For some reason, Joaquin Turina was the first Spanish composer that I ever heard of in my childhood, before his death in 1949, and I recall thinking his name highly exotic. Today he is much overshadowed by his friend Falla, as well as Albeniz and others. However, his music has the charm and craftsmanship that one might expect from someone who studied with d'Indy at the Schola Cantorum in Paris, so it is good to find two recordings featuring his music coming my way, just 110 years after his birth.
His Piano Trio in G minor of 1926 ignores important contemporary events in music almost defiantly (this was, after all, the year in which Stravinsky began Oedipus Rex) and its first movement reflects the influence of Franck more than the Spanishness we hear in Falla or Albeniz. Lovers of Spanish music who seek out the work because of the composer's nationality may therefore at first be disappointed. However, the variation-form slow movement conveys the flavour of that country in a way that is worthy of this native of Seville, the whole work being well written for the three instruments and having a clear shape and melodiousness that one associates with the best conservative music of the twentieth century. The Borodin Trio play it with commitment and charm and Chandos's rich recording suits its overall mellow style, not least in the warmly lilting slow movement which is the longest of the three.
Written a year earlier, Frank Martin's Trio also touches on national music, but, strangely enough, it was Irish folk melodies that inspired this French-Swiss composer's work. It was written for an American patron who then rejected it as being too difficult and 'modern', and it had its first performance in Paris in 1926. Martin had a long association with the Dalcroze Institute in Geneva, which specialized in rhythmic gymnastics; for this reason, perhaps, complexity of rhythm is a chief feature here, and it was probably that which discouraged the patron in question. Nevertheless, the work has a subtle charm and the agreeably Irish flavour of the source material is unmistakable—for example in the passage with a drone bass beginning at 0'52'' in the first movement. The central Adagio, which begins with a rather gloomily Celtic cello solo (well played by Yuli Turovsky) that then combines with a faster tune, has a pastoral feeling about it which is attractive, and the finale is a splendid Irish jig. The work is far from being a repertory piece and is unlikely to become one, but it is well worth getting to know and this vivid yet polished performance deserves to win admirers.
The Debussy Trio offers music by the greatest of these composers, but is barely representative of him as an artist, written as it was when he was just 18 and in the service of Tchaikovsky's patron Madame von Meck. Much of it (not least the lengthy first movement) is well-mannered doodling, and I can't believe anyone would bother with it were it by a lesser-known composer—for a start, the first three of the four movements are too alike in pace and mood. Still, if one is willing to minimize expectations of a cogent large-scale structure, its delicate melody, harmony and texture offer some agreeable hints of the Debussy still to come and of the potential beauty beneath the youthfully unformed features. Furthermore, such music can be much improved by a first-rate performance and this account presents it in the best possible light.
On Calig, the young artists of the Munich Piano Trio make a more intense thing of Turina's Trio No. 1, so much so, indeed, that compared to the Borodin, they give it more strength: the salon element which the Russian artists find in it is almost wholly absent. While the Borodin display more consistent charm, there's real beauty in the Munich Trio's account, and a very fetching lilt in the second movement with its section in the tantalizingly irregular rhythm of the Basque dance called zortzico. They take less time over the work—21'45'' against 25'57''. This performance from Bavaria is a satisfying one; and the same goes for the Second Trio (1933), which is bolder and more concentrated, and the unusually-titled Circulo (1942), a ten-minute triptych depicting dawn, noon and dusk in consistently imaginative writing, including fine instrumental sonorities. Anyone interested in Turina need not hesitate in acquiring this fine issue. It is well recorded, with sound that is atmospheric yet less lush than that of the Chandos disc.'