The Violin concerto is excellent, played in three specific movements…you can listen to mesmeric phases from beginning to end and you can be projected into a large area of atonality that generates exactly that feeling of ancient/genetic memory completed by the desperation for the nullity of real.
The Violin Concerto enjoyed a celebrity outing here. It’s no mean feat to have attracted Isabelle Faust to champion this challenging work. The writing for solo and orchestra has a physical impact.
The Prelude and Death of Virgil is sung in French and the text is given as sung and with side by side English translation. In fact the singing is confined to one of the four separately tracked sections—the longest one. This is music of a steadily upward boiling restlessness and although tenderness does put in appearance it is threaded with a surge doom-laden.