One of the happiest discoveries I made last year was the music of the Scottish composer John McEwen. Took a chance on a CD of his piano music, played by Geoffrey Tozer, and was immediately enchanted by it.

However unjust though it may be, a composer’s neglect usually has perfectly understandable reasons. Too advanced, too astringent, too subversive, too in the shadow of someone else. McEwen’s neglect, on the other hand, really has no good reason. Sure, he was self-effacing. But so were other composers.

McEwen’s music is utterly distinct without straying too far from the parameters of Late Romanticism. Perhaps Chausson and especially Séverac com closest to inhabiting similar aural realms. Perhaps because of the unassuming figure he cut in professional circles, some of his most telling attributes are heard best in small-scale works.

“Petite chérie”, the first movement of McEwen’s La Côte d'Argent is a lovely example. A brief little musical watercolor, it outlines all those traits that sound unlike anyone else — his sense of melody, orchestration, and especially harmonic color and movement — and establish why his music is so dear to those who know it.