Bax's long-neglected Cello Concerto is a good example of the way his pieces often have more to them than meets the casual glance. What appear to be the contrasted first and second subjects of a discursively rhapsodic opening movement turn out to be two aspects of the same idea; the real second subject is composed of two elements, one of which is 'developed' not by amplification but by reduction into a sequence of shifting, Vaughan Williams-like string chords that herald the expected (but in this context unexpected) return of the first idea. Bax's apparent digressions are not always so wilful as they at first appear, and one of the pleasures of this intelligent and beautiful performance is the discovery of how shrewdly timed and cunningly planned some of his seemingly impromptu changes of mood are. The transformation of the finale's mood from almost menacingly brisk to positive and optimistic is effected by means of an apparent interlude which is in fact an altered recollection of the mysterious central passage in the preceding Lento, itself ushered in by a dark variant of the 'Vaughan Williams' idea from the first movement.... And so on: a work that could seem formless and merely luxuriant is demonstrated by sympathetic performers like Wallfisch and Thomson to be cogently and subtly argued; rhapsodic, yes, often beautifully so, but not really discursive at all.
The Third Northern Ballad is Bax in his 'legendary' vein, not so much a sequence of march-like ideas as a single one in the process of continual variation: a sort of processional towards some clamorously acclaimed objective rather than the anonymous civic event that its misleading subtitle implies. Nor is the title of Cortege at all apt: it is nearer to a barbaric martial jig than a march. It is thickly and richly scored, Bax the pagan baying exultantly, and makes enjoyable indigestible listening. Mediterranean and the Overture are Bax's light music, the former close to Walton (it is a kind of languorous Spanish waltz, complete with castanets), the latter almost to Berners in its exuberant populism, but its central section, capricious lyricism giving way to a waltz and then to a moment of almost motionless, echt-Baxian evanescence, reveals a poignant nostalgia behind the carnival mask.
Vivid and precisely-judged performances, as always from Bryden Thomson in this series. The recording is excellent, but a little distanced: it is a slight shock during the Northern Ballad to realize that the closest sound to you is a recalcitrantly squeaky floorboard on the rostrum.'