This article originally appeared in Issue 50:1 (Sept/Oct 2026) of Fanfare Magazine.

Inspired by Real Life: America by the Attacca Quartet, and other great studio albums, Friction Quartet commissioned a sequence of works in the wake of COVID-19, of which several are presented here. Friction Quartet comprises Otis Harriel and Kevin Rogers, violins; Mitso Floor, viola; and Doug Machiz, cello. As things opened up again, it became clear that the way most people listened to music had changed; now we are even more tech-bound. So the emphasis here is very much on the studio recording and resultant experience: the ability to be “close” to all four instruments at the same time, a shift from a natural blending acoustic like, say, London’s Wigmore Hall. It also meant the studio and production becomes part of the art itself. Two studios were used, Skywalker Sound (a large space: Wiancko and Dowling), and Tiny Telephone (the clue is in the name).

Speaking of names, “proper” nostalgia is distinguished from more generalized “nostalgia” here, referring to a sort of private reflection: Rodriguez’s work does this (specifically for childhood), but there is certainly a sense of longing in parts of Wiancko’s piece (particularly the last “Part”). Not to be confused with Paul Wiancko (whose Waterworks turned up on a violin/piano disc on Orchid, reviewed in Fanfare 48:4), composer/violinist/creator (to quote her website) Michi Wiancko offers the four-part DIRTWORK. It is no surprise to learn that Wiancko is good at film music (the dark comedy short I’m In Here by Willy Berliner, freely available via a link from that website, is well worth a watch, a disturbing study in over-quiescence and its consequences). The music in DIRTWORK is hugely atmospheric: the title refers to the “work done by strong and stubborn hands” (to quote the liner notes), and the strains and low energies associated with that seem foregrounded in the first part/movement, against the frenetic activity of the second (brilliantly executed by Friction Quartet, and simultaneously a vindication of the stated aesthetic of the release with its deliberate close miking). The third part is the “slow movement,” solo instruments holding an appealing melodic line against pizzicato from the remaining players. The finale buzzes with energy through notated repeated notes ceding to dyads, a nod to Minimalism, surely, but Wiancko is much more than that. The close recording is certainly involving and, I assume, deliberately dry, while the performance is incessantly involving.

Next up, Texan composer Andrew M. Rodriguez makes his Fanfare debut with the titular track, Proper Nostalgia. The first movement (of six) opens up a whole load of space in its opening interval drones against which soloists can (seemingly) improvise. Only at a crescendo is there an unexpected plethora of arpeggio. Rodriguez delves deeper into the commission’s very ethos: he uses home recordings of the quartet (“DIY” recordings of the instrumentalists in their homes). He also explores electronic manipulation of sound, including white noise. Overdubbing is part of his repertoire of tricks. The overall effect is wide-ranging, for sure, intended to bring in questions of memory: how we remember an event, and the relationship of that memory to the original “reality.” The manipulation of acoustic space is here, too: the distinct added reverb to the third movement, for example.

An all-Schankler disc, also on Aerocade, was multiply covered by myself and two of my colleagues in Fanfare 43:2. I also reviewed Schankler’s piece Pheromone, which was also the title of Meerenai Shim’s Aerocade disc (which seems to have launched the label: the catalog number is “001”). And is there a better title for a piece than Alien Warp Etude (Fanfare 37:5)? Here, we have unveiling, consisting of four movements: ideation; agitation; congregation; and capitulation. “Agitation” is certainly a musical encapsulation of just that in a technically stunning performance, and the smaller acoustic of Tiny Telephone underlines the constraints of lockdown (the piece is described as a “scream in the face of police brutality and state violence”). “Congregation” is something of a funeral march, a pizzicato cello providing the slow tread against a much quieter, somewhat emaciated sustained chord. It is highly effective; “capitulation” in its strummings.

Alex Dowling is a Fanfare debutant with Inner Orbits; he has previously produced a fascinating work for string quartets, Breathers, which is intended to facilitate breathwork and meditation. Here, Inner Orbits uses material from a previous electroacoustic work, but reimagined for acoustic instruments (and taking in their constraints as positives). The claim of the liner notes is that Dowling’s piece captures “the ineffable music that exists between the notes.” I am not quite on board with that, but there is a certain blanched, slow-moving quality that puts me in mind of Alaskan composer John Luther Adams. The performance is beautifully calibrated and balanced, and textures are perfectly realized.

