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Rating: Anyone who loves classical guitar cannot miss this record edition, curated by a small label (the Engrem), which encompasses a substantial part of Leo Brouwer's guitar works: in the first CD of the series (out of 8 in total), the Cuban composer-guitarist himself performs his works.
Leo Brouwer, born in Havana in 1939, is the author of some delightful pieces for solo guitar; in other cases, he pairs his favorite instrument with small instrumental ensembles. This is also true for the CD reviewed here, which features four pieces with a total duration of 50 minutes.
The longest and most ambitious piece, the "Concierto para guitarra y pequeña orquesta" from 1972, fully assimilates the language of contemporaneity and delivers a calm meditation over 26 minutes, divided into three movements; the guitar-percussion combination is interesting, as well as the musical allusions to Indian ragas in the central episode.
"Para sonar a dos" is instead a piece for two guitars, written in 1973, which presents a tight dialogue between the two instruments, very varied and imaginative as demonstrated by a sort of "tonal window" that opens around the eighth minute (out of a total of 13), to which the other guitar responds with its modernist phrasing; meanwhile, the occasionally percussive use of the guitars, the "slaps" (a pizzicato so decisive that it makes the string hit the fingerboard, producing a metallic sound), and various other techniques confirm the polystylistic approach of this composer.
"Elogio de la danza", from 1964, and "Un día de noviembre", from 1972, are two short pieces for solo guitar that well represent Brouwer’s intriguing writing: the rhythmic component is more evident in the first, written at the request of Cuban choreographer Luis Trápata, while the second features a very singable and melancholic theme, written for the soundtrack of the film of the same name by Humberto Solás.
An interesting listen is thus offered by this CD, to discover an author who has established himself as an original voice of our time, alien to both a forced modernity and the temptation of banal exoticisms of his homeland.
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