Born in Prague in 1979, the composer, conductor and chorus master Ondrej Adámek, who studied in his Czech hometown and in Paris, has already won numerous prestigious awards for his orchestral, chamber, vocal and electro-acoustic music. In his musical language, which also repeatedly incorporates elements of distant cultures, he creates unusual musical narratives. He seeks the authenticity of his interpretations by combining voices and movements, gestures and theatricality, phonetic and semantic aspects, and his own specially developed musical instruments. The premieres of Ondrej Adámek's "Where are You?" and "Follow me" were distinctive for their excellent casts, featuring stars such as Magdalena Kožená, Isabelle Faust and Simon Rattle. In Adámek’s "Follow me", a three-movement concerto for violin and orchestra, the melodies are divided between the soloist and the orchestra along the lines of the late medieval hocket technique, whereby the composer seeks to connect a single individual with a (human) crowd. The first performance of Adámek’s "Where are You?" for mezzo-soprano and orchestra was an outstanding event in Munich's concert programme this year. In the eleven-part, approximately 35-minute-long kaleidoscope of sound, dominated by constant motoric movement – ranging from everyday sounds such as the monotonous ticking of a clock to the sweeping, electrifyingly rhythmic pounding of the orchestra tutti – the composer embarks on a search for the human ("Where do we come from and where are we going?") and the divine.

Review

This is music that grabs the listener by the ears and doesn’t let go. I found it completely exhilarating.

Nothing about either score included on this recording is remotely derivative or even predictable. If I were to say that it is as if Adámek had smashed up all previous music into tiny pieces and then reconstructed them into something marvellous and new, that might give the impression that he is some kind of arch post modernist. He is nothing of the sort. Almost miraculously he manages to be both uncompromisingly modernist and yet intensely communicative. Try his setting of what, in effect amounts to St Theresa’s ecstatic, religious orgasm in the seventh song of Where Are You? and what you’ll get is music that verges on the demented but which manages to be deeply spiritual and very sexy! Both scores are full of such wild, rude, exultant moments.

Follow Me is simultaneously a violin concerto and someone having a lot of fun with what a violin concerto might mean. I am not aware of another concerto that concludes with what amounts to a musical lynching of the soloist by the orchestra. One of the characteristics of Adámek’s writing is his absolute command of even the most outré material. Every note delivers an aural punch. He is of course capable of writing music of great delicacy, as in the concerto’s Bach derived slow movement but even here every note makes its point.

The opening movement features orchestral soloists echoing the opening phrases by the solo violin (the ‘follow me’ of the work’s title), phrases the composer explains in his joyous, quixotic note that were inspired by the exaggerated vibrato of a singer in Japanese Noh theatre. The orchestra, in a sense, gathers round the soloist, repeating her phrases. Isabelle Faust is at her imperious best here. This then subsides into silence before the soloist starts again with more seductive phrases. As Adámek puts it, these phrases provoke the orchestra “eventually driving them mad”. This builds and builds as the various motifs combine and recombine. The tension generated by the gradually gathering of tempo and volume is quite ferocious before Adámek pulls the rug from under the expected eruption and the movement ends with weird whistlings and scrapings out of which the slow movement evolves. A great strength of Adámek’s music is to unsettle the listener whilst keeping them on the edge of their seat.

One of the unifying techniques across all three movements of this concerto is what Adámek likens to a kind of musical ping pong where melodies are split, in alternate notes, between soloist and members of the orchestra. This effect plus an extreme elongation of material taken from Bach is most noticeable in this slow movement. It is a strange and mysterious movement that subsides into the uneasy calm from it emerged.

On a purely technical level, the finale combines all the elements of the previous two movements but that scarcely does justice to the effect it has on the listener. The shadowing of the soloist which gives the work its title is allowed finally to work its way from a hushed, fugitive opening all the way to the mighty climax that the opening movement was robbed of. As in that movement, the following of the soloist by the orchestra becomes more combative- a wry nod I think to the lion taming tradition of the 19^th century virtuoso concerto – and the music, dominated by a rogue trombone, constantly threatens to swamp the soloist whose final phrases are delivered off stage before a final thrilling orchestral stampede rounds things off. Is that a tongue in cheek reference to the final sacrificial dance of the Rite of Spring I hear in this final passage? What this description may not capture is that this is all immensely diverting and colossal fun. The world of Adámek’s music may be capable of great seriousness but it never takes itself too seriously.

