Those who have come to Finzi by way of works such as the Eclogue‚ the Clarinet Concerto and Dies natalis may feel‚ hearing these songs‚ that they have not really known him at all. There is not much comfort in them‚ or if some is found then it may be in the spirit of Thomas Hardy‚ the poet to whom he returned most often: an uneasy awareness of forces that have ‘the balancing of the clouds’ and which may or may not often be ‘in equilibrium’. Of course there are the ‘positive’ songs (‘When I set out for Lyonesse’)‚ the merry ones (though with a sharp edge as in ‘Rollicum­rorum’) and the tender (‘On parent knees’ and ‘The Birthright’‚ poems by‚ respectively‚ Sir William Jones and Walter de la Mare). But mostly the ‘blank misgivings’ and ‘obstinate questionings’ of Hardy’s mind seem part of Finzi’s; and I suppose that if comfort is to be found‚ then it may lie in discovering one’s own share of such feelings taking form with so much congenial beauty in its expression. ‘The balancing of the clouds’ is also a matter for the performers. The Davids‚ Wilson­Johnson and Owen Norris‚ present a darker sky than did their predecessors‚ the Stephens‚ Roberts and Varcoe‚ both with Clifford Benson as pianist. The timbre of the voices themselves may be decisive. Wilson­Johnson‚ whom I’ve previously thought of as a baritone‚ is here designated bass­baritone‚ and certainly sounds so by comparison with Roberts and Varcoe‚ who are younger‚ lighter and higher though singing at the same pitch. The acoustics here are also relatively reverberant (the recording was made in St Silas’s Presbytery‚ London)‚ and this affects the piano part which has a more sombre resonance though played with equal clarity of touch. Perhaps to suit the acoustics‚ a slightly slower tempo than the earlier recordings is the almost invariable rule. And‚ more fundamental than all of these points‚ I think one senses here a more passionate approach: with the others I enjoyed the fine sensibility of drawing­room music at its best‚ but am here aware of a less public face‚ and sometimes a questioning that is not merely ‘obstinate’ but fierce. This collaboration of singer and pianist is a distinguished one‚ and has been so on records before now. They relax and intensify‚ probe and ‘take off’ always as one. They catch the moment of inspiration (‘sings to the swing of the tide’‚ for instance‚ at the end of ‘The Phantom’). An infectious energy informs Norris’s playing (as in ‘Rollicum­rorum’) or a subtlety of touch (the tenderly elegiac chirrupings introducing ‘Proud songsters’). Wilson­Johnson’s voice‚ which has always been resonant‚ has now the vibrations loosening a little‚ but the control is still admirable‚ and he holds the attention. This is strongly recommended‚ even to those who already have the recordings on Hyperion.