s two cello 
                  works are not quite what they seem. The Concerto is “after” 
                  the bassoon concerto of the eighteenth century composer and 
                  monk P Anselm Viola, who lived in the monastery at Montserrat. 
                  The adaptation of the bassoon line for cello has been adeptly 
                  done but whilst the music is suitably charming and has a winning 
                  elegance it’s really not especially distinctive and the soloist 
                  comes under intonational strain more often than is strictly 
                  comfortable; this is a live concerto performance.
                The solo sonata 
                  is a cryptic, rather repetitious one, broken down into seven 
                  short baroque-sounding movements. There are too many generic 
                  tremolandi and by rote pizzicati passages and a rather unconvincing 
                  schema all round. That said, he is clearly drawing on a modernist 
                  vocabulary, and one that flirts with atonality. Some sections 
                  have the requisite Iberian dance drive but the impression left 
                  is one of diffusion.
                Nin the Father is 
                  represented by his zestful cello and piano pieces. These have 
                  passed down from the ground staked out by Albéniz and Granados 
                  and are vibrant examples of the genre. The third set for cello 
                  and piano, Cuatro Comentarios, is rather different springing 
                  as it does from baroque source material as well as the Iberian. 
                  The Suite espagnole of 1930 is indestructible 
                  but it could go with rather more colour and vivacity than it 
                  receives here. Andaluza sounds rather pallid – a similar 
                  criticism could be levelled at the pedestrian moments in the 
                  slightly earlier cycle Chants d’Espagne. When Svetlana 
                  Tovstukha plays a warm legato line things are well but her trill 
                  is slow and her rhythm lacks incision. Melani Mestre takes on 
                  the dual responsibilities of conductor and piano accompanist 
                  very reasonably indeed. 
                Sound quality is 
                  not a problem and the live concerto performance doesn’t suffer 
                  in that respect. The notes are not especially helpful and lack 
                  specifics. Rather a hit and miss affair all round.
                Jonathan Woolf 
                
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