For British listeners, the name of Reinecke is likely to evoke Stanford’s recollection - after an uninspiring period of study with him - that “of all the dry musicians I have ever known, he was the most desiccated”. Scandinavians will remember that Grieg thought no better of the man and that for Svendsen, “not only is he envious and bloodless … he is also in the highest degree villainous”. Yet many musicians sought him out during his long reign at the Leipzig Gewandhaus (1860-1895), including Sullivan, Bruch, Delius and the three just mentioned, while Elgar travelled to Leipzig in 1882 to hear him conduct.
 
If this all suggests a plodding academic, the “Undine” Sonata for flute and piano, the one work by Reinecke that remains at least on the fringe of the repertoire, is neither academic nor lacking in fantasy. A disc containing the First Symphony, the Violin Concerto and some smaller pieces suggested to me that further examination of Reinecke would be never less than pleasant, if hardly thrilling. Maybe thrilling would be too strong a word for these cello sonatas too, but they do suggest he was more inspired in chamber music than in larger orchestral pieces.
 
In some ways the first sonata is the most attractive of all. Its ballad-like opening theme immediately catches the attention and the second theme is not only well contrasted, it is introduced in a very remote tonality indeed. What is striking about this movement is the mastery with which it combines free-flowing, rhapsodic feeling with tight formal control. Though Reinecke is said to have looked back to Mendelssohn and Schumann for his models, and certainly rejected Liszt and Wagner, his music combines romantic spirit with an intuitive sense of form. Here, at least, he was able to make his own personal fusion of classical ideals and romantic freedom. The second movement also contains a number of quite contrasting ideas and the finale has much surging passion.
 
The claims of the second sonata are not to be underestimated, either. After a short but brooding introduction the first movement leads off with a pithy, expressive idea that revolved in my head for some days afterwards. Again, Reinecke’s formal control is tight even while the effect is of free rhapsody. The themes tend not to appear and reappear in the expected places and tonalities, and are inclined to undergo transformations just where an exact recapitulation might seem in sight. The second movement is marked “Quasi fantasia” and has much soaring romantic melody. The finale starts with a catchy tune but is inclined to chase its own tail a bit too much for its own good. This, admittedly, is a common failing among 19^th century finales when not written by Brahms.
 
Altogether, it may be said that, if Reinecke did not revolutionize sonata forms, he nevertheless evolved an intuitively inventive way of reinterpreting received formal wisdom. The interesting thing is that exactly the same thing could be said about his grudging pupil Stanford’s chamber music, even down to a tendency to write finales that chase their own tail. One is bound to wonder if Reinecke’s music did not have a greater influence on Stanford than he later cared to admit, having been so disappointed by the man himself. Also common to both composers is a complete equality between the two partners, with plenty of challenging material for both players and a continual melodic interplay that must make Reinecke’s chamber music rewarding to perform. Ultimately, I suppose this music inhabits smiling valleys and pleasant domestic surroundings rather than soar above the mountain peaks, but we can surely find a place for music that does this so attractively.
 
The third sonata arouses more ambivalent reactions. Dedicated “to the shade of Brahms”, who had just died, its formal mastery will not be questioned. Furthermore, while in one sense it occupies harmonic ground solidly rooted in Schumann, its restless modulations look ahead to the world of Reger. It is a bitter, even vehement work by a composer whose art was by then left high and dry by musical progress. The only problem is that Reinecke’s easy flow of melodic inspiration seems to have dried up. The themes are clear-cut and functional, but neither the composer’s masterly development of them, nor these performers’ imagination and conviction, can hide the fact that the cupboard is a little bare. Only the second theme of the finale recalls the warmth of earlier years. Nevertheless, as often with late works by composers clinging to the style of their youth in the teeth of what they perceive as ugly modernism, the sense of isolation and disillusionment can be moving in themselves. Here, too, the case of Stanford is an obvious parallel.
 
Manuel Fischer-Dieskau, just in case you’ve been wondering, is the great baritone’s son. It would seem that interventionism, as an interpretative creed, runs in the family. But, like his father at his best, MF-D knows how to intervene in a way that brings the music to life, and he extracts the maximum range of expression from these scores. The Canadian pianist Connie Shih has an easy technical command and a well-rounded tone in the heavier moments. She and the cellist seem in full agreement over how to play this music. They leave me wondering why the first two sonatas, at least, never made it into the not very large repertoire of romantic cello sonatas.
 
