Chamber orchestra Schubert, but with plenty of bite.

Having greatly enjoyed Thomas Dausgaard’s Schumann symphonic recordings, I was more than delighted to find this Schubert disc amongst my allocation. This is still part of the Swedish Chamber Orchestra’s ‘Opening Doors’ collection, though the logo isn’t being paraded with quite as high a profile as previously and my copy had no extra cardboard slip for the standard jewel case. Schubert’s 8th and 9th Symphonies are already available in this series on BIS-1656. BIS already released some Schubert Symphonies with Neeme Järvi in the 1980s with nice performances from the Stockholm Sinfonietta, but Dausgaard’s recordings, while drier in acoustic, are more distinctive in terms of style.

My last encounter with Schubert’s symphonies via these pages was with Herbert Blomstedt’s fine Berlin Classics set with the Staatskapelle Dresden. The orchestral sound is inevitably grander than with the Swedish Chamber Orchestra, but timings with each movement are not so very different, and I still like Blomstedt’s lightness of touch with these works, even if the wobbly vibrato to the flute sound is bothersome. There are no such quibbles with the orchestral sections with this BIS recording. The music is played expressively but without any kind of over-emphasis, the actual recording not terribly spectacular but nicely detailed and realistic.

Performing Schubert symphonies with a chamber orchestra should hold few if any real surprises, unless you are only used to the likes of Herbert von Karajan, whose Berlin Philharmonic recordings on EMI Gemini are a rich and refined sonic feast but of a distinctively mid to late Beethovenian flavour. Schubert’s symphonies were never performed publicly in his lifetime, and the Symphony No. 6 was the only one he heard played in rehearsal with an amateur orchestra. This is a youthful work which makes tribute to the likes of Rossini, and the orchestra of the time would have been more comparable with those used by Mozart and Haydn than anything particularly Romantic. Chamber orchestra forces do not however result in Schubert-lite, and you only have to listen to the tremendous accents of the Scherzo to be made aware of the hard-hitting possibilities of such an ensemble. Fewer strings make for a more equal partnership between these and the wind sections, and the sense of inner dialogue is a strong aspect in this recording. As far as I am concerned there is nothing anaemic about this performance, and it ticks all the boxes for radiant joy and underlying drama.

Six years on from the Symphony No. 6 saw Schubert involved in Rosamunde, a play which promised much but ended in humiliating public failure, Schubert’s excellent incidental music unable to lift the audience’s indifference to the theatre experience, but strong enough to become popular in its own right. The sections presented here are Entr’actes 1, 3, and 2, and the Ballet Music No. 2 and No. 1 in that order. This is a more complete set than most ‘filler’ movements added to orchestral recordings, and with the famous tune of Entr’acte No. 3 played with warmth and affection, the two ballets given perfect energy and tempi and plenty of atmospheric dramas elsewhere I can find nothing to complain about. You won’t find the orchestral opulence of recordings such as the Chamber Orchestra of Europe under Claudio Abbado on Deutsche Grammophon, and this is still one of your best bets if looking for the complete Rosamunde, choir and all. Listening to this BIS recording does however make one realise how idealised such performances can become, and it is Thomas Dausgaard who brings us closer to the earthy reality of an orchestra in something approaching a theatre setting.

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

"Yevgeny Sudbin was born in St Petersburg and has lived in the UK since 1997. His previous outings on the BIS label, with recitals of Scarlatti (reviewed twice on these pages) and Scriabin have all been received to great acclaim, as has Sudbin’s concerto recordings for the same label...It is clearly apparent that Mr. Sudbin has established an enviable reputation, and for those to whom his name is already familiar, this release will be another shot in the arm of fine collections of piano recordings the world over.

There are quite a few rather special recordings of Haydn piano sonatas, but with 51 in the catalogue there are few pianists who would even consider tackling the whole lot, John McCabe on Decca being a distinguished exception, Jeno Jandó a highly competent if marginally less distinguished budget alternative on Naxos. There are a few fortepiano recordings both complete and ongoing, the Brilliant Classics one offers a different kind of Haydn to that on a modern grand piano, as does the excellent BIS complete set played by Ronald Brautigam. A pianist whose recordings have impressed me in recent years is Ragna Schirmer, and hers is the kind of cleanly unpretentious and witty playing with which I would compare Yevgeny Sudbin’s performances here. Schirmer gives Haydn every chance to shine and blossom in recordings which are crisp and full of colour, warm and clear at the same time, carrying us away with the music’s message, alive to the echoes of past music and the surprisingly potent emotional charge which can be surprising to find in this composer.

