Aaron Copland's Pieces (2) for violin and piano were composed in 1928, well before the landmark masterpieces from the late '30s and '40s that made him famous. Still, shades of Copland's later style can be detected in the work, especially his fascination with and appropriation of American "vernacular" and folk traditions like jazz, blues, and ragtime. Although drastically different in character, the two pieces in the set demonstrate Copland's ability to use the tools and the expressive capabilities of the art music tradition to vividly capture the emotion and spirit conveyed by popular music. Although published and recorded as separate pieces as well as paired, the Pieces (2) considered together circumscribe a wide, expressive arc, decidedly sweet and sour. The first of the two pieces, Nocturne, unfolds with a languorous, blues-inspired melody. One might expect a rather gentrified version of the blues from Copland during this time; it was five years after Darius Milhaud's La création du monde and four years after Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. Copland's Nocturne doesn't aspire to authenticity, on the one hand, or exoticism on the other, but rather borrows a few gestures and contours, such as a swanky off-kilter accent, a sultry portamento, or a gritty chromatic inflection, and it teases out their expressive essence by working them into a complex and moody harmonic language. The resulting sound seems to find a common expressive ground between blues stylings and modernist angst. The sinuous, smoky character of the Nocturne is rudely undercut by the calculated clumsiness of the second piece, "Ukulele Serenade." Copland establishes a rough texture early on, with rolled chords in the piano imitating the plunky strum of the ukulele -- a role later assumed more ably by the violinist, who momentarily strums pizzicato chords while the piano takes over the meandering melody. One finds hints of influence from the French "wrong-note" school of Satie and Les Six in the occasional polytonal moments, but Copland's harmonies are made even more rustic and his melodies more angular by his use of pungent, quarter-tone inflections in the violin part. Leaps in the tune thus seem to fall short of their mark or eagerly overshoot a note of emphasis, as if crooned rather than played. The result is not cynical, however, but rather endearing in its earnest (if slightly patronizing) exuberance. ~ Jeremy Grimshaw, Rovi