Cellists reading these words may be wondering where they can get the scores. They will be delighted to find that the IMSLP-Petrucci Library, a great Internet resource, apparently offers all three for free download. They will be a bit less delighted when they find that the file of no.1 is missing pages 4-15, jumping from the first page of the first movement to the last page of the second, so you get only the finale complete. Also, there’s not a cello part, instead there’s an alternative violin part. The second sonata is complete but the piano part of no.3 lacks the last page, or maybe the last two. In compensation you get pages 10 and 11 twice. I used to think that people who do things for love not money do them properly, but on this showing even some who work for love are as slap-happy as any half-hearted employee anxious for the next coffee break. Granted, one shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth, but we may reasonably check that it has all four legs.
 
None of this little grumble, obviously, affects the value of this finely recorded and excellently annotated disc of three cello sonatas well worth investigating. The name of Reinecke is beginning to come alive for me.
 
-- Christopher Howell, MusicWeb International

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.



BRAHMS Piano Sonatas: No. 1 in C; No. 3 in f • Hardy Rittner (pn) • MDG 9041538 (Hybrid multichannel SACD: 67:51)


“One of the best new solo Brahms albums to come my way in quite some time” was how I described Volume 1 of Hardy Rittner’s survey of Brahms’s early piano works in 32:1. Volume 2 adds the First and Third Sonatas to the Second Sonata, Variations on a Theme of Schumann , and ballades previously released. For this recording, Rittner plays a slightly earlier piano, one made in 1849–50, from the workshop of Ignaz Bösendorfer. On Volume 1, he played an instrument made in 1851.


I’ve always wondered why Brahms never wrote another piano sonata after having written three huge and enormously difficult essays in the form before his 21st birthday. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to. We know that his initial sketches for what would eventually become the D-Minor Piano Concerto began as a sonata for two pianos. The same is true of the F-Minor Piano Quintet, which Brahms did preserve and publish as op. 34b. But in both cases, these were conceived for two keyboards, not one. Brahms was an accomplished pianist, appearing publicly in that capacity on a regular basis, so one would think that the solo piano sonata would have been a logical vehicle for him to exploit. My conjecture—and it’s just that—is that even though the piano, by every evidence of the sound of the instrument on this disc (an instrument of exactly the same vintage as the sonatas), had evolved to its approximately modern-day state, it was still incapable of producing the symphonic sound and textures Brahms was able to achieve in his chamber works that joined piano with strings. The Bösendorfer here—serial number 1665—is of the new rounded case design with separate fallboard, a compass of seven octaves, and a length of over seven and a half feet. It also has both damper and una corda pedals.


A reading of any history of the piano’s evolution will tell you that, except for body length, which increased to approximately nine feet in the early 20th century, and continuing refinements to the frame and key mechanisms, most of the technical innovations, such as the double escapement action, the single piece cast iron frame, felt-covered hammers, the sostenuto pedal, and over-stringing were all inventions and improvements of the 19th century, some dating from even before Brahms was born. So, for all intents and purposes, Rittner’s Bösendorfer is much closer to a Steinway Model D than it is to any instrument Mozart would have known.


The sonic impact of this hybrid multichannel SACD is palpable, as it was on Volume 1. I find myself, however, not quite as wowed by Rittner’s readings of these two sonatas as I was by his previous release. His playing, technically, is still most impressive. But he is competing here against a number of pianists who have earned very high marks in this repertoire. I’m thinking in particular of Emanuel Ax and Mikhail Rudy. What seems ever so slightly lacking to me in Rittner’s performances is Brahms’s youthful exuberance, the sense of a young man barely out of his teens feeling, if not sowing, his oats. There’s just a bit of reserve or holding back in some of the go-for-broke passages, where Ax and Rudy throw caution to the winds and abandon themselves to Brahms’s unleashed passions.


This is a very minor criticism and should not put anyone off from acquiring this disc. Just to hear these works performed on an instrument that Brahms himself might have played, and captured in a recording of such depth and physical presence, is enough to offset any trifling reservation I may have expressed. If Rittner and MDG are planning a full run at all of Brahms’s works for solo piano, I definitely look forward to future installments.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Richard Strauss composed a career total of more than two hundred songs, most of them for a high female voice. The master repeatedlyw as inspired by sopranos, and the fact that he married one of these ladies, Pauline de Ahna, is proof of his intimate association with this wonderful art. Maria Bengtsson's fine selection from all his compositional periods demonstrates the versatility of Straussian composition, and in Sarah Tysman she has a piano partner whose subtle interpretations far transcend mere accompaniment. Commenting, illustrating, harmonizing- Strauss indeed assigns very important tasks to the piano. In "Morgen!" it is more the case that the voice accompanies the piano; thunder and storm are experienced in "Schlechtes Wetter"; and in "Standchen" we can even feel the youth's jittery nerves. The writer's shout verging on bitonality at the end of "Fur funfzehn Pfennige" shows what undiscovered possibilities lie in store in traditional harmony; of course, until the end of his long life, Strauss rejected all atonal advances. Maria Bengtsson meets these challenges with the natural magnificence of a virtuoso also schooled on Strauss's theatrical oeuvre. And her teamwork with Sarah Tysman can be experienced in impressive transparency above all in this meticulously produced album.

