The repertory of string concertos by native Englishmen is not large. The best such works are certainly the Op. 2 of John Stanley, published in 1742, two years after the appearance of Handel's Op. 6 set. Their initial model is Corelli rather than Handel, as the several movements that are built around chains of suspensions make clear. But of course they are Handelian too, in a general sense. Stanley does, however, have a voice of his own: not a powerful one, but lively and possessed of a good deal of charm. Like most English composers—and unlike Handel—he never goes on a moment too long. Of the 27 movements on this disc, the lengthiest is a mere 3'42'', and only four exceed three minutes. There are fugues, neatly worked out in a quite conventional, pleasing way, with ingenious and often spirited counterpoint, of which the third movement of No. 1 is a prime example, with the second of No. 5 certainly the wittiest, there are dance-like movements, among them an attractive gavotte to end No. 2 and a minuet with a variation to end No. 5, there are movements that appeal primarily for their warmth and richness of harmony, like the third of No. 6, Concerto No. 2 has an entertaining movement with a cello solo that demands a certain agility and that is followed by a very Corellian one with alternating slow and quick sections.
On this record The Parley of Instruments add extra variety by drawing on Stanley's organ versions of some of the works. Just as Handel did with some of his Op. 6 concertos, Stanley issued versions of these with solo keyboard, which (as Peter Holman points out in his valuable notes here) may in some cases represent the original conception. In Nos. 3 and 6, then, the Handelian world is even closer, for the organ passagework is very much along the lines of Handel's Op. 4. A later version, partly drawn from Stanley's Op. 10 concertos, is used for No. 6 (a slightly dubious procedure, this), which ends with a very cheerful, tuneful, English-style movement with some brilliant writing for the organ.
The players make few concessions to the modern, sensuous ear, the playing does not avoid a rough edge from time to time, with plenty of pointed accents and no softening vibrato. There are one or two moments where the rhythms seem unstable, and sometimes the phrasing is a shade clipped. But the music comes over with great vitality—listen to the eager dotted rhythms, in the second movement of No. 4, or at the almost severe opening of No. 5—and at times virtuosity, both from Roy Goodman, the principal violinist, and from the organ soloist, Peter Nicholson. The recording has to my mind more than the ideal reverberation, and this sometimes clouds the texture somewhat. But this is an attractive record well worth trying.'