This is not so much a ‘better than’ kind of review, but I find it is useful to have a reference and a starting point from which to evaluate a new recording of an idiom which is familiar, even if the pieces don’t overlap. Yevgeny Sudbin has that lightness of touch which is essential for good Haydn, and especially good Haydn at the keyboard. The opening Allegro moderato movement of the Sonata No.47 in B minor says much about the rest of this programme, with richness of contrast and moments of drama fully exploited between music of almost naive simplicity. This simplicity is as important to Sudbin as every other aspect of this music. The thinning of texture to two-part lines which suggest harmony as much as proclaim it are all superbly rendered, sometimes held to the middle of the keyboard, sometimes turning the left hand into and orchestral bass section or a driving rhythmic leaping thing which serves multiple functions. The Minuet of this sonata is a development on this kind of purity of expression, and Sudbin knows exactly what he is doing, shaping phrases with elegance and a sense of proportion which seems to provide all answers: ‘yes, this is how it should sound.’

If I were to compare Sudbin and Schirmer then, by a small margin, Sudbin seems to explore depths ‘into’ or ‘within’ the notes a bit more, digging a little deeper where Schirmer sparkles and shines with a more twinkly kind of wit. This is all by a marginal degree however – Sudbin sparkles and Schirmer digs as well, just take the Finale: presto of this sonata for some crackling at the keyboard from Sudbin, with the minor key providing a reason for that extra layer of dark passion.

Following a minor key with a major, in this case the Sonata No.60 in C major is a good idea, and Sudbin lifts us high and carries us all the way in the opening Allegro, which is as full of smiles as a comedy turn by Michael Macintyre. His own booklet notes tell us something of how Sudbin approaches Haydn: “Is laughter the best medicine? I certainly hope so and would not hesitate to prescribe a healthy dose of Joseph Haydn twice daily.” Haydn’s humour is not to be found in heavy jokes, but in the very nature of the music itself. Any darkness is more often than not provided as a foil a contrast to those delightful moments of wit, and sometimes, as in this movement the ideas are so fun-filled that such moments need only be held for a few bars in the minor, or a segment of sublime beauty at 6:50 where the pedal suspends the music on a waft of mist for a mere moment. Sublime beauty is the essence of the Adagio of this sonata, and Sudbin traverses its measures with a good deal of freedom, creating a fascinating musical narrative in which you can become lost for what seems like a good deal longer than its 5:53 duration, but which you would gladly have last for a dreaming while longer. Sudbin has combined some of the original material from an earlier version of this movement, which was later revised to fit in with the outer movements of the sonata. I admire this kind of creative license and research based attitude, getting the best out of the music by exploring further beyond the notes on the page than would most musicians. The results certainly speak for themselves.

Elements of Scarlatti appear with the rippling passing ornaments thrown in with effortless ease by Sudbin in the Sonata No.53 in E minor. The contrast between the spectacular Presto and the almost invisible following Adagio could hardly be greater. Sudbin plays the Adagio with such transparency that light and air shine through the whole time: it’s like a single mote of dust floating down to land, slowly and gently, onto a crystal shimmering in a bath of late afternoon sunlight. The sunshine moods anticipate Beethoven in the final Vivace molto, with quicksilver harmonic twists and turns which are still pretty breathtaking even 230 years after they were conceived. About one minute in the mood shifts several gears at once, and we are taken on a journey far beyond expectations.

The Andante con Variazioni follows and refines the model of C.P.E. Bach, involving major and minor variations alternately. Some say this was written as a kind of memorial to Mozart for, although there are smiling moments, these are as poignant as they are jovial, and the mood of the music is certainly more tragic than comic. Refinement and poise, sensitivity and grace are all words which spring to mind for both the piece and this performance, which is given with admirable restraint, reserving the emotional core of the work for a penultimate outburst at 12:39.

To end the programme with a flourish, Yevgeny Sudbin gives us an encore in the form of his arrangement or ‘pianistic impression’ of the finale of Haydn’s String Quartet in D major, Op.64 No.5. “I find [the string quartets] all addictive. Just as his sonatas are incredibly communicative and chamber-music like, his chamber music strikes me as having a very pianistic potential.” Larking with Haydn is therefore Sudbin’s ‘affectionate tribute’ to the Great Master, and one which fits in very well with the vibrant nature of the release as a whole. In fact this whole disc is of course a fine tribute to Haydn, showing once again how alive and resonant his music even today. The entertainment factor is high with this disc, but superficial show is never the basis of the music or the playing. I’m a big fan of the St George’s pleasantly resonant acoustic, and it works very well for the solo piano and this music, with the SACD quality transplanting you straight to Bristol’s top chamber music location. Superbly recorded performances such as these do exactly what Sudbin hopes, seeing Haydn “taken much more seriously, in an unserious sort of way.”

