As Davies himself has made clear, the Sinfonia is one of his homages to Monteverdi, while the sleeve-note to this record explains that the much more recent Sinfonia Concertante, as both words in its title imply, reflects a preoccupation with certain aspects of classical form and texture. These 'models' are not immediately audible in either piece, and although analogies rather than quotations do become apparent on a second or third hearing, it would be a pity to think that spotting them is the 'point' of each work or even a necessity if they are to be enjoyed. The second movement of the Sinfonia is of such poised beauty and intense expressiveness, its finale so gravely eloquent in its measured periods that finding an analogy to the ''Pulchra es'' from Monteverdi's 1610 Vespers in the former or an abstract relationship to the hymn Ave Maris Stella in the latter should surely be regarded as a bonus, not as a clue to a riddle. It is, in fact, in the toughest-sounding movement of the four, the first, that the riddle is most easily read: the sequence of increasingly florid cadenzas above slow, held chords does have an obvious kinship, if you squint at the right angle, to the static bass and hurtling upper parts of the opening section of the Monteverdi Vespers, the ''Domine ad adiuvandum''. But there is no pastiche here, no 'neo'-anything, and certainly no games are played with the past (not a hint of a baroque foxtrot). It is a profoundly serious, reflective and original work.
The never piece is concertante in its manner and scoring (for strings with solo wind quintet and timpani) and symphonic in its proportions and balance of contrasts: a strongly rhythmic and rather scherzo-like allegro is preceded by a long, grave, cumulative and expository slow introduction; a raptly lyrical andante, at times serene, at times filled with suspense, is refused a quiet conclusion by the mysterious insistence of a kettledrum; the drivingly athletic finale does, however, achieve stillness and a sense of an argument concluded, of finality. There are obvious patterns of development and recurrence, as well, so the work could be seen as some sort of homage to Haydn or to Beethoven, but to call it 'neo-classical' would be very misleading: the magical way in which the first movement vanishes into the distance, for example (would Sir Peter gravely object, I wonder, if I said that it momentarily reminded me of Bax?), or the rising theme in the lower strings with oboe carolling above in the finale are not the products of a nostalgic imagination or one that wishes to deny or by-pass the nineteenth century, but they are firmly of the twentieth.
Both works grow on further acquaintance and it is a matter for gratitude that they receive such lively performances (the horn soloist in the Sinfonia Concertante, in particular, deserves a medal) and such a clear and carefully balanced recording.'