LISZT Polonaise from Yevgeney Onegin. Le Rossignol. Chanson bohémienne. Abschied. Mazurka. March from Russlan and Ludmilla. Prelude to the Borodin Polka. Russian Galop. Tarantella by César Cui. Slavic Tarentella by Dargomyzhsky. 2 Anton Rubinstein songs. Autrefois • Alexandre Dossin (pn) • NAXOS 572432 (66: 25)


The Naxos traversal of Liszt’s complete piano music, which began in 1997, has now reached its 35th volume with Alexandre Dossin playing a fascinating program of transcriptions of Russian composers. Dossin’s bona fides as a Liszt player of distinction were established with his 2007 contribution to the series, a disc devoted to the Verdi transcriptions and paraphrases. This new release shows him in wide-ranging repertoire, from salon trifles such as the Chanson bohémienne of Bulakhov, through the resplendent setting of the Polonaise from Tchaikovsky’s Yevgeny Onegin , to the heartrending Abschied (Farewell), a simple song setting for Liszt’s beloved pupil Siloti.


The chief interest of this repertoire, however, is not its variety, but its chronology. Five of the transcriptions—those based on music of Alyabyev, Bulakhov, Glinka, and Vielgorsky—are souvenirs of Liszt’s Russian tours of the 1840s. The isolated Mazurka “composed by a St. Petersburg amateur,” possibly Vielgorsky, dates from 1856, during Liszt’s Weimar years. The remainder—including the Tchaikovsky Polonaise and the Borodin, Dargomyzhsky, and Cui transcriptions as well as the two Rubinstein songs—were all set by Liszt in 1880 or later. In other words, these final seven transcriptions are products of the last six years of Liszt’s life and thus contemporaneous with such late-style works as Czárdás macabre , the Hungarian Historical Portraits, Bagatelle without Tonality, Unstern!, and the several pieces memorializing Wagner.


The Polonaise from Onegin , easily the most familiar work on the disc, is given an extrovert reading that highlights its profusion of opulent pianistic detail without obscuring the overall structure and momentum of the dance. Dossin’s interpretation readily holds its own beside those older, famous ones of Cziffra and Ponti, and perhaps surpasses them in its unforced poise and characteristic voice. Dossin approaches Alyabyev’s The Nightingale , set by Liszt as a veritable mini-Russian rhapsody, with intelligence and finesse. Meanwhile, the quirky Circassian March from Glinka’s Russlan and Ludmilla, a virtuoso tour de force , fairly explodes with rhythmic acrobatics and kaleidoscopic colors.


The two tarantellas by Dargomyzhsky and Cui are particularly intriguing, reminding us that, during the 1860s, Liszt and Dargomyzhsky were among the first composers to experiment (independently) with use of the whole-tone scale—Dargomyzhsky in his opera The Stone Guest and Liszt in his melodrama Der traurige Mönch. Both tarantellas exemplify Liszt’s tendency in old age to transform the materials he transcribed, imbuing them with the radical harmonic and rhythmic characteristics of his own late style. In many cases, and certainly in these tarantellas, the originals are endowed with a “new formal and authorial weight,” as Jonathan Kregor has suggested in his pathbreaking study, Liszt as Transcriber (2010). Dargomyzhsky had been dead 10 years when his unprepossessing piano duet Slavic Tarantella was taken up by Liszt and expanded into a haunting and concert-worthy piano solo. The longest piece on the program is the Tarantella by César Cui , possibly Liszt’s very last transcription of another composer’s work. Kregor points out that Cui’s orchestral original had been in circulation for more than 25years when Liszt decided to transcribe it. Liszt expands, emends, and amplifies the material in a way that elevates this folk dance to a veritable metaphysical realm. If proof were needed that the acuity of Liszt’s perceptions and the richness of his imagination remained undiminished to the end, the Tarantella by César Cui provides ample testimony.


It is hard to imagine a more eloquent spokesman for this repertoire than Dossin. Though he is by birth and upbringing Brazilian, the nine years he spent studying in Moscow lend an unmistakable authenticity to his voice in Russian music. Moreover, Dossin’s refined and multifaceted pianism, combined with his formidable intellectual and musical grasp, make him one of the more remarkable Liszt interpreters before the public today.