Follow Me is, in many ways, the curtain raiser for the even more remarkable Where Are You? My earlier comments have probably already given some indication of what it is like. Written for mezzo soprano and orchestra, it is a song cycle on spiritual themes with texts from the Bible, the Gita and the autobiography of St Theresa. None of this is handled in a conventional manner. The opening section revels in the vowel sounds of the opening line of the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic. A later movement sets possible Czech translations of those Aramaic words. It’s that sort of piece! The theme that unites these disparate elements is the way in which the spiritual quest for the divine however how high it can raise us comes down to earth with the question ‘Where are you?’ left unanswered. It has to be said that the piece celebrates the quest as much as it illustrates its ultimate failure and it does so with affection and good humour as well as profundity and anguish.

The vocalist is required to adopt a huge range of singing styles from breaths and rolled r’s to folk singing to outrageous coloratura. As in most of his other scores that I’ve heard, Adámek can find music in almost anything and make no mistake – this is a musical event above all else. The composer isn’t advancing some obscure musicological idea but making maddening, frenzied, bewildering, exuberant music. Ultimately, like the spiritual quest it describes, words fail to do justice to this piece. You are just going to have to listen to it.

--MusicWeb International (David McDade)

Before the First World War, especially for the famous ballet ensemble "Les Ballets Russes", one of the most important dance companies of the 20th century, and its impresario Sergei Diaghilev, Igor Stravinsky composed the first three of his great ballet music works for large orchestra, indeed, the most important of his ballets in general: "L'oiseau de feu" (The Firebird) in 1910, "Petrushka" in 1911, and "Le sacre du printemps" (The Rite of Spring) in 1913. The first of these ranks as a pioneering work of the early 20th century – and the third, regarded as a key work of 20th-century music due to its extraordinary rhythmic and tonal structures, can both be experienced on this new release from BR-KLASSIK - in live recordings with the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks under its chief conductor Mariss Jansons, and in masterly interpretations. Diaghilev, a formative figure in 20th-century ballet, had founded the Ballets Russes ensemble in 1909 in Paris, where it first performed before moving to Monte Carlo in 1911. The first performance of Stravinsky's "Firebird" took place on June 25, 1910 at the Paris Opera House, and "Le sacre du printemps" premiered on May 29, 1913 in the newly-built Théâtre des Champs-Élysées - a day that went down in history as one of the great artistic scandals of the 20th century. The furious protests from the Parisian public combined with the highly negative critical reviews all ended up making Stravinsky famous. His truly futuristic music has now established itself internationally and is an integral part of concert programs, and one can still hear why it so enraged audiences over 100 years ago. (“The Firebird" can be heard in Stravinsky’s ballet version of 1945.)

From a 2012 live performance in Tokyo's Suntory Hall the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks (Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra) conducted by Mariss Jansons embarks on a program presenting the 7th and 8th symphonies of Beethoven along with Jörg Widmann’s 2008 piece “Con Brio” commissioned by Jansons with the stipulation to use these Beethoven symphonies as basis and influence. Thus this deeply symbiotic collection unfolds, played with flair and great integrity within the fantastic acoustics of the hall.

Two well-known masterpieces of Russian music complement each other perfectly on the latest release of Mariss Jansons and the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks. Recorded November 2014 (Mussorgsky) and April 2015 (Stravinsky) at concerts in the intimate dimensions of Herkulessaal of the Munich Residenz and in the Philharmonie im Gasteig. With the 1947 revised version of Stravinsky's “Petrushka”, a revision ultimately preferred by Stravinsky himself and here featuring the piano of the prolific Lukas Maria Kuen, along with the 1922 orchestral version of Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition" memorably and engagingly transcribed by Maurice Ravel elevating the piece to the pantheon of one of the most familiar of all classical works.