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

BLOCH Schelomo 1. BRIDGE Oration, Concerto elegiaco 1. HOUGH The Loneliest Wilderness 2 • Steven Isserlis (vc); 1 Hugo Wolff, cond; 1 German SO Berlin; 2 Gábor Takács, cond; 2 Tapiola Sinfonietta • BIS 1992 (SACD: 67:40)


Steven Isserlis joined Richard Hickox and the London Symphony Orchestra in 1988 for a very fine and critically well-received recording of Bloch’s Schelomo for Virgin Classics. Also on that disc was a more than respectable account of Elgar’s Cello Concerto. Except for the benefit of surround-sound audio and improved sonics on this new BIS release, I’m not prepared to say that Isserlis betters his previous account. At 58, he’s still in his prime and at the height of his game technically, but the years seem not to have aged Isserlis’s ancient King of Israel. If anything, Isserlis and Hugo Wolff now put a bit more spring into Solomon’s step, though the difference of only 23 seconds—21:45 in 1988 vs. 21:22 in 2012 is simply too small to notice over the given timespan.


The album comes with a title, In the Shadow of War , and a theme. Bloch, as is well known, was deeply depressed over the grim events unfolding during World War I, and for solace and understanding, he turned to the words of despair and wisdom in the Book of Ecclesiastes, believed to have been authored by Solomon 2,000 years earlier. It was from this that in 1916 Bloch drew inspiration for his magnificent rhapsody-cum-tone poem, Schelomo , for cello and orchestra.


Frank Bridge’s Oration, Concerto elegiaco for Cello and Orchestra is far less well known than Bloch’s opus, but it, too, has received a previous recording by Isserlis and Hickox with the City of London Sinfonia on EMI. Unfortunately, I don’t have that disc, so I can’t compare the performance to this new one, but it doesn’t go back as far as Isserlis’s Virgin Classics Schelomo . The Isserlis/Hickox/EMI CD, coupled with Britten’s Cello Symphony , was released in 2007. We don’t have a description of Bridge’s Oration in the composer’s own words, as we do a description of Schelomo from Bloch himself, so we can only speculate on Bridge’s motives for writing the piece and its precise meaning. In 1930, the date of Oration ’s composition, World War I had long ago ended and World War II was yet to come. Yet everything about this work paints the most grisly, gruesome portrait imaginable of war’s death and destruction. Isserlis, who has written his own album note, describes the music minute by minute, evoking images of “men hurling themselves into enemy fire” and “the leaden march of doomed soldiers.” The solo cello is the fallen soldier who, in the end, is left to expire alone, “his final desolate thoughts fading into empty nothingness.”


Nearly 30 minutes in duration, Bridge’s Oration is not an easy work to listen to, or to play, I’m sure, so it’s not surprising that it hasn’t achieved anything close to the popularity of Bloch’s Schelomo . Besides Isserlis’s own previous recording of the piece, it hasn’t received much attention on disc, but the attention it has received has come from major-league cellists, namely, Rafael Wallfisch, Alban Gerhardt, and Julian Lloyd Webber.


I have to admit that before listening to it, Stephen Hough’s The Loneliest Wilderness shouted, “Raise shields! Raise shields!,” as would any piece for me dated 2005. Well, it only took a matter of seconds before the music cried out to me, “Lower shields! Lower shields!” I would buy this disc for The Loneliest Wilderness alone. The piece was originally composed for bassoon and orchestra, but Isserlis persuaded Hough, composer, pianist, and good friend, that the lyrical nature of the solo part was ideal for cello. Since the ranges of the two instruments are reasonably close to each other, I don’t know if it was necessary for Hough to make any adjustments in the solo line or not, but this is one gorgeous outpouring of poignant, moving, heartfelt music. Bless Stephen Hough for composing it, and bless Steven Isserlis for including it on this disc. The work, according to the note, was inspired by Herbert Read’s poem My Company , and I can’t think of any other way to describe it than to say it’s a rapturous rhapsody in full neoromantic bloom.


This may prove to be the best cello and orchestra recording of the year, and it’s urgently recommended.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Bach's Das Wohltemperierte Klavier has been called "The Old Testament" of the piano literature and presents, in more ways than one, a pinnacle to be climbed by pianists and harpsichordists alike. As a leading accordion player with an astonishingly wide-ranging repertoire, Mie Miki has now accepted the challenge, selecting twelve of the 48 pairs of preludes and fugues. For BIS Mie Miki has previously recorded Bach's Italian Concerto, and as she did then, she performs the music from the original keyboard score without making any alterations to facilitate the transition to the accordion. The result is ear-opening - the accordion's capacity for sustained notes brings out Bach's fugal counterpoint, while the fast and light action of the instrument lends a particular fleetness to the preludes.

‘Our main purpose for this recording,’ writes Masaaki Suzuki, ‘was to perform all the music contained in the collection that Monteverdi published in 1610.’ So he begins with the Missa In illo tempore, a superb example of old-style, elaborate polyphony; moves through the Vespers themselves, following the original order of the pieces and interpolating nothing; then, after the lavish Magnificat a 7, he ends with the more modest Magnificat a 6, which Monteverdi appended as an alternative.

