SVENDSEN Norwegian Artists’ Carnival, Op. 14. Violin Concerto in A, Op. 61. Two Icelandic Melodies. Symphony No. 1 in D, Op. 4 • Neeme Järvi, cond; 1Marianne Thorsen (vn); Bergen PO • CHANDOS 10766 (74:10)

This is Volume 3 in a series of discs devoted to the orchestral works of a composer who, it’s believed, composed no more than 33 works with opus numbers, of which approximately 21 are orchestral scores, if you count the cantatas for chorus and orchestra. If you don’t count them, then the four works included on this latest installment, added to the 10 included on Volume 1 (see Fanfare 35:5), plus the four included on Volume 2 (Fanfare 36:4), should wrap up this survey, but with Neeme Järvi you never know.

The famous anecdote of the volatile relationship between Svendsen and his American wife ending with her tossing her husband’s manuscript of a Third Symphony into the fire is probably fictional, but it makes for colorful reading. Sketches, however, for what was probably on its way to becoming another symphony were expanded and orchestrated by Norwegian composer Bjørn Morten Christophersen and premiered by the Bergen Philharmonic as recently as 2011. Perhaps in a follow-up album, Järvi will give us Christophersen’s speculative score.

Meanwhile, what we have on the present disc are Svendsen’s First Symphony and a very ambitious Violin Concerto, plus the shorter programmatic pieces, Norwegian Artist’s Carnival and Two Icelandic Melodies. Svendsen is what I would characterize as a Scandinavian generalist. Like his close contemporaries, Grieg and Danish composer C. F. E. Horneman, Svendsen was yet another product of the Leipzig Conservatory, studying violin with Ferdinand David (of Mendelssohn Violin Concerto fame) and composition with Carl Reinecke. But Svendsen’s works that bear national or folkloristic titles, like Norwegian Artist’s Carnival, don’t sound Norwegian the way Grieg’s music does. In fact, in both style and content, there’s little difference between the boisterous, celebratory, dance-like character of the symphony and the Carnival; and listening to the Two Icelandic Melodies, I’m not sure you would know if you were in Iceland or Finland—there’s a hint of Sibelius in the air.

The violin concerto betrays Svendsen’s training as a violinist under David in many places, but it’s not likely to find a niche among the great romantic concertos, firstly because it’s not really much of a virtuoso vehicle, and secondly, because the composer was so symphonically oriented in his approach that, as pointed out by the above Christopherson, who authored the album note, the work is more of a symphony with violin obbligato than it is a concerto, modeled along the lines of Berlioz’s Harold in Italy. It has, however, been recorded before, not that terribly long ago by Lars Bjørnkjær for Danacord, reviewed in 31:6, a disc I’m afraid I don’t have, but also by Arve Tellefsen with the Oslo Philharmonic on a 1990s Norsk Kulturrads Forlag (NKF) CD, which I do have. Though Tellefsen is every bit Marianne Thorsen’s match on the current Chandos release, unfortunately the NKF recording is a bit dull and recessed sounding.

With the exception of the Romance for Violin and Orchestra, the one work which has probably kept Svendsen from slipping below the horizon with the late-setting summer Scandinavian sun, all of the works on this third volume of his orchestral output are pleasant and attractive, and in the capable hands of Neeme Järvi, the Bergen Philharmonic, violinist Marianne Thorsen, and Chandos’s engineers, beautifully played and recorded; but—ah, the inevitable “but”—the musical nourishment Svendsen affords is probably not life-sustaining. Still, if you’re an obsessive collector, as I suspect many of Fanfare’s readers are, and you acquired Volumes 1 and 2 of this Svendsen survey, this third is obligatory.

FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

In the wake of violinist Lydia Mordkovitch’s untimely death in 2014, Chandos has reissued and remastered several of her best recordings for the label, including this 1989 coupling of both Shostakovich violin concertos. The performances remain outstanding on every level.

It’s easy to slight No. 2’s often austere countenance and relatively sparse textures in favor of No. 1’s wider range of moods, textures, and greater surface virtuosity, yet Mordkovitch proves just as compelling and committed as her mentor David Oistrakh. If anything, she surpasses him in the brooding Adagio, where her slightly slower basic tempo, expressive discretion, and mesmerizingly controlled long legato lines grip you from start to finish. One might prefer a more incisive and playful approach to the Allegro finale, yet here the slippery thematic exchanges between soloist and orchestra convey a sense of gravitas and symphonic integrity that build to overwhelming climaxes.

