At the beginning of the fourth Primo Levi setting in Ad ora incerta (a depiction of the ghastly chemical factory attached to Auschwitz that Levi miraculously survived) there is a slow orchestral crescendo, like the panning of a camera to reveal the full horror of the scene. What follows is not a shout of protest but sober lyricism, and when that crescendo returns it introduces an eloquently poignant melody. Simon Bainbridge is an uncommonly fine musical dramatist, in short, and if anyone is thinking of commissioning an opera from him these two works demonstrate that he also writes beautifully for voices, and sets difficult texts with deep sensitivity. He lets the words speak, and distils his music so as to clarify them.
In Ad ora incerta the vocalist has a companion, a solo bassoon. Because that fourth poem repeatedly speaks of a dead companion, of course, but also in the way the bassoon shadows or reflects the voice, there is also a subtle and moving suggestion that after Auschwitz Levi lacked and longed for a companion, a fellow survivor (but there were so few!) who would understand his memories in ways that none of us can. I had not believed that these beautiful but painful poems could be set to music; certainly not with the delicate and imaginative sympathy that Bainbridge shows here. The setting of ‘Sunset at Fossoli’ (a transit camp) could hardly be simpler: the two companions are like image and shadow, the strings motionless and hushed, the effect quite haunting.
The four chamber settings are still sparer but no less gravely beautiful. In the seven brief lines of the first of them Levi distils the impossibility of communicating his experiences yet the imperative need to try. Bainbridge’s setting conveys that, but adds the most restrained and loving pity. It is a remarkable and a deeply moving achievement. Both performances are fine, that of the chamber settings beyond praise in its quiet intimacy.'