This straightforward approach seems almost radical given the current glut of more fanciful versions, in which conductors reshuffle the Vespers, pepper them with antiphons and works by other composers and variously ‘adapt’ them to fit specific liturgical occasions. Such diverse interpretations make the choice of a benchmark recording highly subjective. Gardiner (dramatic, on Archiv) and Parrott (intimate and liturgically correct, on Virgin Veritas) offer fine, contrasting views, and several other versions (Christie, Garrido, Junghänel, Pickett) are well worth exploring.

This new set is consistently engaging. Unlike his rivals, Suzuki uses a high pitch of A=465Hz (common in Monteverdi’s Italy), but follows current thinking in transposing certain pieces down a fourth (the Missa, the Magnificats, ‘Lauda Jerusalem’). Performances throughout are expressive, sharply focused, intensely committed. Though he dispenses with liturgical trappings, Suzuki, aided by a spacious ‘churchy’ acoustic, certainly brings out the ritualistic and devotional character of the music, from the ornate orchestral splendour of the ‘Sonata sopra Sancta Maria’ to the tender vocal passions of ‘Pulchra es’ and ‘Duo Seraphim’. Excellent.

-- Graham Lock, BBC Music Magazine

Telemann drew inspiration from just about every national genre and style of the period throughout his lengthy and prolific career. Alluding to this diversity, this program titled “Ouvertures pittoresques” (picturesque openings) features three of Telemann’s more evocative and instrumentally diverse overtures, as well as two Concerto polonois, briefer works specifically inspired by his longstanding admiration of Polish music (early on he often visited the region and remained an enthusiastic fan of the culture, and especially its folk music). The Polish period-instrument ensemble Arte dei Suonatori, directed by Martin Gester, clearly has an affinity for these concertos and delivers first rate performances throughout this 77-minute program.

The opening Overture in D major, scored for three oboes (one of Telemann’s favorite instruments), strings, and basso continuo, is composed strictly in the French style and is the least adventurous offering of the lot. Nevertheless, it’s still consummate Telemann, and when performed this well the many inspired moments–the inventive fugue that laces the second-movement Prelude Tres viste; the witty rhythmic play during the Menuets; and the ebullient, boisterous humor of the fifth-movement Harlequinade–absolutely shine.

Immediately following is one of Telemann’s most fascinating and famous works, nicknamed posthumously Völker-Overture (“The Nations”) because instead of typical dance titles, most of the movements are subtitled and meant to be evocative of specific nationalities. Like most ensembles, Arte dei Suonatori has great fun here, though the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin’s performance (Harmonia Mundi) reviewed earlier remains marginally more captivating. For instance, while the unusual use of percussion here in Les Turcs is a nice touch, Arte dei Suonatori’s performance just misses the momentum and wit that gives the Berliners’ romp a slight edge. Les Boiteux and Les Coureurs also suffer somewhat from this as well, but the group’s wonderful rendering of Les Moscovites, where the whole ensemble gradually eases into the beat (as opposed to each instrument eventually entering on their own in the Berlin performance), is equally compelling.

Before the final overture are the two Concerto polonois, works stylistically indebted as much to Poland and Saxony as they are to Italy (the verve of the allegros is especially Vivaldi-like). Musica Antiqua Köln (DG Archiv) has previously offered excellent performances of these two, often playing up the contrast between the two fast and two slow movements of each. Arte dei Suonatori takes a similar approach, yet their performance satisfies more because in comparison more attention is paid to the dynamic and rhythmic subtleties throughout, heightening the festive dance element Telemann most likely had in mind.

Concluding the program is another well-known Telemann favorite, his Ouverture, jointes d’une Suite tragi-comique, where each movement is meant to programmatically allude to either an ailment or a remedy. Not surprisingly, the ailment movements (Le Podagre, L’Hypocondre, and Le Petite-maitre) are slower, if not sluggish at times, and take nearly twice as long as the more celebratory and peppy remedies (La Poste et la Dance, Souffrance heroique, and Petite-maison: Furies). Here Arte dei Suonatori again rivals another formidable recording by the Academie für Alte Musik Berlin on Harmonia Mundi, though this time their performance is tops. For instance, the performance here of Le Podagre lumbers along convincingly enough while the Berliners’ rendering is so slow it at times borders on atonality. By drawing out more of the rhythmic variety in the Furies finale as well, Arte dei Suonatori delivers a much more exciting performance compared to the only slightly shorter Berlin mad dash.

The SACD sound is absolutely stunning. The clarity of the instrumental detail is remarkably life-like without sacrificing the illusion of the ensemble as a whole. This is state of the art Telemann and highly recommended.

-- John Greene, ClassicsToday.com