These qualities also reveal themselves in the First concerto’s great third-movement Passacaglia, where the Scottish brass section achieves a smooth collective blend that still projects the music’s ferocity, matched by Mordkovitch’s perfectly tuned high sustained notes and octaves that both pierce and speak at the same time. Both Mordkovitch and Järvi revel in the Burlesque’s bleak brio and in the Scherzo’s rapid-fire chamber interplay, while the long first movement’s gloomy trajectory unfolds with carefully gauged dynamics and balances, from the low-lying woodwind rumbles to the ethereal celesta and harp intertwining at the end. Chandos’ resonant ambience closely approximates concert hall realism, especially if you’re listening via excellent quality loudspeakers or headphones.

-- Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com

One of the most important Parry issues for many years, this is a credit to all the performers, not least the warmly committed conductor, Neeme Järvi, drawing the whole ensemble together.

– Gramophone [12/2012]

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A moving tribute to one of Britain great composers.

When I showed this CD to a friend they responded by suggesting that it would be right up my street. Unfortunately, this comment was barbed. ‘My street’ in this case meant ‘over-blown’ ceremonial music of the kind that uncritically lauded Empire, glorified war and insisted that the ‘rich man [was] in his castle, The poor man at his gate’. Before the reader runs off with the idea that I am politically slightly to the right of Sir Oswald Mosley, I wish to make three comments. Firstly, Parry and Elgar were men of their time so their choice of poems to set and ideas to compose were different to someone living in the post-Colonial, ‘liberal’ and cosmopolitan society of the early part of the 21 ^st century. Secondly, not all ‘ceremonial’ music is bad. For example, while I have never been a fan of Elgar’s The Crown of India, I do love Walton’s coronation marches. By definition, this style of music tends to celebrate the life and times of the Royal Family or matters of ‘state’. However, it need not be ‘tub-thumping’ or ‘jingoistic’. Often it can be reflective and contain profound thoughts on mankind’s adventure. One need only consider the ‘Cortege’ by Cecil Coles - ideal for Remembrance Sunday yet full of the ‘horror of war’.

Thirdly, there is a tendency to present Parry as a caricature of a ‘Tory’ squire who was into all the trappings of the feudal society. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is not the place to analyse the composer’s political or moral views, however it is fair to say that he was liberal - possibly even a ‘radical’. His religious views were typically agnostic in spite of Delius’ suggestion that if he lived long enough he would have set the entire Bible! H.R.H. Charles, Prince of Wales has noted in his introduction to the CD liner-notes that Parry, in spite of his ‘hugely energetic personality’ revealed a ‘nervous, melancholy, even depressive temperament which infuses the inspiring and noble sentiment of much of his music with a darker, complex hue.’

The listener to this CD will be surprised. In spite of the cover photograph of a grand royal procession, much of this music is introverted and deeply moving. Some of it may have been written to celebrate national or royal events - but all of it has a thoughtful disposition. There is nothing here for the ‘jingoist’ expects possibly the Prom favourite Jerusalem. However, this hymn setting has been accepted by people of all political persuasions and none as a great national treasure.

A good place to start is the setting of John O’ Gaunt’s verse England. This song has occasionally been mentioned in the same breath as the well-known Jerusalem yet they could not be more different in their musical nature.

The story goes that after the success of the Blake setting, Gilbert Murray, the classicist and Ernest Walker, the composer, asked Parry to make a setting of John O’ Gaunt’s famous monologue from Act II of Shakespeare’s play Richard II. (This royal throne of Kings, this sceptred island). There is nothing bombastic about this beautiful unison song. If anything it is undemonstrative and reflective, with a greater emphasis being on the final words ‘Grant, Lord, that England … May be renown’d through all recorded ages / For Christian service and true Chivalry’. Jeremy Dibble has noted that England is about more than just flying the flag - ‘its rousing tune expresses a sense of vision, self-sacrifice and hope, typical of Parry’s own outlook.’

Jerusalem is given a largely thoughtful performance here. This song, beloved by the vast majority of the nation, is usually heard in the opulent Elgar orchestration. The original Parry song has slightly fewer grand aspirations. The composer suggested that the first verse ought to be sung by a soprano solo with the second sung by ‘all available voices’. Formerly composed as a ‘choral song’ with only a piano accompaniment, Parry orchestrated it right at the end of his life for a Suffrage Demonstration Concert on 13 March 1918 at the Queen’s Hall. My only complaint is the excessive length of the final word (Land) sung by the choir. This is at variance with my score of the work.