FANFARE: Patrick Rucker

The second of three volumes devoted to Andres Isasi's complete string quartets is again performed by the composer's foremost champions, the Isasi Quartet, who premiered all the works on this recording. String Quartet No. 4 in D major reveals his vibrant and imaginative use of textures and his affiliations with the music of Dvorak. Though unfinished, the 1921 String Quartet No. 3 in E minor fuses melodic richness and serenity. Each of the three smaller pieces shows contrast and warmth, not least the beautifully eloquent Prelude in a major.

PENDERECKI Hymne an den heiligen Adalbert 1. Song of the Cherubim 2. Canticum Canticorum Salomonis 3. Kosmogonia 4. Strophen 5 • Antoni Wit, cond; 4,5 Olga Pasichnyk (sop); 4 Rafa? Bartmi?ski (ten); 4 Tomasz Konieczny (bs); 5 Jerzy Artysz (spkr); 1,3-5 Warsaw PO; 1-4 Warsaw P Ch • NAXOS 8.572481 (57:18)


Naxos’s Penderecki releases have been of very good quality, but have tended to jumble together music in wildly different styles. The present release is no exception, going backwards chronologically from the Hymne an den heiligen Adalbert (1997) to Strophen (1959), which was composed when Penderecki was in his mid-20s. One would be forgiven for guessing that at least two different composers, perhaps more, were at work here. In the 1970s, thanks in large part to Hollywood, I was turned on to “old” Penderecki, and had a difficult time accepting the changes his style underwent from that point onward. Now that I am gaining maturity (ha!), I’ve become more open-minded, and if “new” Penderecki is not as innovative and striking as “old” Penderecki, the level of workmanship remains very high, and a distinctive voice remains, albeit a different one.


Having said that, I think this disc is most welcome for the presence of the last two, and oldest, works listed in the headnote, because they have been elusive on CD—in fact, I am not sure they have appeared on CD until now. The first (and only?) recording of the creepily beautiful Kosmogonia (1970) appeared on the Polskie Nagranie/Muza and then the Philips labels. The conductor was Andrzej Markowski, and the soloists were Stefania Woytowicz, Kazimierz Pustelak, and Bernard ?adysz. That recording, if you can find it, remains attractive, as it has a warmth and an emotional quality not quite matched by Wit’s, which seems a little clinical. As I recall, like Naxos, it does not print the work’s texts (which are “in copyright”), but I think the texts dealt with the creation of the universe and ended with . . . was it a quotation from Neil Armstrong? Maybe someone will help me out here. I have Strophen on a Polskie Nagranie/Muza LP (with Canticum Canticorum Salomonis ) and I am glad to replace it with this new version, even though I prefer Stefania Woytowicz to Olga Pasichnyk. The texts are taken from Menander, Sophocles, the Books of Isaiah and Jeremiah, and Omar Khayyam, and if their stagey narration makes Strophen seem a little dated, one has to appreciate the work’s daring, if nothing else.


Canticum Canticorum Salomonis (1973) slightly predates Penderecki’s Magnificat , and listeners will appreciate their stylistic proximity, particularly in the aggressive choral writing. Song of the Cherubim (1986) is much more reined in, with little to remind one of the composer’s avant-garde experimentation 15 years earlier. It is, nevertheless, a fine work, whose stern spirituality speaks for itself. Hymne an der heiligen Adalbert references a bishop who was martyred, in the 10th century. The stark but impressive brass and choral writing play off each other to good effect. This is much closer to Górecki than “old” Penderecki; it’s even (gasp) tonal. Still, it’s tough and demanding in its own way, and I don’t think anyone could reasonably suggest that Penderecki lost his nerve as he passed through middle age—he simply became more appreciative of tradition.


The Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir, whether they are conducted by Wit or someone else, can be depended upon to bring authenticity and fire to Penderecki’s music. Despite my preference for Markowski’s Kosmogonia , I really have no reservations about these performances. In fact, this Canticum Canticorum Salomonis is the most impressive I’ve heard, eclipsing the composer’s own recording on EMI. (Wit’s slower tempos emphasize the music’s sensuality.) Texts, with the exception of Kosmogonia , are available online. I am looking forward to hearing what Wit does with the Magnificat.


FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle

Hubert Parry is best known for his coronation anthem I was glad, and for his hymn tune Jerusalem, a setting of Blake’s magnificent poem. The hymn alludes to the legend that Jesus spent time in England during the undocumented years between his childhood and the beginnings of his ministry in and about his homeland.

Parry is sadly underrated today, even though he composed a number of fine symphonies that are on a level with Elgar and dare I say it, even Brahms. He is represented here by Blest Pair of Sirens, to a text by John Milton, a less often performed, but no less glorious work than those aforementioned. Alas, from a disc of otherwise quite outstanding performances, this rendition is found wanting. The booming acoustic, the thundery organ and a general lack of attention to enunciation render the text of this marvelous work unintelligible. Add to the fray a wayward member of the tenor section whose overzealous brightness of tone sticks out like a badly-voiced reed stop, and you get a performance that leaves something to be desired.

Now that those quibbles are out of the way, we can get on to what is one of the finer choral recordings that have crossed my desk in some time. Stanford’s rich double choir Magnificat, dedicated to the memory of Parry, with whom the composer had a longstanding and sadly unresolved parting of the ways, receives a splendid performance with all the elements of clarity, intonation, balance and tone in place.

John Stainer is ridiculed today as the apex of Victorian bad taste. But in spite of his rather trite and passé style, he should be remembered as a fine teacher and scholar, and as an organist and choirmaster who helped to revolutionize Anglican church music. I saw the Lord, is a diehard favorite and here receives a clear and unaffected performance by the Vasari Singers.

E.W. Naylor was primarily a composer of operas, and his Vox Dicentis: Clamavi of 1911 reflects his dramatic flair. My reaction to this work has always been “oh yeah, I sang that piece once.” Although it is flashy, I have never found it to be particularly memorable. The Vasari’s performance is stately and without undue affect.

Walton’s music is marked by taut rhythms and spicy, jazz-influenced chords. The Twelve, with a text by the oft-acerbic W.H. Auden is typical Walton with splendidly biting harmonies and jaunty off beat rhythmic gestures. Again, the Vasaris do not disappoint with a finely hewn performance that captures all of Walton’s seriousness deliciously offset by wit.

Holst’s glorious Nunc Dimittis lay fallow for many years until it was rediscovered in the 1970s and thankfully restored to the repertoire. It is distinguished by a splendid cascade of vocal entries marked by shimmering harmonies and a most sensitive setting of the text. My only beef with this performance is that it seemed a bit rushed. There could have been more time for the lush chords to settle into place. I also felt that the ending was a bit to edgy in its loudness.

Gerald Finzi lived all too short a life for one so very gifted. His epic motet Lo, the full final Sacrifice, shows him in his finest hour. It is a masterpiece, a perfect union of music and word and is abundant in simply ravishing sounds. Ravishing is as good a word as any to describe this splendid performance that achieves near perfection. Mr. Backhouse leads a seamless performance of a work that can be maddeningly “sectional” when in the wrong hands. This fine rendition is worth the very affordable price of the whole disc.

To sum it all up, this is a collection of great standards that on the whole is left in very able hands. The flaws, although distinct, are few enough not to detract from what is generally some very fine singing indeed. Organist Jeremy Filsell is up to his usual fine standards with sensitive registrations and technically flawless playing.

-- Kevin Sutton, MusicWeb International

STRAVINSKY Violin Concerto. 1 Zvezdolikiy. 2 Symphonies of Wind Instruments. 3 Le sacre du printemps (1911-1913; 1947/1967) 4 • Robert Craft, cond; Jennifer Frautschi (vn); 1 Gregg Smith Singers; 2 O of St. Luke’s; 2 20th Century Classics Ens; 3 Philharmonia O • NAXOS 8.557508 (67:42)


The first thing that strikes one about this disc is the marvelous sound of the orchestra; Craft achieves a balance of chamber and orchestral character that fits the Violin Concerto perfectly. Of course the musicians and engineering team deserve credit, too, but it is Craft’s vision, understanding, and ability to get exactly what he wants that make the difference. The composer’s 1960 stereo recording with Isaac Stern is rhythmically square (and Stern’s energetic playing is sabotaged by ugly recorded sound), whereas Craft swings nicely. Stravinsky’s 1930s performance with Samuel Dushkin is closer to this one. If I seem to be favoring Craft over Stravinsky as an interpreter and conductor of the latter’s music, so be it. Now in his eighties, Craft is surpassing most of his former efforts, and many of these Naxos recordings stand as the finest of all. I am reminded of the truism that Schoenberg’s works suffered from being so badly played for half a century: well, so did many of Stravinsky’s, beginning with the works immediately following the big three ballets. Craft’s recent Les noces , for example, is superior to any earlier recording.


Getting back to the Violin Concerto, Frautschi is a superb young violinist who has specialized in 20th- and 21st-century music. She plays the bright yet silky “ex-Cadiz” Stradivarius, which stands out from the ensemble or fits right in, as required. Whether Frautschi or Craft is driving this performance doesn’t matter; the results are wonderful: savory, clean, punchy, and yet light. I am thoroughly beguiled by Itzhak Perlman’s beautiful playing of this Concerto on DG, and by the Boston Symphony’s eloquent accompaniment, but this performance does the piece more justice.


Zvezdolikiy is better known by its French title, Le roi des étoiles (“King of the Stars”), but Craft translates it as “The Star-Faced One.” I think I’ve encountered this recording before, but I can’t place it—this series petered out on two other labels (MusicMasters, Koch International) before Naxos came to its rescue. No matter: this is a fine reading by excellent forces, very well recorded. The booklet offers an English text. Craft plays the original score of Symphonies of Wind Instruments (the composer led the simplified 1947 version in Sony’s “The Recorded Legacy”) and makes it sound surprisingly mellow, at one point almost jolly.


Stravinsky was always touching up his music, every time he performed anything. My Boosey & Hawkes score of Le sacre says “Revised 1947, Re-engraved edition 1967,” which I think means only that this 1990s publication duplicates a 1967 one. Of course a Stravinsky- or Craft-led performance needn’t be limited by a published score. Oh well, thought I, Craft’s always brilliant, always fascinating program notes will explain all. But Craft writes only a “chronicle” of the composition and early performances, never getting past April 6, 1914. Whatever “1911–1913; 1947/1967” means, this performance sounds as if most of the awkward moments have been cleaned up, but the baby has been thrown out with the bath water. The orchestral playing is less vibrant than that of the London Symphony in Craft’s 1995 Koch recording, which later appeared on Naxos ( Fanfare 29:3). A too-warm recording doesn’t help; timpani and bass drums are a bit distant and muffled, which will never do in this music. In the final Sacrificial Dance, the playing becomes a bit sloppy. I note that this performance lasts 33:41, the earlier one 31:58; the difference is certainly noticeable. Both performances were recorded at Abbey Road Studio 1, this one in 2006. Perhaps the revised score explains why modern performances seldom thrill the way early ones did (and still do), in particular Salonen’s recent Los Angeles Philharmonic SACD spectacular being less satisfying than Stravinsky’s cramped, monaural 1940 recording with the New York Philharmonic.


At Naxos prices, you can afford to buy this CD just for the Concerto.


FANFARE: James H. North

HALVORSEN Sarabande with Variations. Passsacaglia. Concert Caprice on Norwegian Melodies 1. BRUNI 6 Duos Concertants • Natalia Lomeiko (vn); Yuri Zhislin (va, 1 vn) • NAXOS 8.572522 (75:04)


Jascha Heifetz played Johann Halvorsen’s Passacaglia with William Primrose. Itzhak Perlman and Pinchas Zukerman later took it up, and these violinistic celebrities have helped keep the composer’s name before audiences. The Sarabande with Variations, based, like the Passacaglia, on a theme by George Frideric Handel (the Passacaglia takes the Passacaille from Handel’s Keyboard Suite No. 7 as its basis), has not received such frequent attention. It’s longer and perhaps more imposing and requires strong left hands to execute its numerous massive double-stops and chords as well as an agile right one to survey its widely varied bowings. Violinist Natalia Lomeiko and violist Yuri Zhislin take the theme a bit more quickly than audiences familiar with it from its key role in Barry Lyndon might remember, and their subsequent tempos in the variations follow suit, although the duo brings a haunting poignancy and spectral piquancy, respectively, to the two relaxed variations near the work’s center. Despite the power they generate at the end, their approach remains generally light and virtuosic.


In the more popular Passacaglia, they adopt similarly sprightly tempos, and while they may not play with the almost self-conscious though wittily understated virtuosity of Perlman and Zukerman and may not sound so arch as do Heifetz and Primrose, they take greater advantage of the variations’ expressive opportunities. Once again they make a great deal of the more reflective central variation, and their approach to even the most straightforward variations combines flexibility and playfulness, with the concluding variation fusing brilliance with pounding rhythmic insistence. Halvorsen’s invigorating Concert Caprice on Norwegian Melodies (both Lomeiko and Zhislin playing violin) doesn’t enjoy such frequent outings as even the Sarabande, but its straightforward virtuosity (at times it sounds a bit like one of Heinrich Ernst’s variations on The Last Rose of Summer —of course in a setting for two rather than one violin, ostensibly rendering it more playable) should ingratiate it with audiences who enjoy violinistic figuration stretched to accommodate a generously stuffed bag of tricks (Caroline Waight’s notes suggest that the thick textures may have been suggested by the Hardanger fiddle).


By comparison with Halvorsen’s generally effervescent though occasionally darkly hued works, Antonio Bartolomeo Bruni’s Six Duos (Book 4) for violin and viola sound less subtle and surely less virtuosic, though no less straightforwardly melodious and surely no less dramatic (consider the outburst in the middle of the first movement—all of the duos fall into two—of the First Duo). Bruni, who had served as the director of the Opéra-Comique, seems to have drawn on his theatrical experiences in these duos in both their agitato and their cantabile passages—as he also seems to have done in his 25 studies for viola, which should help a violist develop a singing style as well as a basic technical command. Both Lomeiko and Zhislin produce a heavier tonal weight in these works, but they’re also attuned to their melodic elegance and their tantalizing rhythmic playfulness (as in the First Duo’s second movement). Some of the duos (as in the Second’s first movement), on the other hand, sound more earnest or, as in that work’s second movement or the introduction to the Fifth Duo’s opening movement, simply more introspective. But the tone of the Fourth Duo’s suave first movement seems to predominate. Violinist Angelo Cicillini and violist Fabrizio Ammetto included Bruni’s duos on Mondo Musica 96078, which I warmly recommended in Fanfare 23:4; Lomeiko’s and Zhislin’s articulation sounds sharper and their rhythms more pointed, and the recorded sounds at once closer and cleaner, though it has plenty of the warmth radiated by Mondo Musica’s engineers.


Throughout the program, varied though it may be, Lomeiko and Zhislin produce sweetly homogeneous textures that hardly ever sound abrasive, and their ensemble retains its sense of unanimity throughout even the greatest difficulties. Naxos’s lively recorded sound presents both instrumentalists in balanced fidelity with enough reverberation to ensure warmth in addition to clarity. Enthusiastically recommended to all types of listeners.


FANFARE: Robert Maxham

SCHOENBERG Herzgewächse. 1 Pierrot lunaire. 2 4 Orchestral Songs. 3 Chamber Symphony No. 1 4 • Robert Craft, cond; 1 Eileen Hulse (sop); London SO; 1 Anya Silja (Sprechstimme); 2 Twentieth-Century Classics Ens; 2,4 Catherine Wyn-Rogers (mez); Philharmonia O 3 • NAXOS 8.557523 (73:51)


These four recordings were made from 1994 to 1998, when Craft’s Schoenberg series was being recorded by Koch. At least two of them— Herzgewächse and Pierrot lunaire —appeared on Koch CDs. The former is written for “high soprano,” which is an understatement; I don’t have a score, but it seems to probe the entire octave above high C (well above, say, the Queen of the Night), as well as exploiting the normal soprano range. Hulse makes smooth, well-rounded sounds at the top end, but they sound more instrumental than vocal. That effect may be merely the listener’s aural experience: we are not prepared to recognize a voice at such heights.


Silja brings a surprisingly fresh voice to Pierrot lunaire (I saw her Salome at the Vienna Staastoper in 1967). In the spoken/sung conundrum that is Sprechstimme , she tilts toward singing. The Twentieth-Century Classics Ensemble is loaded with stars: for Pierrot : Christopher Oldfather, piano; Michael Parloff, flute/piccolo; Charle Neidlich, clarinet/bass clarinet; Rolf Scholte, violin/viola; and Fred Sherry, cello. The playing is superb, instrument by instrument, but the whole is too smooth, too steady; the slashing wit and the terror of this extraordinary work do not come through. There are places where it’s more appropriate for strings to screech and winds to squawk.


The Four Orchestral Songs are rarities on or off disc; I know them only from Yvonne Minton’s recording with Boulez, and I don’t believe they appeared in Craft’s early “The Music of Arnold Schoenberg” for Columbia. Composed in 1916, these songs are surprisingly harmonious for music lacking a tonal center. The differences between the two recordings are primarily in the accompaniments: Craft’s Philharmonia plays the music in a strict, forthright manner, whereas Boulez’s BBC Symphony is mellifluous and distant, more closely matching the poems of loneliness and memories. My preferences seem to depend on my mood of the moment.


Freed from having to support a vocalist, Craft loosens up in the Chamber Symphony, and his ensemble of stars delivers vital, exhilarating playing. The lush, sweet acoustics of the Recital Hall at the SUNY Purchase Performing Arts Center in Purchase, New York, smooth out Schoenberg’s 15 individual lines, making the ensemble sound more like a conventional orchestra. It’s pleasant to hear but belies the composer’s revolutionary one-instrument-on-a-part scoring. Nevertheless, a great performance.


The downside of this disc is its lack of vocal texts,* so important for Pierrot lunaire and the little-known songs. Naxos’s program notes go on for eight-and-a-half pages, so space is not the problem. One simply must have texts here, as does the Minton/Boulez Four Songs on Sony. Of the many available Pierrot lunaire recordings which offer German/English texts, I recommend Jan DeGaetani on Nonesuch or Lucy Shelton on Bridge, a disc which also includes Hergewächse.


* Music Editor’s note: Texts are available on the Naxos Web site, but in German only; search for catalog no. 8.557523 and click on the Lyrics link.




FANFARE: James H. North

This is Schoenberg for people who hate Schoenberg. The Five Pieces for Orchestra, far from sounding radical or appallingly dissonant as they must have in 1909, now impress us as impressionistic, atmospheric, and evocative. The loony Cello Concerto after Monn and the Brahms Piano Quartet are both modern classics in the art of transcription, not to mention one composer's very strongly personalized view of his predecessors.


Robert Craft's performances are uniformly impressive, particularly in the Cello Concerto. Its appallingly difficult solo part is handled with consummate intelligence and virtuosity by Fred Sherry, and the accompaniment hardly could be clearer or cleaner in texture. The Brahms is very good too, surpassed only by Craft himself in his earlier Sony recording with the Chicago Symphony. This newcomer, however, does enjoy much better sonics, and at the Naxos price makes an excellent bargain.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

SCHOENBERG Chamber Symphony No. 2. 1 Die glückliche Hand. 2 Wind Quintet, op. 26 3 • Robert Craft, cond; Philharmonia O; 1,2 Mark Beesley (bs); 2 Simon Joly Chorale; 2 New York Ww Qnt 3 • NAXOS 8.557526 (78:21)


This disc combines two reissues from a 2001 Koch CD with one new recording, the Wind Quintet. It might also be thought of as a collection of Schoenberg’s difficult music. The Second Chamber Symphony’s difficulties lie in defying expectations. Its marvelous, fascinating predecessor, which established the one-instrument-to-a-part chamber orchestra, is repudiated in form, scoring, and emotional tone. Schoenberg began the somber opening movement in 1906, immediately after completing the exuberant First Chamber Symphony; he worked on it as late as 1916 but was unable to complete it. He returned to it in 1939, by which time “my style has become much more profound.” Ironically, despite the three-decade lapse and the chamber scoring, the completed work is reminiscent of Gurrelieder , not only in its potent emotional content but even in its sound. The second movement, Con fuoco, rollicks along for about eight minutes and then shifts to a thoughtful, quiet epilogue that the composer originally intended as a separate finale. The piece shows no sign of Schoenberg’s theories or systems and could be mistaken for a late or post-Romantic tone poem. There have been successful recordings before—I particularly liked a 1970 live performance led by Bruno Maderna—but Craft outshines them all, turning what is often an unconvincing work into a thoroughly winning piece. One of his secrets is not to stretch out the slow sections; his 18:46 lops 10 percent off the timing of every other recording I have on hand (Boulez, Maderna, Mauceri). The strings do tend to cover the winds, due to poorly balanced, slightly muddy recorded sound from Abbey Road Studio One, July 2000.


The one-man opera (plus chamber chorus) Die glückliche Hand remains as much of an enigma as ever. Even Craft—who suggests The Hand of Fate as a title—can’t illuminate its amateurish self-analysis. The texts and detailed synopsis, printed in the original Koch issue, are replaced here by Craft’s comments, which in truth serve as well. Is this 1912–13 work misunderstood, or is it simply a failure? I’ll leave that decision to another century. Chorus (six men, six women) and orchestra perform well; the baritone has so little to sing—about a dozen lines of text—that one cannot evaluate his contributions. Recorded two months later at the same venue, the sound is fine.


The virtuosic, dodecaphonic Wind Quintet has been a bugaboo of instrumentalists and listeners since its first performance in 1924. Craft claims that early performances ran an hour, and that wind-players are only now able to perform it up to speed. Indeed, this one takes 38:21, whereas my favorite recording, made by members of the London Sinfonietta in 1974, runs 50:52. Speed is of course not everything: Tom Stoppard’s The (15 Minute) Dogg’s Troupe Hamlet does not mine the glories of Shakespeare, and I cringe at the thought of a half-hour “Eroica,” but Craft may be on target this time. The playing is superb, so I must devote a few extra hearings to accustom myself to the tempos. Craft also mentions that some earlier performances required a conductor (David Atherton in London), but he and Naxos leave us in the dark as to whether he was involved with this 2004 recording at New York’s Academy of Arts and Letters.


As always, Craft’s program notes are revealing, egotistical, and provocative: the Chamber Symphony’s Con fuoco “requires a much higher degree of instrumental virtuosity than any piece by Stravinsky.” Has Le sacre become so easy to play? Also: “the Schoenberg is incomparably more abundant in substance, emotional power, and compositional skill” than the middle movement of Stravinsky’s Ode . The Russian composer, who had something of an ego himself, will be awaiting Craft at the gates of whatever place they spend their eternities; their conversation may bring a rare smile to Schoenberg’s dour visage. Craft often claims that his performances are superior to any previous ones; this time he is right. Highly recommended!


FANFARE: James H. North

SCHOENBERG Verklärte Nacht 1. String Quartet No. 1. Four Canons • Fred Sherry Str Qrt & 1 Sxt • NAXOS 8.557534 (77:33)


Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht is sometimes paired on records with his String Trio, op. 45, an excellent work but one from a much later period, when the composer had already become firmly entrenched in his 12-tone rut. Here, it is very sensibly coupled with the First String Quartet of 1904–05, an excellent work which, though atonal in places, still has many features akin to his late tonal period. Indeed, there is much in the Quartet that, although unmistakably Schoenbergian, might have been influenced to some extent by the experiments of Bartók. I also found it fascinating that both of these early works were premiered by Arnold Rosé’s famous string quartet (obviously with two extra players in the case of Verklärte Nacht ) at the instigation of Gustav Mahler.


One of the features of this First Quartet which is so different from later Schoenberg is its strong rhythmic sense. Yes, there are indeed passages where the rhythm becomes fragmented and even somewhat obscured, but by and large the music is propelled by an almost ferocious forward momentum, quite different from the rhythmically ambiguous and amorphous music of his maturity. The liner notes indicate some of the varied emotions that the composer attributed to the first movement:


(1) a) Revolt, Defiance; b) Longing; c) Rapture.


(2) a) Dejection; Despair; Fear of being engulfed; unaccustomed feelings of love, desire to be wholly absorbed.


   b) Comfort, Relief (She and He).


   c) New outbreak; Dejection, Despair; and


   d) Transition to


(3) Struggle of all the motives with the determination to begin a new life,


   e) Mild disagreement.


Well, that’s quite an emotional gamut to run, and I find it a little strange … well, OK, really strange … that a composer who plunges headlong emotionally into “Revolt, Defiance, Dejection, Despair” ends up the movement with “mild disagreement”! But hey, that was Arnie Schoenberg, a bit of an odd duck to say the least.


The Fred Sherry Quartet plays this music with incredible energy and passionate emotional commitment, which is really the only way to play Schoenberg. I’ve always found it a bit odd that a composer so closely identified with what you would certainly identify as a cerebral reorganization of music (the 12-tone system) was normally a composer of extremely strong emotions in music. There is scarcely a Schoenberg score, with the possible exception of Pierrot Lunaire (which was, after all, a special case and a bit of a one-off), that does not suck the listener into the vortex of extremely strong emotions. I must, however, be honest and say that, to my ears the somewhat jumbled juxtaposition of themes in the last movement left a bad impression on me.


Verklärte Nacht, like the composer’s early orchestral score Pelleas und Melisande, is so well known nowadays—and generally well-liked—that it seems incredible that it should have caused such a scandal when it was first premiered, in 1903. However, as the composer himself admitted, it soon became very successful, and ironically it was used as a club to hit the composer over the head with when his more outré pieces became known. Here the Sherry Quartet is expanded with the addition of second violist Yura Lee and second cellist Michael Nicolas. Their treatment of this score is rather more abrasive, less plush than one hears, for instance, from the Juilliard String Quartet with special guests Walter Trampler and Yo-Yo Ma on Sony Classical, where the late Romantic elements of the score are emphasized. Here, one hears the harshness of some of the dissonances much more clearly because the playing, for the most part, has a very sharp profile with strongly-accented rhythms. It’s so rare to hear an original interpretation of this piece, however, that one listens eagerly to every change of key and color in this performance; the end result is remarkable and rewarding, particularly in the extraordinarily dark colors they are able to produce in it.


The Four Canons are really excellent music, and are hereby recommended to those who feel that Schoenberg completely “abandoned” his earlier compositional style once he turned to the 12-tone system. The CD box insert denotes that they were composed between 1905 and 1949, but that apparently applies to the complete group of 30 Canons from which these were selected; the four given here were all completed during his mature period: Canon XIX in March 1934, Canon XXV in 1938, Canon XXVII in June 1943, and Canon XXVIII in March 1945. The music, despite its modernist harmonic touches, is quite understandable in terms of its construction and development. In other words, it is still rather accessible when compared to such works as Moses und Aron or A Survivor from Warsaw. I really enjoyed these pieces and the Sherry Quartet’s performances of them.


As a final word, I must ask why an album by the Fred Sherry Quartet and Sextet is identified on the packaging as being part of the Robert Craft Collection . I certainly understand Craft’s recent connection with Naxos and appreciate the fact that they have bought and reissued several of his recordings from the 1990s in addition to putting out new ones, but since he didn’t conduct the Sextet in this performance of Verklärte Nacht, why is it part of “his” collection? Why not, more sensibly, The Schoenberg Collection ? Inquiring minds want to know!


FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

The heart-on-sleeve romanticism of Bax' First Violin Sonata reflects the composer' passionate love affair with the Ukrainian girl Natalia Skarginska in the winter of 1909-1910. Bax soon replaced two of the movements, but the vibrant originals survive.

Eugene Zádor was a remarkable colorist and orchestrator whose Hollywood film work was extensive. He described himself as a 'middle of the road extremist'. The Aria and Allegro is a beautifully crafted work brimming with rhythmic energy. Five Contrasts for Orchestra demonstrates his rich sound world at it's most vibrant; film noir jostling with a big-booted country dance. The lighter a Children's Symphony is one of his most popular pieces - communicative, witty, accessible. We also hear two small and captivating evocations of his native Hungary. Mariusz Smolij is a founding member of the Penderecki String Quartet, former artistic director of the Lutosawski Wrocaw Philharmonic and International Festival Wratislavia Cantans, Poland, and currently serves as Music Director of the Acadiana Symphony in Louisiana and Riverside Symphonia in New Jersey.

Back in my college days my music-loving friends and I would amuse ourselves perusing the letters section of Gramophone magazine, and every so often a desperately worded appeal would turn up, lamenting the "dearth of Rubbra symphony recordings." Now it wasn't as if people were lining up for Rubbra symphonies the way they lined up for the launch of, say, the I-Pod, but if the orchestral works weren't exactly thick on the field, the quartets never even made it to the letters section at all (that I noticed). Perhaps they should have; they are fine, if imperfect works.

Rubbra should have been a "natural" for the quartet medium: a gifted contrapuntist and a composer of great seriousness, even nobility, this would seem to be just his cup of tea. However, as with the symphonies, Rubbra's ability to construct his first movements and adagios effectively (and often quite beautifully here) is compromised by his helplessness with finales. His feeling for music was rhetorical rather than dramatic, and in Quartets Nos. 1 and 3 the last movements (of three) disappoint, with the former's being too short and the latter's too light. In the Fourth quartet, which has only two movements, Rubbra wisely says "the heck with it" and places the adagio last.

The Maggini Quartet has made many excellent recordings of the English quartet repertoire for Naxos, and this one is no exception. They bring plenty of expressive intensity to those heartfelt adagios, and phrase Rubbra's intertwining contrapuntal lines with winning clarity, while avoiding excessive density. The engineering is also very good: unobtrusive and natural. This music is well worth getting to know, even if Rubbra's relentless earnestness sometimes seems to overwhelm his inspiration.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com