At first sight, this attractive Strauss collection looks like the obvious replacement for the Netherlands Wind Ensemble's comprehensive survey of the early 1970s (Philips, 12/71 and 10/72—nla). The first volume in Norwegian Winds' Strauss series was favourably reviewed in these pages (Victoria, 8/92) and there have been distinguished accounts of individual works, most notably the VPO winds under Previn in the Sonatina No. 1, Aus der Werkstatt eines Invaliden (Philips, 4/88).
Michael Collins's London Winds have nothing to fear from such rivals. Technically, the group is outstanding, with an interpretative style consistently buoyant and strong without being in any way insensitive. My reservations concern the recording itself. Hyperion's notes give no information regarding the venue and I wondered whether the normally reliable Andrew Keener and Tryggvi Tryggvason had resorted to close-miking to tame the excessive resonance of an unsuitable hall. If you want to hear every dot and comma of Strauss's sometimes rambling discourse, this is the balance for you, but it does make the music-making seem a little short on delicacy and soft-focus autumnal glow. While the Norwegian Winds are certainly less immaculate and almost too laid-back in the First Sonatina, their more reticent manner is by no means un-attractive and they are more sympathetically recorded. For Hyperion, clarity and projection is all: the horns sound splendidly robust but abrasive too; the woodwinds are more sensitively caught.
Having dutifully articulated the conventional gestures of the Serenade in E flat major, London Winds come into their own with the Sonatina No. 2. The Mozartian Andantino and Minuet are particularly charming here, and there is no denying the full-blooded response in the outer movements. After such a performance, you may feel that Norman Del Mar was ungenerous to remark that this elaborately textured piece is inclined to outstay its welcome. Even so, this is probably not a set to be listened through in one sitting. Incidentally, Jeremy Barham's notes take the late works rather seriously—for good or ill, he does not convey the usual sense of the composer playfully ''note-spinning for his own and his players' entertainment''—and this sits well with the earnest, sometimes vehement quality of the recordings.'