Nikos Skalkottas was a genius, and like so many geniuses he died young (45) and unacknowledged. Recognition is slowly coming, largely thanks to this series of recordings from BIS (heaven knows it's not because his music gets played regularly in concert), and for a number of reasons none of the releases will be more important than this one. First is the fact that the 36 Greek Dances remains Skalkottas' most approachable work. Not that these folksong (both real and custom made) settings are in any way facile or "cute"--far from it! In fact, most of them are guided by the same principles that inform the composer's gnarliest 12-tone pieces: avoidance of literal repetitions, vivid scoring with a decided emphasis on "low" instruments (bassoons, trombones, cellos, and basses), and total harmonic freedom.

The result sounds something like Bartók both in its astringency and also in its unfailing rightness of texture and tone. There are passages throughout all three sets of dances (12 in each set) that will haunt your memory for long after an initial hearing. Many of the settings are quite extended, running five minutes or more, and for a taste of what Skalkottas was all about, turn to the central dances of the second set (tracks 17-20 on Disc 1). The music is a celebration of simple ideas treated in unexpected and startling ways so as to keep each number consistently fresh and engaging. Constant Lambert once famously said: "The problem with music based on folksong is that all one can do with a folksong is play it louder." He was wrong.

Typically, Skalkottas never heard the complete set of dances performed, though composition occupied him his entire life. This performance, from scores prepared for this recording, presents each of these little polished diamonds in its most beguiling version, and even includes three alternatives for purposes of comparison.

The Return of Ulysses belongs to Skalkottas' 12-tone stable of compositions, so it will never become popular. At 28 minutes, it's his longest and most ambitious single movement, and it's recognizably the work of the same composer as the Dances (yes, his musical personality was that strong). In fact, while thematically based on tone-rows, the music is organized melodically with tremendous clarity, consisting of a slow introduction leading to a traditional sonata-allegro with a marvelously impulsive fugue in the middle. It comes off resembling Berg on a diet: there's the same emotional directness and brooding melancholy, but the textures are leaner and less plush. Unlike so much atonal or serial music, time passes quickly here, and Skalkottas generates an impressive cumulative momentum that he sustains right up to the whirlwind close.

It's impossible to exaggerate the impressive work that Nikos Christodoulou and the BBC Symphony Orchestra do in bringing this music to life. Occasional very minor ensemble lapses in the strings and a smeared passage now and again in the brass (the writing for trombones is somewhat impractical) count for nothing amid the confident projection of the music's rhythmic vitality and timbral ingenuity. It should be remembered that Skalkottas heard virtually none of this music, and so lacked the useful experience gained by trying it out in performance (though the fact the he orchestrates so well is a tribute to his genius and to his years of practical musicianship as a violinist in the Athens Symphony Orchestra). This project clearly has been a labor of love for all concerned, and BIS puts the syrup on the baklava (as it were) by offering state of the art sonics. Make no mistake; this is one of the great recordings, and an investment that will reward all of the attention you care to give it. [4/12/2003]

--David Hurwitz