Alberto Hemsi was born in 1898 in Turgutlu (also known as Cassaba), in Anatolia (present-day Turkey). Although there had been a Jewish presence in Anatolia for more than 2000 years, the population expanded considerably following the Alhambra Decree of 1492, with the arrival of Sephardim from Spain and Portugal. It then dwindled precipitously with the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire, the rise of Nazism, the creation of the state of Israel, and the escalation of anti-Semitism in the Arab world. Having completed his training at the conservatory in Milan, Hemsi returned to Anatolia determined to collect and notate as much traditional Sephardic music as he possibly could.

A fascination with national folk music had taken root throughout Europe – Bartók and Kodály in Hungary, Dvorák and Smetana in Bohemia, and Vaughan Williams and Gustav Holst in England being the most familiar examples. Because his research was not defined by political or geographical boundaries, Hemsi was compelled to survey the myriad communities spread throughout the vast Sephardic diaspora. He was as fascinated by this musical heritage as he was concerned about its survival but, like so many composers, he also understood how traditional melodies, together with the various performance styles and conventions that supported them, could provide inspiration and nourishment for his own music.

REVIEWS:

Despite Hemsi’s nomadic existence, the works on this disc reflect the composer’s lifelong fascination for Sephardic folk music which he assiduously collected and transcribed, as well as a keen absorption of other exotic idioms. The net result is a sequence of attractive and atmospheric works that cover similar ground.

-- BBC Music Magazine

Hemsi is probably best known for his set of Coplas Seferdies, Sephardi songs published in numerous volumes, but his chamber music is well worth getting to know. The earliest piece in this disc is the innocuous-sounding Méditation for cello and piano (Tom Wiebe and Kevin Ahfat), written at some point before 1931, and couched in the ‘Armenian style’. Pianistically it evokes the cimbalom or, as the notes remind us, to be specific, the Greek santouri, a hammered dulcimer. The slow intense dialogue between the two instruments seems almost deliberately imitative of, or a shadowy second cousin of, Bruch’s Kol nidrei. In 1942 he wrote the Pilpúl Sonata for violin and piano (Emily Kruspe and Ahfat). It’s cast in a standard three-movement format and encodes plenty of Sephardic material, not least in the fleet and pithy first movement, and also in the call-and-response central one, a kind of cantorial recitative that takes the violin high in a way somewhat reminiscent of Bloch. There’s fine drama in the driving finale.

The following year – or thereabouts, as dating can’t be sure – Hemsi wrote an intriguing Quintet in G for Viola (Steven Dann) and string quartet. It signals a slight compositional shift in Hemsi’s thinking, being somewhat more conventional in structure and effect. His relish for insouciant dance patterns and folkloric inflections, though, is most obvious in the Burlesca second movement but the most paradoxical movement is the slow one, a Berceuse, that exudes flowing lyricism which, whilst hardly expressively deep, opens up a channel of lightly flecked impressionism: Hemsi looking backwards and sideways simultaneously. For the finale there’s a Greek dance, bright and brisk and over quickly and triumphantly.

Tre arie antiche (c.1945) are derived from the Coplas Seferdies and are brief three-minute (or so) studies. The first is fast, the central panel more gauzy and withdrawn, and the final piece extremely catchy. Which leaves the 1956 Danze nuziali greche, Op 37 rewritten from piano originals for cello and piano and dedicated in the piano original to Gina Bachauer. These three nuptial dances cover some expressive ground. The first is a fast and exciting panel honoring the mother-in-law, the second is the bride with her slow and expressively ‘sung’ lyricism, thoughtful, tactile and with Semitic cadences, and the final panel is the godfather – loquacious, big-boned, and excitable. It works beautifully for the cello, for which instrument Hemsi clearly had a real affinity.

There are comprehensive, astute notes and an excellently judged recording.

This is another fine reclamation from the ARC Ensemble, some of whose members I’ve mentioned by name but all of whom play with considerable enthusiasm and technical accomplishment.

-- MusicWeb International