Martin Romberg (b. 1978)
Symphony of Saints – Lyrical Symphony for soprano and orchestra (2020)
Sacred Songs (2021)
Joanne Lunn (soprano); Martin Romberg (piano)
Orchestra of the Swan/Andrew Griffiths
rec. 2024/25, St John the Evangelist Church, Oxford (symphony); Yehudi Menuhin School, Surrey
Resonus RES10378 [47]
It will come as no surprise that, until I heard this CD, I knew nothing of, and had heard nothing by, this composer. Romberg is a Norwegian. He stands out from the crowd because he has written works inspired by the fantasy. There is music for which the creative spark has come from Tolkien (inspired by The Silmarillion, for a change), Lovecraft (‘Necronomicon Overture’) and Howard (‘Twilight Concerto’).
His music – as showcased here across two comparatively short works – is utterly approachable, serpentine and just a touch valedictory. Its ‘feel’ is that of honesty, integrity and cossetted prayer. In that sense it has something in common with Gorecki during his Symphony of Sorrowful Songs phase. The two works here are shortish and incorporate music for the voice. The sung words are in the booklet.
The Symphony of Saints (Lyrical Symphony) takes the Northern English saints: Columba, Aidan and Cuthbert as subject matter and inspiration. In four movements, the work opens with a rocking motion; something like a cradle song counterpointed with an insistent ticking. The music is warmly cocooned and not blastingly assertive. The voice rings out, imperious, shading towards the young Janet Baker but without the ‘plumminess’. This is much to the credit of Joanne Lunn. The symphony’s contours undulate consolingly; there are no jagged edges. Yes, Gorecki could be a model, consciously or otherwise, and so could Alla Pavlova. The listening is easy without being facile, supplicatory and paid out steadily. There were mystical moments in the second movement that had me thinking about Warlock’s ‘Frostbound Wood’. The composer’s subtly touched-in piano playing adds an emotional stratum. The symphony concludes with what amounts to a gentle exhalation of breath. The songs (with the solo piano) are a mood-apposite companion to and extension of the Symphony. The voice lies in the same firmament but here spun with a faintly jazzy expression. The sung words are shaped with potent care, cherished and pristinely cool. At one moment they recall Holst’s Humbert Wolfe songs and at another the world of Finzi’s In Terra Pax. Romberg sets words by the Scottish poet, Kenneth Steven.
Romberg’s work is intriguing. I am now curious to hear his Poemata Minora, a violin concerto after the poems of H.P. Lovecraft, Ramayan, an accordion concerto, and two symphonic poems, The Moon and The Tale of Taliesin for alto saxophone and large orchestra. Watch this space.
The sound of this Resonus recording is captured with atmospheric intensity in two very different venues. It’s very agreeable and seemingly with lots of space, yet without the signal being cut adrift in the acoustic.
Rob Barnett
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