The nation collectively heard the Wedding March from Parry’s incidental music to the Greek comedy, The Birds by Aristophanes at the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge; it was played just before the arrival of Her Majesty the Queen. For Parry enthusiasts this extract had been available on Lyrita featuring Sir Adrian Boult and the London Philharmonic Orchestra. As far as I know, until now there has been no recording of the entire score. The present performing edition has been prepared for performance by Philip Brookes.

The Birds was produced by the Cambridge University Amateur Dramatic Club in November 1893. Jeremy Dibble has suggested that this music is full of ‘humour and light-heartedness’ and notes that the score is ‘rich in artifice and invention’. I enjoyed it. I guess that knowledge of the Aristophanes play may be of some help to listeners but all these numbers stand well on their own account. I was especially attracted to the gentle Entr’acte, the cheeky waltz, and the beautiful Intermezzo. All these display Parry’s skills at musical design and orchestration at their best.

The piece that gave my friend the greatest cause for concern about political correctness was the short ode entitled The Glories of Blood and State. He must have imagined Parry indulging in some idealist ‘Brooke-ian’ ‘pro patria mori’ sentiment. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is an early work dating from 1883, written some three years after the composer broke the mould of dissipation in English music with his Wagnerian cantata Prometheus Unbound. This ground-breaking work probably does not represent the ‘renaissance’ of British music - just the realisation that it was equal to the German hegemony. The present work is a setting of a poem by the English author James Shirley (1596-1666). Charles Lamb summed up this writer’s career with ‘[he] claims a place among the worthies of this period, not so much for any transcendent genius in himself, as that he was the last of a great race, all of whom spoke nearly the same language and had a set of moral feelings and notions in common.’ The funeral dirge from his play ‘The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses’ was regarded as a meditation on the fact that death is a leveller - kings and peasants are subject to the same laws of nature - ‘There is no armour against fate.’ The exposition of the music is excellent. There is a Brahmsian feel to this music that reflects Parry’s love of the Deutsches Requiem: Wagner’s ghost has (almost) been laid to rest. Perhaps anyone still worried about Parry and his ‘tub-thumping’ should meditate on the last line of the poem - ‘Only the actions of the just/Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust’.

Sir Henry Wood wrote in his fascinating My Life of Music (1938) that ‘one work we produced I thought was going to live - Parry’s Magnificat - but it has now dropped out of the concert repertoire. I have never been able to understand why’. It is a sentiment with which I strongly concur: I believe that the Magnificat is a masterpiece. It was composed for the 1897 Three Choirs Festival and was duly performed there on 15 September. It has one primary exemplar: Bach’s Magnificat of 1732-35; however, the listener will feel that much of the strength of this music is similar to the massive contrapuntal constructions of Blest Pair of Sirens which was completed ten years earlier. They may also consider that there are hints of Brahms. The work is conceived in five sections: the first and last being composed for soprano, chorus and orchestra, the second and fourth for soloists alone with the middle section being composed for chorus.

The listener will find this setting extremely satisfying for Parry has managed to balance his forces in a near-perfect manner. The ‘aggressive’ parts of the text are balanced with exquisite introspective moments. Lyrical music is counterpoised with ‘contrapuntal fertility and rich choral textures’. Some of the soprano soloist’s music is reminiscent of Brahms’ German Requiem and certain passages have more of an operatic, rather than a liturgical, mood to them.

It is interesting that Parry drew the text from the Vulgate Latin Bible rather than use an English translation such as the Book of Common Prayer. It would be instructive to know why. After the first performance, Parry dedicated the work to Queen Victoria.

In 1911, Hubert Parry was commissioned to compose a liturgical Te Deum for the Coronation of King George V. This was in addition to the well-known anthem I was Glad. This work displays the ‘pageantry, ceremony and grandeur’ of an important national occasion. This mood was reinforced by the use of the same six trumpets that were required for the anthem. Yet throughout, a more serious note is struck: tenderness and solemnity are never far away. Parry seems to be well-aware of the more profound and numinous qualities of the Coronation Service. He weaves the well-known tunes St Anne and Old 100 ^th into the texture. This is now a ‘concert’ piece: I do not believe that it could be used in the context of a religious ceremony - no matter how ‘high.’ It is worthy and I find it both exhilarating and moving.

The CD is an ideal production. From the highly imaginative and packed programme eloquently communicated through superb performances. The sound quality is excellent. The liner-notes are exemplary, however that is only to be expected from the champion of Parry and Stanford, Professor Jeremy Dibble of Durham University.