A multifaceted disc that introduces four thought-provoking pieces in highly accomplished performances. Colin Clarke

This article originally appeared in Issue 49:5 (May/June 2026) of Fanfare Magazine.

Composer Nicolás Lell Benavides is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship and has worked with some of the major American institutions, such as Washington National Opera, Eighth Blackbird, and the Los Angeles Philharmonic (with Dudamel). Benavides studied at Santa Clara University, the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, and the University of Southern California Thornton School of Music.

The song-cycle Canto Caló is an exploration of memory, specifically of grandparents; “Caló” refers to the language of both composer and singer’s grandparents, a mix of Spanish and English. Setting a traditional text, the composer asks for a number of “voices” for the song, “El zapatero” (The Shoemaker). Nicolás Lell Benavides’ response is light and rhythmic, with a modern edge. Melinda Martinez Becker is superb in her delivery, as is the Friction Quartet; all need to be on their toes for “Bueno,” too, where wooden slaps punctuate the discourse (Becker sings, in English, “The wisdom of the words is in their rhythm”). The mood turns substantially for the “Canción de guerra,” Latin American rhythms sneaking in after a more elusive opening; the mood returns to that of the beginning. The text here is by Gilbert Benavides (1929–2018). “Ni el cielo” sets a text by the singer; the music seems both more angular and more distant in response. Finally, “El brio nuevomejicano” to a text by the composer, lively, full of hope. The performance here, and throughout, is exceptional; just as impressive is the recording, which was made at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music (Bowes Center).

The premise for the string quartet piece El Correcaminos is interesting: an acknowledgement of the various peoples who arrived in New Mexico, presented in reverse chronological order: the Americans, the Spanish and Mexicans, and the Navajo people. These are spread across the first three movements; the final movement combines elements from the previous three, and, to quote the booklet, “bolts frantically from one bit of material to the next.” And in that word “bolts” is the clue for the title: “correcaminos,” which refers to the roadrunner, New Mexico’s state bird. The first movement, “Chaparral Bird,” tells of the Americans heading West (superstition has it that the roadrunner led them back to the trail). The music holds a sense of expectant energy; the Friction Quartet is simply beyond criticism in its confidence and understanding of the score. Dance does appear, a pair of skipping violins at first, buoyant pizzicato for all later on. The second movement focuses on the Spanish and Mexicans who arrived in New Mexico in the 18th and 19th centuries. Pizzicato and spiccato play large roles here; as does more of that dance feel. Nicolás Lell Benavides writes with superb confidence, managing to invoke place and culture while maintaining his own sonic signature.

The third movement, “Tadai,” takes its name from O’odham, an old Uto-Aztecan language. Here we are with the Hopi people, who believed the roadrunner was a protector against evil spirits (its asymmetrical feet can conceal its direction of travel). “Tadai” is a held-breath movement, quiet, where single lines speak volumes. Nicolás Lell Benavides explores timbral change and difference, but always within his expensive remit; and how quiet the Friction Quartet manages to make the ending, delivered with perfect control. Finally, “Cyx,” its title derived from the scientific name for a roadrunner, “Geococcyx.” Moods and tempos do shift swiftly as older material is introduced and re-examined via context and juxtaposition. It feels satisfying on one level, but on another opens up questions as to in which other directions this material could go (or even could have gone).

A fascinating introduction to the significant voice of Nicolás Lell Benavides; and also a reminder of the excellence of the Friction Quartet, whose work I have previously enjoyed in music by David Conte (Fanfare 39:2) and in Nick Vasallo’s Ozymandias (45:6). Colin Clarke

Many thanks to Sofía Rocha and I Care if You Listen for this thoughtful review of Canto Caló by Nicolas Lell Benavides.

“The performance by the Friction Quartet (who are heard throughout the album) is astounding, and particularly admirable for its patience and delicacy of expression, which heightens and refines these qualities of the music.”

“Overall, Canto Caló is deeply moving, and the love and attention Benavides and his collaborators have for New Mexico and its people is irresistible.”

Read the rest at I Care if You Listen.