When Friedrich Wilhelm Markull died at the age of seventy-one in 1887, posthumous tributes honored him as a “most highly knowledgeable musician and a most highly outstanding organist and composer for the church, school, and salon and of classical orchestral works.” For more than fifty years Markull had played a significant role in Danzig’s music culture. It was in a very dismal state when he began his activity there, but he built it up ex nihilo and brought it to a great flourishing. Andrzej Szadejko has chosen a first attractive selection from Markull’s countless organ compositions and recorded these works on the historic Bucholz organ at the Church of St. Nicholas in Stralsung- a welcome continuation of the very promisingly inaugurated Musica Baltica series. Markull made his musical debut as a child prodigy and was appointed to the post of principal organist at St. Mary’s Church in Danzig. Its organ with three manuals and over fifty stops offered everything that the Northern German romantic musical heart desired. In 1945 St. Mary’s Church was destroyed along with Danzig’s entire city center. Fortunately, however, the sound typical of early romanticism has been preserved for today’s listeners in the lavishly restored Stralsund organ. The many small-format compositions accounting for a large part of Markull’s oeuvre in particular profit from these circumstances. Many of them must have found use during religious services, and among them we find chorale preludes and settings, postludes, and trios. The interpretive markings ranging from “Slow without dragging” through “Lively with a very flowing recital” to “Fiery and animated” are typically romantic and make for a delightfully varied listening experience.

The opening Trois danses cubaines by Alejandro García Caturla (1906-1940) is very much a typical example of Hispano-American musical culture, and would be right at home on a disc of music by Chavez, Villa-Lobos or Ginastera. Like Aaron Copland, he studied under Nadia Boulanger during a stay in Paris, and likewise seamlessly integrates old and new world techniques to great effect. Too bad he died so young. He was a lawyer by day, and it seems one of his clients was rather "disappointed" by his services. The following Preludio para Penthesilea by composer Carlos Fariñas (1934-2002) has, according to the liner notes, become a highly requested concert piece, and I can understand why. With it's constant barrage of multiple percussion instruments adding layer after layer of cross-rhythms and powerful forward momentum, it's hypnotic and almost ritualistic effect could certainly bring an audience to it's feet. A quick change of gears brings US to the beautifully exotic Pregón y Danza by Enrique González Mántici (1912-1974) whose opening pages bring to mind a sound reminescent of Miles Davis around his "Sketches of Spain" period. The aptly titled Rítmotiv, first performed in 2002 under the direction of it's composer Guido López-Gavilán del Rosario (b1944), is an orchestral tour-de-force as it introduces, overlaps and superimposes various rhythmic motifs and melodies to become a cornucopia of captivating sounds all assembled together by a craftsman. The final work on this CD, the deeply moving in Memoriam. A mi esposa Lillian Acosta by Alfredo Diez Nieto (b1918), once again demonstrates that grief is very much a universal human emotion and is expressed the same way regardless of nationality. It's the odd man out on this CD, simply because for that reason, it does not sound Cuban at all. It's a striking work, scored for strings alone, written to honor the loss of his wife in 2010. It's remarkable by it's simple gestures and yet clutching emotion, with closing notes to ponder over.

Anton Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 is one of classical music's all-time greatest hits. It was composed and premiered in New Yok in 1893, which is why - but not only why - it is known as the ''New World Symphony.'' On this recording, which also includes the first cycle on the equally popular Slavonic Dances, the Piano Duo Trenkner / Speidel once again demonstrates the great advantages and fascinating rhythmic verve offered by reductions for piano four hands. Trimmed of the comfortable and sumptuous sound of the large orchestra, Dvorak's genial treatment of motives of Bohemian folk character shines in even greater glory. However, not a single one of these motives is genuine folk music. Both in the United States and in his native Bohemia, Dvorak occupied himself very thoroughly with traditional music, including African American spirituals and Native American songs. He then invented his own melodies of the same character and was very successful - as the famous main theme of the second movement demonstrates; its melancholy feeling goes straight to the heart! Dvorak also thought out the Slavonic Dances completely on his own and so very precisely hit just the right tone that research has repeatedly been conducted to determine the precise origins of this music. The constant shifts of tempo and rhythmic modifications represent a genuine challenge for a pian oduo but are no problem at all for Evelinde trenkner and Sontraud Speidel, who draw on many years of joint performance experience. While Dvorak only later prepared the version of the Slavonic Dances for piano four hands, he produced the keyboard version of his ninth symphony at about the same time as its premiere. Since he repeatedly ranges quite far from the orchestral version, it does not involve a piano reduction in the usual sense. The result, a genuine piece of music for piano duo.