When I look at the catalogue of Parry’s music and encounter works like the great Fourth Symphony, the delightful evocation of childhood in the Shulbrede Tunes and the celebration of the composer’s yacht in the ‘Wanderer’ Fantasia and Fugue for organ, I see a composer, who, far from revelling in any false ‘my country right or wrong’ attitude was a thoughtful man: The Prince of Wales notes that he took ‘a wide interest in politics, the Arts, science and the most current philosophical discussion of his time…’ Parry was a complex character: this complexity is revealed in this CD.

Finally, my friend was wrong. This is not a CD of ‘jingoistic’ music: there is no sense of ‘tub-thumping’ or what current-day political correctness would find abhorrent. It stand as a moving tribute to one of Britain great composers. It is good that we are now beginning to appreciate that fact again.

-- John France , MusicWeb International

"Bavouzet’s Haydn is unmatched in its zest and its wit. But it is also substantial, informed and deeply rewarding."

--The New York Times on Bavouzet's Haydn Sonatas cycle, 2022

Alongside an internationally acclaimed celebration of Debussy’s centenary, Jean-Efflam Bavouzet continues his sumptuous journey through Haydn, the installments consistently praised for their intelligent approach and clear and vivid interpretations. Recorded on a modern Yamaha CFX in the warm acoustic of Potton Hall in Suffolk, the series has now reached Volume 7, which showcases several rarely heard sonatas, some of which have been considered of dubious authenticity or outright apocryphal. With the exception of No. 13 (Hob. XVI: 6), absolutely and unarguably authentic, these sonatas survive only in the form of copies, and to establish a chronology is difficult, even impossible. But through Jean-Efflam Bavouzet’s playing, all these pieces are revealed in their purest essence and diversity, from the energetic, witty, and ironic to the graceful, tender, and intimate.

REVIEWS

Extremely well recorded in Potton hall in Suffolk, Bavouzet’s Yamaha enables him to bring ideal clarity to these elegant works.

--BBC Music Magazine

Jean-Efflam Bavouzet’s Haydn isn’t a comfortable ride but a vivid one. Take his stimulating approach to Sonata 58’s first movement; it has warmth, athleticism and a feel of being improvised while missing nothing of Haydn’s harmonic, rhythmic and dynamic twists. There’s a certain quirkiness about it, but that is exactly Haydn’s.

--MusicWeb International (Michael Greenhalgh)

Renowned violinist Tasmin Little returns to Chandos with a line-up of three women composers whose lives share some features but also significant differences that illustrate the complex lives of female musicians. Clara Schumann, Dame Ethel Smyth and Amy Beach all came from families that encouraged their musical interests but balked, in varying degrees, at professional training and engagement. All three composers draw on the influence of Robert Schumann and Brahms; Beach and Smyth in particular were fond of metrical and motivic manipulation.Tasmin Little plays this music close to her heart with her usual warmth and dexterity. The manuscript to Clara Schumann’s final chamber work Three Romances states ‘for piano and violin’, an ordering reflected in the relative complexity of the parts, the florid passagework here played beautifully by long-term collaborator with Little, John Lenehan.

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REVIEWS:

This delightful, beautifully performed album makes an emphatic, seemingly effortless case for these composers’ music.

– BBC Music Magazine

Neither the Beach or the Smyth, surely, has ever been treated to anything like Little’s gleaming, endlessly fluid tone or John Lenehan’s warmly characterised, unfailingly sensitive pianism. There’s a flexibility and sense of sweep to Little and Lenehan’s performance of the Beach that’s utterly persuasive on its own terms. The two players respond to each other as if by instinct.

– Gramophone

It was during the summer of 1911 that George Butterworth (a victim of The Great War, and whose enchanting 1913 idyll, The Banks of Green Willow, comprises the achingly poignant curtain-raiser here) first suggested to Vaughan Williams that he should write a purely orchestral symphony. VW dug out some sketches he had made for a symphonic poem about London, whilst at the same time deriving fruitful inspiration from HG Wells’s 1908 novel, Tono-Bungay (and its visionary final chapter in particular). Geoffrey Toye gave the successful Queen’s Hall premiere in March 1914, and VW subsequently dedicated the score to Butterworth’s memory. Over the next two decades or so, the work underwent three revisions (including much judicious pruning) and was published twice (in 1920 and 1936). In his compelling 1941 recording with the Cincinnati SO, Eugene Goossens employed the 1920 version, which adds about three minutes of music to that definitive 1936 ‘revised edition’. Now Richard Hickox at long last gives us the chance to hear VW’s original, hour-long canvas – and riveting listening it makes too!

