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The composer here, Mihailo Trandafilovski, is probably best known as a violinist with the Kreutzer String Quartet, an enterprising ensemble with particular affinity for contemporary works of living composers A fair amount of Trandafilovski’s music has previously been reviewed by Fanfare: an Innova disc in Fanfare 39:4, a Lorelt disc in 36:1, a Divine Art disc in 42:2, and a Metier disc in 42:1.

Hailing from Skopje, the capital of North Macedonia (not to be confused with Greek Macedonia), Trandafilovski studied in Michigan and at London’s Royal College of Music, where he received his doctorate. His Chaconne for Solo Violin was written in 2022 for the present performer, Peter Sheppard Skærved. Inspired by a concert given by Skærved at Goldsmiths, University of London, entitled “Chaconne”, Trandafilovski’s piece also took over some of the intensity of Iang Yun’s 1978 Kömigliches Theme, which was played at that concert. The range of sounds Skærved gets from his instrument is remarkable. At times it sounds like there are multiple players as the composer ratchets up the intensity. The composer has stated a deep interest in instrumental color, and indeed the title of the disc is that of one of the pieces, Polychromy (Poly as in many and chroma as in color). We hear a careening spiral of violinistic color in Chaconne; at one point the music ascends upwards, as if heralding a close, but after a pregnant pause, spread pizzicatos usher in a whispered final section that brings the music full circle, returning to the original theme (albeit augmented and in retrograde).

Again written for the present performer, Sandglass for B flat clarinet is given a simply beautiful performance by Roger Heaton, whose ability to create the most silken legato (measures 12-14) is a major contributing factor to this recording’s success. Silences are absolutely pregnant with meaning, while Heaton’s control of multiphonics is beyond anything I have previously heard. The piece moves in a sort of arc, from sparse, long notes to more active and back again, inspired by Horaţiu Rădulescu’s piece The Inner Time, a piece that so intrigued Heaton that he wrote a scholarly article on it (and Rădulescu) in the journal Music & Practice (the article is freely available online). As the music moves on, Trandafilovski makes more and more use of the clarinet’s registral extremes before the music moves to a place of peace. The composer talks in his booklet notes of his love for the clarinet, and it shows in his writing, which is both expert and, in its use of the quieter dynamics, even affectionate.

Pronounced “Sharenilo,” the title Šarenilo (2016) means “colorfulness,” an aspect that manifests here in the medium of two violins, closely miked. I mention that because after Heaton’s exquisite sonic disappearance into nothing at the end of Sandglass, suddenly a violin is right in front of you. Written for Skærved and himself to perform at an event curated by the British Museum, it takes an exhibit (Large Plate of Mosaic Glass, c. 225-200 BC) as a starting point. There are two movements, “Mosaic,” and “Nitki” (Macedonian for “threads”), and each represents a different angle of perception of the object. Again, instrumental control is the key to the success of these performances, plus the clear link that exists between these two performers (who are, after all, the two violins of a professional string quartet). If the first movement is technically challenging and gleans much of its excitement from that, the second is its reverse, a silvery, peaceful plateau. Sound is taken down to an absolute slither.

Written in 2017-18 again for the present performers, Weaxan is scored for B flat clarinet, violin and piano. While the harmonic field is shared (and includes equal temperament, quarter tones, just intervals, and harmonic series), each instrument has its own “world” that arises from the instrument’s own intrinsic characteristics. The piece grows organically, though, hence the title: “weaxan” is Old English for to wax, or to grow. The level of detail of this performance is wonderful. The clarinet’s opening sustained note is marked senza vibrato, and Merrick plays it absolutely straight; Skærved’s gradations of vibrato and juxtapositions of vibrato/senza vibrato as indicated in the score are perfect. Rarely has following a score given me so much pleasure; to see such detailed realization is a joy indeed. Skaerved’s violin sings with an almost Messiaen-like ecstasy at times, while Roderick Chadwick controls clusters perfectly. Color is there in the score instructions (“shine/glisten” for sul ponticello violin, for example) and in the resultant ensemble sonorities (there is the aural equivalent of an image juddering out of focus and almost shifting into something else around seven minutes in). The clarinet gets the last word, moving between extreme high notes and lower registers.

When it comes to the 2020 solo cello piece Polychromy, performed here by the Kreutzer Quartet’s cellist, Neil Heyde, we find the most extreme work on the disc in terms of extended technique (although the composer argues that this term is misleading as implying a “norm,” and prefers to think of the techniques as “part of a continuum”). Australian cellist Heyde is a true virtuoso, a true master of his instrument. The ability to project and control ultra-high tones is remarkable, while Trandafilovski’s imagination to create this recognizable but nevertheless new soundscape is utterly remarkable. At times, one is minded of Xenakis’s string writing, but Trandafilovski’s emotive range is greater.

The 2020 guitar duo String Dune(s) was written for Hugh Milligan and Saki Kato, the two players who comprise the Miyabi Guitar Duo performing here. The title refers to the shape of the piece (dune) within which there nestle smaller, similar shapes (hence the parenthesized “s”). Again, there are virtuoso requirements, all met with aplomb by the two players here, including using the guitar itself as a percussion instrument. When we do hear something approaching a dance rhythm (between seven and eight minutes in), it comes as quite the shock. The relatively close recording adds to the sense of involvement. This is a fine performance of a compelling piece.

Finally, there comes Grain—Song of 2021-22, with the composite title giving the individual titles of each of the two movements. The composer talks in terms of “sparse modules” in the first movement, “Grain,” and it is easy to hear what he means: This is gestural music that often nestles on the edge of audibility, almost as if inviting the ensuing silences to be part of the music. The other piece, “Song,” lives up to its name in its inherent lyricism. Melodies (for such they are) seem to have a loneliness about them; perhaps this is a lament.

The recordings, taken from three separate venues, are uniformly excellent (the difference in venues  and times might explain that sudden change in perspective between Sandglass and Šarenilo). This is fascinating, compelling music, brilliantly realized; I look forward to hearing more.