Sofia Gubaidulina’s In tempus praesens is a Violin Concerto 
                written for Anne-Sophie Mutter between 2006 and 2007 and it’s 
                a substantial work lasting just more than half an hour. It was 
                premiered in August 2007 when Mutter performed it at the Lucerne 
                Festival with Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic, though for this 
                first recording the LSO and Gergiev do the honours. 
              
Cast in one movement, 
                  but sectionally divided into five, it occupies an expressive 
                  headland that comes close at times to the Bergian. From the 
                  introverted first solo violin statements one feels the increasingly 
                  mordant lyricism is part of a fast onrushing schema that pits 
                  the solo instrument against the brooding, cajoling orchestral 
                  collective – which at times indeed erupts into braying contempt. 
                  Early on too we hear Chorale hints that are to recur. Moments 
                  of controlled intensity abound – ominous percussion and lowering 
                  bass lines – and because Gubaidulina writes with such precision 
                  the force is cumulative. If the primary reference is to Berg 
                  one may also allude in passing to K.A. Hartmann, and also to 
                  moments in the Schnittke Viola Concerto as well. Through the 
                  strife and the fissures, through the opposition of solo violin 
                  and orchestra, epitomised by one especially gallant held solo 
                  note in the face of all orchestral provocation to deviate, what 
                  emerges, movingly and with culminatory force, is a gradual conflation 
                  if not yet rapprochement between solo violin and orchestra. 
                  There’s a final moment of lucid, rather virtuoso-conventional 
                  triumphant ascent from the soloist – albeit the orchestra remains 
                  predominately baleful and grim and reminds us that there are 
                  no easy solutions here or anywhere.
                
The performances 
                  are powerfully engaged, choleric, volatile, tangible and eloquently 
                  controlled.
                
For a complete change 
                  of pace and texture you could hardly go further than the Bach 
                  concertos; so that’s where Mutter and DG have gone, forsaking 
                  the chance to couple this with another of the composer’s works 
                  or another contemporary or near contemporary concerto. This 
                  time Mutter is joined by the Trondheim Soloists who accompanied 
                  her on disc in the Four Seasons not so long ago. She has recorded 
                  Bach before, with Accardo, but this time round she uses a baroque 
                  bow for crisper articulation. The performances that emerge are 
                  compelling but odd. The outer movements whiz by whilst the central 
                  ones are full of pellucid and, in the context, oddly distended 
                  legato beauty. This can be a mixed blessing when elsewhere the 
                  orchestra’s firmly etched bass line is so precise and jabbing 
                  and where the finales can feel rushed. The rallentandi in the 
                  first movement of the E major sound exaggerated and for all 
                  the precision of attack, for all the baroque inspired bowing 
                  incision, the finale here as well sounds a bit superficial.
                
              
It’s for the Gubaidulina 
                that you should gravitate to this disc really. I have a promotional 
                advance book copy so can’t comment on the booklet – though I assume 
                its text is pretty much the same. 
                
                Jonathan Woolf
                
                see also Review 
                by Aart Van der Wal