Whereas the opening movement is as we know it today, the ensuing, expanded Lento acquires an intriguingly mournful, even world-weary demeanour. Unnervingly, the ecstatic full flowering of that glorious E major Largamente idea, first heard at fig F in the final revision, never materialises, and the skies glower menacingly thereafter. Towards the end of the Scherzo (at 5'44) comes a haunting episode that Arnold Bax was particularly sad to see cut (‘a mysterious passage of strange and fascinating cacophony’ was how he described it in his autobiography, Farewell, My Youth [Scholar Press; 1992]). The finale, too, contains a wealth of additional material, most strikingly a liturgical theme of wondrous lyrical beauty (try from 6'42) and, in the epilogue, a gripping paragraph (beginning at 15'47) which both looks back to the work’s introduction as well as forward to the first movement of A Pastoral Symphony. Sprawling it may be, but VW’s epic conception evinces a prodigal inventiveness, poetry, mystery and vitality that do not pall with repeated hearings, and, time and again, I find myself marvelling at just how hugely influential its intoxicatingly colourful orchestral palette must have been on Holst’s The Planets and even Bax’s wartime tone-poems.

Hickox and the LSO respond with an unquenchable spirit, generous flexibility and tender affection that suit VW’s admirably ambitious inspiration to a T, and Chandos’s sound is big and bold to match. Quite simply, an essential purchase for anyone remotely interested in British music.

-- Gramophone [7/2001]

This new release from Chandos' early music label, Chaconne, focuses on Buxtehude's seven cantatas, collectively known as Membra Jesu nostri. These are among Buxtehude's best-known works, and perfectly exemplify the seventeenth-century preference for musical structures that are broadly symmetrical, but subtly varied in detail. Each of the seven cantatas has roughly the same shape: Biblical passages are set for the whole ensemble and enclose stanzas from the mediaeval poem Rhythmica oratio, which are set as arias for reduced vocal forces and interspersed with instrumental ritornelli.

Buxtehude's Membra Jesu nostri takes the form of a sequence of seven meditations on the crucified body of Jesus, beginning with the feet ('Ad pedes'), followed by the knees ('Ad genua'), the hands ('Ad manus'), the side ('Ad latus'), the breast ('Ad pectus'), the heart ('Ad cor'), and the face ('Ad faciem'). As such, the work is written from the perspective of a penitent kneeling at the foot of the cross and gradually extending his gaze upwards, meditating on each part of the body in turn. The keys chosen for the cantatas seem to have added symbolic meaning. As the gaze rises, they move from flats to sharps, from C minor to E minor, before finally returning to the opening key to produce a beautifully unified cycle. On this release the cantata cycle is complemented by Matthias Weckmann's Kommet her zu mir alle, a setting of the words from St Matthew's Gospel (11: 28 - 30), in which the composer gives the words of Jesus to a virtuoso bass singer with an impressive range of nearly two octaves, a part here performed by Peter Harvey, and provides him with an accompaniment of two violins, three bass viols, and continuo.

The works on this disc are performed by an excellent ensemble of early music specialists. As exclusive artists, The Purcell Quartet is today popularizing the cantatas of Buxtehude in concerts and recordings involving a fabulous quartet of soloists - Emma Kirkby,Michael Chance, Charles Daniels, and Peter Harvey - to which, for the occasion, the group is joined by the soprano Elin Monahan Thomas. The Quartet has also recorded a huge range of music exclusively for Chandos, including works by Purcell, Corelli, Lawes, Bach, Handel, Vivaldi, Weckmann, Buxtehude, Leclair, Schütz, Couperin, and Biber, to outstanding critical and public acclaim. The early music specialists Fretwork, the viol ensemble, also performs on this recording.

Alan Rawsthorne's music was the soundtrack to adventure. Between 1937 and 1964, he scored 27 films, most with a military or adventurer's theme. Bold brass and soaring strings characterize his vivid musical illustrations of conflict and courage.
His music has a larger than life quality, fitting perfectly with the big screen. The regal style originates from a time when movies were still magic and audiences regarded performances as major events. Rawsthorne captures the essence of drama on the epic scale required by the stories. Recorded in 1999 by Rumon Gamba and the BBC Philharmonic, this album improves upon the original soundtracks with superior sound quality.