The confusions and contradictions seemingly inseparable from anything to do with Villa-Lobos are fully maintained here. From a composer who can blandly forget to number a female chorus among the participants in his Quartet for flute, saxophone, harp and celesta, or can count a mixed-voice choir as a single member of his Nonet, we can accept without too much demur that an extra unlisted instrument should suddenly appear out of nowhere towards the end of Choros No. 7 (a tam-tam directed, for some arcane reason, to be hidden from view). But if the disc details are to be believed, the bassoon shown in the score of No. 3 is omitted and an oboe and viola are added—though as there is no audible evidence of this it may perhaps not matter: however, the replacement here of the cor anglais in the Quintet in choros form by a horn is most unconvincing, not only because of the enforced change of timbre (and the over-prominence of the ppp alternating Es and F sharps before fig. 7) but because the whole of its part in the following athletic duet with the oboe has had to be transferred to the clarinet. Wasn't there a competent cor anglais player in Rio in 1968, when this item was recorded? (The other works were recorded in 1977, except for Turibio Santos's performance of No. 1, which was made only last year.)
Villa-Lobos's series Choros (16 in all though, typically, two appear to have been lost) are stylizations of the improvisatory serenades played by Brazilian street musicians—in which he himself joined in his youth. They are usually either modinhas (sentimental songs) or pieces in dance rhythms. To the former category belongs No. 5 for solo piano (perhaps the most memorable of them), whose languid swaying gait is produced by intricate internal rhythms (did Copland know this piece when he came to write El salon Mexico?): to the latter belong the familiar No. 1 for solo guitar, which includes elements of both the tango and the polka, the folky final section of No. 4 for brass quartet, and the penultimate section of the most elaborate of the examples presented here, No. 7, which contains an almost embarrassing wealth of material. More primitive is No. 3: it starts with an Indian tune (which reappears in No. 7) that is later treated contrapuntally, but for the greater part of its length it consists of rhythmic chanting intended to suggest the woodpecker of the title. Villa-Lobos also catered for instrumental virtuosity in the duet Choros—No. 2 for flute and clarinet (though, as can be heard, it is equally effective in its transcription for piano) and the two pieces for violin and cello which he (optimistically?) designed to be played as 'bis' (encores). The solo and duet works on the disc are all admirably performed, the others very acceptably, if not always with the highest degree of subtlety. They fill a distinct gap in the current catalogues.'