The Ivory Piano Duo Ensemble comprises Greek pianists Panayotis Archontides and Natalie Tsaldarakis, who go their separate ways for the solo items on this disc, uniting for the duos. The music is by Hugh Shrapnel, born in Birmingham (UK, so please forget pronouncing the “ham” at the end; perhaps replace those three letters with “um” and massively elongate the first “i” for the authentic “Brummie” experience). A disc of Shrapnel’s piano music, there shared with composer John Lewis, was previously reviewed in Fanfare 44:6 by Peter J. Rabinowitz.

Convivium’s piano recording is beautiful as is, clearly, the piano itself, and Natalie Tsaldarakis’ playing of the Piano Set No. 1 mirrors this beauty. This is a collection of character pieces. A “Reminiscence,” tender, tonal in a sort of early 20th-century English way, launches the set, beautifully realized via Tsaldarakis’ delicate touch and fine tone. A robin skips around fetchingly in the second piece; there is great staccato from Tsaldarakis, and just the right amount of reverb on the recording itself. The moment of reflection and escape that is “Shade” actually offers the most interesting harmonies so far, while Francophiles might find themselves attracted to the Debussyan writing of “Flurry” (which the composer describes as “the rapid movements of an unnamed creature”). Inspired by Walter de la Mare, “Wood at Night” holds a little hint of the Pink Panther (perhaps unintentional?) and fascinates one with its (spooky) rhythmic disjunctions, while “Jump” does what it says on the case in terms of its disjunct motion. A tribute to the composer’s late mother-in-law Olive Dove, “Elegy” holds an eloquent weight on its shoulders. Wit is definitely part of the equation for the running-on-the-spot music of “Red Queen” (the character from Alice through the Looking Glass) while “Small Hours” is a musical depiction of exhaustion, the scene being that of a party after the guests have left. What is fascinating about this penultimate movement is the exploration of piano resonance; that it is caught on such a fine piano (that of City University, London, skilfully recorded by James Unwin) means one can relish Shrapnel’s music in the very best sound. The setting for the finale, “Jugglers,” is oddly specific: an Australian juggler performing during the Edinburgh Festival. Amusingly angular, it closes the set with a smile.

Ambiguity lies at the heart of Longing: Its title is deliberately Schumannesque, its initial chord replete with possibilities. Dissonances speak volumes here in Tsaldarakis’s account. It is Archontides who performs the Sonatina: Its first movement is a sort of flowing toccata, perhaps post-post-Czerny or Clementi. Slight though the movement is in durational terms, the technical demands are high, and Archontides demonstrates absolutely first-class articulation. The second movement, “Chorale,” is exactly that, and doubles as another in memoriam, this time to the composer’s father, who died in 2004 (the Sonatina was written in 2005). The recording is super-clear, reproducing the deliberately hard-edged attack on the statement of the chorale in the treble. The finale surely contains echoes of Poulenc.

The sphinxes of the next piece’s title are the silent notes of Schumann’s Carnaval; string resonance plays an integral role here. Tsaldarakis’s performance is stunning in its concentration. Mood swings form the basis of Love-Hate; given Shrapnel’s fondness for Schumann, this could surely be seen as a Florestan-Eusebius moment; Archontides plays here, in a properly split-personality mode. Inspired by the sudden arrival and departure of a murder of crows, and the attendant sense of foreboding they left in their wake (this was just prior to the pandemic), Premonition is a slowly evolving, mainly chordal piece, with a repeated single bass note acting like the tolling of a bell. It is highly effective, and performed with excellence by Tsaldarakis. The two pianists take the movements of Le temps perdu in turns, starting with Tsaldarakis. Not intended as a reference to Proust, the three movements focus on youth, regrets, and then reconciliation. The first movement is performed with razor-edge accuracy, especially when it comes to the attack on chords; the second contains anger as well as play, while the finale has something of the air of a processional about it.

Four short pieces complete the disc. Finally united as a duo, the Ivory Piano Duo ensemble performs Follow Me up to Carlow for two pianos. Like For an Alternative, it was written for the Cardew concerts at London’s Morley College. One can certainly hear something of Cardew in its robust repetitions; the material is taken from a folk song linked to the victory of Irish forces over the English in 1580. The riotous For an Alternative begins with the two pianists hammering out a theme in unison. Although at times cacophonous, this is never just noise; and when the opening bells return in a harmonic context, the effect is remarkably beautiful. It’s a wonderful piece, wonderfully performed.

It was Alkan who inspired Esquisse mécanique (it was specifically written for a book of pieces after that composer). The piece is hilarious (I do hope it is meant to be funny!); it is also expertly constructed, calls on many Alkan tropes, and is played to the highest imaginable standard by Archontides. Another In memoriam, For Bobcommemorates composer, pianist, and organist Robert Coleridge. The piece was first performed by the composer himself at Coleridge’s memorial service. Here, Tsaldarakis gives a performance laden with grief; the composer’s aching registral chasms make a potent point.

This disc makes the ideal introduction to the music of Hugh Shrapnel. It is superb on all fronts.