The 2007 recording that has now been reissued by BR-Klassik or Mahler’s First Symphony, with the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks under its chief conductor Mariss Jansons, can be regarded as an album premiere- in that this recording has only so far been available as a bonus release forming part of the audio biography of Gustav Mahler “World and Dream.” (BR Klassik)

Dmitri Shostakovich was one of the most important composers of the 20th century. With his works - most notably his fifteen symphonies, which took Late Romantic music and transferred it to the modern age – he has shaped the repertoire. His aesthetic is determined by the impact of the Second World War and also by the political conditions in the Soviet Union under Stalin. Forced to work for the dictator, he also had to make numerous concessions to him. It was in the war year of 1941 that Shostakovich composed his Symphony No. 7 in C major, opus 60. It comes in the approximate middle of his oeuvre and was named the “Leningrad” symphony because Shostakovich dedicated it to his native city (today’s St. Petersburg). The marching theme in the first movement was composed even before the outbreak of the German-Soviet war, in around 1939 or 1940. He wrote further movements in Leningrad, during its siege by German troops from September 8, 1941 onwards, and finally completed the symphony in Kuibyshev (Samara) on the Volga, having been evacuated from the war-torn city together with his family on October 1, 1941. It was there on March 5, 1942 that the symphony received its world premiere, performed by the similarly evacuated orchestra of Moscow’s Bolshoi Theatre under the direction of Samuil Samossud. The Moscow premiere on March 27 took place in perilous circumstances, but even an air raid alert could not convince the audience to go to the shelters, so captivated were they by the music. The music has retained its fascination to this day, and the Seventh Symphony is considered Shostakovich's best-known work. Mariss Jansons, who himself ranks as a specialist in the Slavic repertoire as well as the symphonic music of the 19th and 20th centuries, has tackled this masterpiece on numerous occasions. This performance, released for the first time, was recorded at concerts on February 11 and 12, 2016 at the Philharmonie in Munich’s Gasteig. Here, under Jansons' baton, the musicians of the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks interpret Shostakovich's Seventh Symphony as a shattering testimony to the epoch in which it was written as well as a profound expression of our present age. The live recording of those concerts is now being released by BR-KLASSIK in an exemplary interpretation of one of the most important symphonic works of the 20th century.

Mahler’s "Das Lied von der Erde” (The Song of the Earth) is subtitled “A symphony for tenor, alto (or baritone) voice and orchestra". It examines the border between two different genres: the Lied, in its extended form as a song cycle, and the symphony. And as ever in Mahler’s music, that border is anything but black and white. The work certainly differs radically from a mere song cycle: the Lieder are permeated by symphonic techniques and some symphonic movements are built up from huge stanzas. Interludes expand to become development sections in which important things happen. Indeed, the thematic events take place in the orchestra, and, in a certain sense, the soloists also form a part of the interwoven orchestral texture. The sequence of movements also follows that of a symphony: In the weighty outer movements one clearly notices sonata form shining through the stanza structures, and symphonic processes are obviously taking place. Two inner movements take the place of the slow movement and sarcastic scherzo. The entire work is spanned by a taut arc, culminating – in accordance with the principle of intensification – in a huge final movement lasting as long as all the others together, and entitled Der Abschied (The Farewell). Here, Mahler is continuing the genre of the “Finale Symphony”, and the brightening of C minor to C major is even reminiscent of his usual apotheoses.

In this symphony, as in his others, Mahler wanted to "create a world using all existing technical means.” The formal design of the work is unique, and the demands it places on its performers are extreme. It requires two highly experienced Lied singers, who in combination with the huge orchestral apparatus have to be able to perform as soloists while blending into the symphonic structure as concert voices. An excellent and well-coordinated body of sound is needed here, and of course a highly competent conductor to ensure cohesion and to give spirit and soulfulness to such a large-scale work.

REVIEW

What is perhaps most immediately striking is the detail and brilliance of the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra’s playing. Skelton makes a fine, handsome sound and offers something special in his moving reactions to the poetry. Kožená in her songs offers singing of supreme beauty. In fact, she sings almost too beautifully at times. Not a conventional Lied, perhaps, but a fascinating and beguiling one: highly recommended.

–Gramophone