Neeme Jarvi has already recorded Arvo Part’s Symphony No. 3 to fine effect with the Bamberg Symphony for BIS. The programming context there included – among other works – Part’s first two symphonies, but here the contrast between this panoramic, occasionally fragmented, essay of 1971 and the gaunt but entrancing tintinnabulation works of the late 1970s tells us rather more about where we are now in terms of Part’s music. There are beautiful things in the symphony – ancient modes imaginatively redeployed, sensitive orchestration (especially for strings and tuned percussion), striking musical development and a fair quota of aural drama. There are occasional anticipations of the Cantus in memory of Benjamin Britten, and the ‘breathing’ spaces between episodes are characteristic of Part’s later work. You hear the voice of someone stretching his musical wings, edging into areas of harmonic invention that would help inform his future style. It is unmistakably the work of a youthful late-romantic poised on the brink of greater things.
Turn to Fratres, and the choice of musical material becomes more select, with minimal thematic ideas (as opposed to a minimalist style of writing), meaningful repetitions and a humbling sense of space. At first I wondered how Gil Shaham might tackle a style of music in which, in terms of overt expression, ‘less’ most definitely means ‘more’. In the event, his firm, silvery tone is ideal for the job and his pin-sharp arpeggios at the beginning of Fratres are extraordinarily exciting. When Part drops the pace and switches to a slow, gradual crescendo, Shaham plays with a mesmerizing combination of control and reserved expressiveness.
The more expansive Tabula rasa is given a full-bodied and unexpectedly dynamic performance, especially in the opening movement, which sounds like a cross between a jig and a quick march. The long second movement conjures up immeasurable spaces (a reference that Shaham himself alludes to in the booklet-note) and the spasmodic interjections of a prepared piano – an incredible effect, musically – is balanced virtually to perfection by the engineers. Kremer’s ECM disc (with Schnittke, no less, on prepared piano) is sparer and marginally more ethereal, but the sheer sense of presence on this DG release adds a new perspective to our experience of the piece. I would strongly suggest that you give this disc a try, even if you already own alternative versions of this repertoire. If you haven’t, then it should prove an excellent starting point.'