On the eighth record of their catchy series ''designed to take the listener and orchestra through the different great eras of classical music from the Baroque to the present day'', the London Chamber Orchestra sets out to capitalize on the popular success of minimalism. At first sight this anthology appears a useful and attractive sampler: two substantial and well-loved pieces, one each by John Adams and Steve Reich, are joined by a selection of short movements by Philip Glass and a new work by one of the LCO's own players, Dave Heath, making up a generous total playing-time of 68 minutes. But read further before you reach for your wallet, for there are drawbacks with this disc.
The orchestra's style of playing is assertive, sometimes to the extent of seeming brash, and the recorded sound is steel-hard. Compared with Steve Reich's own performance of Eight lines (under the original title of Octet; ECM/New Note (CD) 827 287-2), the LCO's reading has a harsh, garrulous and heavy-handed quality, short on good humour and understatement. There are problems of balance too: piccolos pierce the texture, the bass thunders, the upper strings are swamped. In John Adams's Shaker Loops the music sets off at a frenetic pace, the fierceness of the energy distorting the image of such delicate, detailed and amiable music. Again, one can do better elsewhere: Edo de Waart's Philips performance with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra has the advantages of greater modesty, mellowness and rock-solid ensemble; and then there's the original string sextet version, arguably the best of the three (New Albion/Harmonia Mundi (CD) NAO14CD—to be reviewed next month).
Turning to Philip Glass, the eight-minute Facades for strings and two solo saxophones has long been available on the popular album ''Glassworks'' (CBS (CD) 73640), played by the composer and his own ensemble. The LCO turns the piece out well enough, but to my mind the Philip Glass Ensemble easily has the edge on account both of their more characterful, easy-going playing and the intimacy of the recording. And for Glass's Company one need look no further than to the Kronos Quartet (Nonesuch/WEA), whose chamber-scale reading seems so much more in sympathy with the dark, sad music than the weighty, less personal forces of the LCO. In fact, in only one work does the LCO have the stage to itself, and this happens to be the weakest piece on the record. For all its sultry harmonies and thrusting rhythms, Dave Heath's The Frontier has the feel of being a mere encore—notwithstanding the fact that it takes more than eight minutes to play. Nor is there much about it that deserves the 'minimalist' designation. Here too the playing is of the disco variety.
The LCO may be sincere in its claim, stated in the insert notes, that ''as an orchestra we will deliver only music we believe in''. But this is surely mere advertising hype; what orchestra or ensemble wouldn't admit to that same ideal? Shun the rhetoric and judge with your ears: these are decent performances, but they are certainly not the best available.'