HANDEL Joshua • Peter Neumann, cond; Myung-Hee Hyun ( Achsah ); Alex Potter ( Othniel ); James Gilchrist ( Joshua ); Georg Poplutz ( Angel ); Konstantin Wolff ( Caleb ); Cologne CCh; Collegium Cartusianum (period instruments) • MDG 332 1532 (2 CDs: 122:40 Text and Translation)


Joshua is not one of Handel’s great oratorios. Although it is patterned on the previous year’s Judas Maccabaeus with a perfunctory love story tacked on, Morrell’s mediocre libretto did not inspire Handel to the heights of their earlier collaboration. But there are some very good things in Joshua , and second-rate Handel is better than music from some composers’ top drawer, so Joshua is worthy of the occasional performance and recording.


My only previous encounter with Peter Neumann’s Handel is his excellent Athalia , which I consider the preferred recording of that work. His work here is on the same high level. He paces the work well, giving scrupulous attention to Handel’s tempo markings. In the few da capo arias, ornaments are tasteful and appropriate. Orchestra and chorus perform at a very high level, and one is almost unaware that English is not the choristers’ native tongue.


As with other period-instrument recordings that have come my way in recent months, I am puzzled by the use of continuo keyboards. The organ is sometimes used in place of the harpsichord in recitatives and arias. Neumann even goes further, sometimes using organ, harpsichord, and lute together, contrary to correct historical practice.


The soloists are a very accomplished group. James Gilchrist, one of only two native English soloists, is excellent as Joshua. He is very responsive to the words he is singing, projecting what drama there is in his role when he is given the opportunity. Despite the fact that most of the other soloists are German-born, they sing the English words with practically no hint of an accent. Myung-Hee Hyun was born in Korea, but has studied in Germany. Her diction is also excellent, as of course is that of Alex Potter, the other native English singer. None of these singers need yield anything to the soloists on Robert King’s recording on Hyperion, the main competition to this recording.


There are two additional recordings of Joshua in the current catalog. I have not heard the recording conducted by Budday on K & K, but it received a negative evaluation in Fanfare 31:5. The recording conducted by Palmer on Newport has its attractions, but is outclassed by slightly better competition. Anyone looking to add Joshua to his collection could not go wrong with either King or Neumann.


FANFARE: Ron Salemi

MOZART Piano Concertos: Nos. 6, 13, 16 • Christian Zacharias (pn, cond); Lausanne Co • MDG GOLD 1667 (SACD: 67:07)


This is Volume 7 in what is apparently going to be a complete set of the Mozart piano concertos by Christian Zacharias. I asked to review it because I was so impressed by his performances of the five Beethoven concertos with Armin Jordan conducting (Cascavelle 3118), in which Zacharias’s enlivened inflections of phrase and rhythmic acuity were combined with original and highly imaginative cadenzas that acted within the concertos like mini-fantasias.


I am not at all disappointed by his solo playing here, which is crisp yet lighter in tone than his Beethoven, which is wholly appropriate for Mozart. The problem, to me, is his conducting and the overall performance and sound quality of the Lausanne Chamber Orchestra. Its playing is “soft” both in phrasing and attack, coming across almost as background or elevator music. This was the kind of Mozart sound in vogue during the late 1970s and early ’80s, before the historically informed crowd moved in to show us that such earlier conductors as Toscanini, Furtwängler, Doráti, and Markevitch had it right, that unlike Haydn, whose music sounds good at a slightly relaxed pace and with a wide dynamic range, Mozart tends toward sameness and boredom when given that approach. Mozart needs to be performed with a combination of emotional commitment and sharply etched contours, as in the performances of Harnoncourt, Norrington, Pinnock, and others. In the case of the piano concertos, one can scarcely imagine or achieve finer performances than those of the entire series recorded by fortepianist Jos van Immerseel and Anima Eterna on Canal Grande 8016.


Of course, there are listeners who are much in favor of this particular style of Mozart performance. I myself was one of them in the early 1980s, when I became a fan of Murray Perahia’s then-groundbreaking series of Mozart concertos. For them, then, this disc and its six other counterparts issued so far will make quite satisfying listening. The hybrid multichannel sound is warm and round, which again de-emphasizes the music’s edge.


FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

GLAZUNOV String Quartets: No. 1; No. 7 • Utrecht Qrt • MDG 603 1736-2 (52: 16)


Contrasting the first and last string quartets of Glazunov on a single release is a good idea. Unlike many such pairings, they literally do represent the beginning and end of his compositional career, a sort of real-life version of Machaut’s Ma fin est mon commencement . And Glazunov, as one of the foremost admirers in his day of the Franco-Flemish School and its antecedents, would have caught the reference.


His String Quartet No. 1 was the composer’s first published work, premiered in 1882, when he was 16. It was first presented at one of the Friday soirées of the wealthy timber merchant Mitrofan Belyayev, where composers and performers met each week to perform and critique each other’s work. The public premiere took place a few months later, and received an ovation similar to Glazunov’s First Symphony. At a time when Russian nationalism was still a subject of intense debate, with few adequate examples in chamber music, this First Quartet conveys technical assurance and a rich sense of style. The opening movement possesses an authority in its inspired materials and detailed, idiomatic writing that would credit a far more experienced composer. The scherzo is competent, but less individualized, as Glazunov wouldn’t start up his series of remarkable essays in this vein until the Second Symphony, four years later. By contrast, the songful, miniature andante is an early cradle song-like example of the striking lyricism and harmonic subtleties the composer would subsequently lavish on many similar movements. The finale is one of those hybrid sonata-rondos based on two folklike themes that Glazunov would use repeatedly to round off his larger multimovement works.


The Seventh String Quartet was completed in 1930, in Paris. It was among Glazunov’s last compositions, and is both considerably more vivid and imaginative than the pallid Sixth of nine years earlier. Its opening movement is unusually rich in imitative textures and contrapuntal procedures, looking back to the Renaissance, as noted above—not for nothing its subtitle, Hommage au passé . Russian nationalism, which had become less pronounced in Glazunov’s later works, reappears as well, though without discarding the chromatically shifting harmonies of his Eighth and unfinished Ninth symphonies. The slow movement, “Le souffle du printemps,” has the character of a lyrical recitative surrounding lighter material that occasionally launches into full-throated, Borodin-like song. The scherzo, labeled “Dans la forêt mystérieuse,” is the last in an amazing series notable for their delicacy, whimsy, and imagination. This one, spun out of short motifs, irregular rhythms, and counterpoint, creates an impression of unpredictable, fast-moving shadows and complex features beneath a transparently simple surface. The finale, “Festival Russe,” is exactly what it says—with celebratory bells, balalaikas strumming, and a chorus singing joyous hymns, as well as brief recollections of earlier movements, handled with panache. Thus Glazunov returned to the inspiration of his musical youth, and for a brief moment successfully recovered it.


This is the final release in the Utrecht String Quartet’s Glazunov series. I’ve previously reviewed its recordings of the Third and Fifth quartets (MDG 603 1236-2), the Sixth Quartet and the Novelettes (MDG 603 1239-2), and the String Quintet and Suite for String Quintet (MDG 603 1238). The features of its work as a group have remained fairly constant: technically expert playing, a sleekly attractive tone, and an internal response to each other and to the music that is only possible when an ensemble has worked a great deal of time on a given work. The approach is cooler, more objectified than the older Shostakovich Quartet recordings of Glazunov from the 1970s (on Olympia; deleted, but still available from some sources) that feature warmer phrasing, a less linear approach to tempo, and more rubato and portamento. Overall, I respond better in this music to the Shostakovich’s approach, which was developed in training under musicians to whom Russian nationalism was as natural as Beethoven and Brahms. But I find much to enjoy in the Utrecht’s balance, textural clarity, and affection for these works.


The group is least successful in the First Quartet’s finale, where in place of the moderato tempo designation it prefers an andante for much of the movement, and in the Seventh Quartet’s andante affectuoso , which goes at a moderato clip and loses much of its charm in the process. These two instances on this disc (and others, in the series) seem of a part with the group’s emotional coolness, a certain reticence to engage the music at a simple emotional level—hence the inability to express effusive enthusiasm and tenderness. Far better is the finale to the Seventh Quartet, also marked moderato , but with more vigor and flexibility, perhaps because the movement is more complex than its counterpart in the First. The soft playing in the Seventh’s scherzo is a treat, and the four-part harmony, though lacking the richness of the Shostakovich performers, has a spaciousness and majesty that contributes much to the opening movements of both works.


The sound is immediate and close, yet without mechanical noises. In short, this is a distinguished recording by the Utrecht String Quartet, and a suitable one on which to end its survey of Glazunov.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal