Classical Music

Classical Music

Selections recorded February 28 and March 2, 1994.

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

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

You might subtitle this disc “The Dark Dvorák” since it consists of three of his most turbulent (but also greatest) works. First there’s Othello: guy kills girl. Next, The Wood Dove: girl kills guy, then offs herself. Finally, there’s the tragic Seventh Symphony: everyone kills everyone, but metaphorically, of course. I actually love the concept. Usually, Dvorák gets treated as a sort of “Brahms lite”, a cute Bohemian purveyor of alluring, pastoral tunes full of charm and ethnic high spirits. Even the frequent use of minor keys can be explained by his frequent recourse to Czech folksongs, dances, and other equally adorable (and non-threatening) accoutrements of his native land.

Claus Peter Flor is obviously having none of it. Not only has he chosen three of Dvorák’s most impassioned works, he plays them so as to make damn sure that we feel the same way about them that he does. First the really good news: both Othello and The Wood Dove are stunning. Indeed, this is hands down the most exciting performance of the former yet committed to disc, bar none. Hearing this performance, you will be stunned that this thrilling, dramatic work remains one of the most neglected of all Dvorák’s late masterpieces. The Wood Dove is every bit as brilliant: gaunt and grim in the funeral march that brackets the lilting wedding scene, and crushing in the subsequent suicide music. One curiosity: Flor prefers the kazoo-like sound of muted trumpets to Dvorák’s requested instruments offstage just before the party sequence—an odd choice.

The performance of the Seventh Symphony will be more controversial. It has magnificent moments—indeed whole movements. The Andante receives as lovingly shaped a reading as any on disc, but there are moments when Flor’s eagerness to underline the music’s darkness leads him dangerously close to mannerism. I’m thinking of the first movement’s opening (and coda), treated more as a slow introduction than as the plunge into the main tempo that Dvorák wrote. As a postlude, the tempo makes more sense. The scherzo, too, is swift and urgent, but somehow just slightly lacking in rhythmic bite, while the finale, played for all that it’s worth, does not benefit from Flor’s decision near the start to hold back the tempo at the ends of phrases to underscore just how grim the music is supposed to be.

Once the movement gets going, though, Flor builds in excitement right through to an incredibly powerful coda. He adds horns to the final chorale, as so many performances do, but Neumann’s trumpets avoid that slightly vulgar portamento that always seems to accompany the horn option, and their brighter tone is arguably more apt. And why, finally, does Flor have the timpani drop out on the final chord? That’s just weird. Is he afraid that a more emphatic ending might persuade us that the work isn’t as despairing as he believes it to be?

It may be that the engineering exacerbates some of these impressions. Don’t get me wrong: the basic sound is very good in and of itself, but in this music, especially, we need to hear more from the woodwinds, and a sharper rhythmic bite from the brass and timpani. These are subtle points, but listeners familiar with this music will notice immediately the difference between these and other, more brightly engineered versions. And make no mistake: a brighter mean sonority can be captured without compromising the music’s expressive intensity, its “dark” energy.

So to summarize: the commitment and vision on evidence here are extremely impressive. Even the symphony, for all my various reservations, receives a performance like no other, magnificent in parts, impressive overall, and one that collectors will surely want to hear. Flor has the orchestra playing extremely well, and unlike so many time-beaters taking up podium space these days he has both good ideas and the talent to execute them. He takes risks. Whether or not they all pay off will be a matter of opinion, but there’s no question that when they do the result is the most gripping Dvorák to come along in many years.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

For the last of their three Britten discs, the British Emperor Quartet have gathered five of his earliest works, including the String Quartet in F and the Simple Symphony. These works demonstrate the young Britten’s developing personal style, beyond the influences of his teacher Frank Bridge as well as Bartók and Schoenberg. In 1930, these very influences prompted his most intensely progressive work, Quartettino, unpublished and unperformed until after his death. Retreating somewhat from its terse language, he only returned to the quartet medium to compose his three later, numbered quartets.