Haydn's piano sonatas have thrilled me since childhood. This music may seem easy to grasp at first glance: so much seems clear and straightforward. However, once you take a closer look and spend more time playing and listening to Haydn's music, it develops an endless, multifaceted life of its own. It becomes more concrete and at teh same time it develops an endless, multifaceted life of its own. It becomes more concrete and at teh same time more mysterious. Unexpected turns of phrase, sudden occurences, humorous juxtapositions and startling asymmetries are just as much a part of this music as its extended melodic arcs that make the piano sing. Haydn's music forms an intimate bond between song and speech. In each movement of the ca. 60 piano sonatas he wrote, we meet a personality, an unmistakeable character, evoked in detail. Haydn was long viewed as teh mere forerunner of vienna Classicism - Mozart and Beethoven's Papa, so to speak. His sonatas were mainly regarded as witty, useful pedagogical material. Several generations seem to have been unaware of his profoundly nuanced approach. Perhaps, however, Haydn's keyboard oeuvre might require even better interpreters than the works written by his towering colleagues. One cannot clothe this music in an adequate form without applying a great deal of fantasy in one's choice of timbres, along with a keen sense for musical thetoric and careful regard for phrasing. Most of all, the Haydn performer should be able to modify the entire timbre effect and redistribute the balance among parts from one moment to the next. We must not forget that he was born way back in 1732: Haydn thus still had one foot in the Baroque age, as one can tell from the latent polyphony and frequent figures of musical rhetoric. His variegated types of articulation cover a wide spectrum: dozens of nuances fill out the range between Haydn's profound, songlike legato and his humorously accentuated staccato. Here is not where we will find Beethoven's force and dramatic vigor, neither Mozart's ethereal beauty. Haydn wrote a music of profound humanity, with a basic outlook similar to what the German Romantics called humor": a reflection of human life with all its beauties, unfathomable depths, hopes, losses, crises and joys, all shouldered with a large dose of passion and irony.

MOZART Piano Concertos: Nos. 21 and 27 • Lars Vogt (pn); Paavo Järvi, cond; Frankfurt RSO • AVI 8553257 (57:52)


In this recording a talented, prolific pianist performs with a celebrated conductor in two Mozart masterpieces. It shouldn’t go wrong, and it doesn’t. There is grace here, sensitivity, and a welcome liveliness. At times Vogt in his solo passages seems to retreat a bit too much, in dynamics and touch. I suppose that from time to time I prefer a crisper touch and more directed succession of phrases to the occasional sighs and whispers. I still swoon before Schnabel’s Mozart recordings. But even here I am afraid of exaggerating. Vogt and Jarvi have produced beautiful, coherent, unaffected recordings of two masterpieces. If I like a little more tension, others will prefer this kind of delicate and nuanced approach.


FANFARE: Michael Ullman

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I greatly enjoyed Viviana Sofronitsky’s Mozart piano concertos (see review), and still dip into it on a fairly regular basis – always a positive sign that good first impressions have held up over the longer term. This Schubert recording uses an instrument by the same maker, with a fortepiano modelled on one by Conrad Graf (1819) built by Paul MacNulty. The remarkable variety of colours and textures available from this instrument is fully explored by Sofronitsky in the Wanderer Fantasie. From it she coaxes exquisitely delicate music-box soft moments, muffled tones and the kind of sharply observed dynamic drama which can become a little monotonous on a modern piano.

Melvyn Tan set the standard for fortepiano recordings in past decades, and his Virgin Veritas two disc survey of Schubert’s music, which includes the Impromptus D935 and D899, is still very much worth having. The EMI recording is a little gentler than the Avi-Music balance, with more distance between the listener and the instrument. Tan is more romantic in approach, allowing for more rubato and sustain where Sofronitsky is more direct. The first Impromptu D899 is a typical example, in which the articulation of the notes seems as important as the shaping of melodic lines and phrases to Sofronitsky. This is a challenge in its own right: who can we say is more accurate? Do we allow for more generosity of romantic spirit in music which still feels the pull of Mozart, or do we emphasise the classical in music which expresses emotion in the deepest ways available to but stretching the style and idiom of the day. Sofronitsky by no means plays without expression, but her articulation is more angular than most versions you will probably have heard until now. I could accuse her second Impromptu D899 of being too choppy and vertical sounding. Indeed there are passages where the repetitions seem to stack up rather than moving the musical narrative along. That said, the contrast of touch and the dramatic world created also have plenty to offer. The singing melody of the third Impromptu D899 provides an illusion of a sustained line on any piano. Sofronitsky carefully and effectively paces the movement so that this works as well as possible. Even so, the balance of melody is a mote too weak against the myriad accompanying notes though still sweeping along with fine and at times touching character. The last of the D 899 set is rather magical in its opening and closing bars, the lightness of touch – I take it with soft pedal – creating an ethereal atmosphere you’re unlikely to hear anywhere else, certainly not with Tan. The music comes into focus and advances as the effect is lifted, and the progression into the minor key is all the more dramatic for this extra layer of colouration.

The comments for D899 apply to a large extent also to the Impromptus D935. Sofronitsky obtains the maximum effect from the instrument. There are many aspects of these pieces which one can discover anew when hearing it on a fortepiano as opposed to a modern concert grand. You can tell the shading of light and dark in the first of the D935 set is exactly the effect Schubert would have had in mind, though the almost skipping tempo with which the second piece opens may or may not have been what he had in mind. Sofronitsky connects this with the dance rhythms which are the origins of the work. He seeks depth of expression in its brilliant contrasts of tonality and dynamic, rather than exploring artificial profundity in languor of tempo. The disarming melody of the third in this set is perhaps presented a little too heavily for my taste, though there is a marvel of difference in some of the variations which follow. The closing dance of no. 4 is lively and full of surprises.

Saving the best until last, it is the Wanderer Fantasie which impresses me most on this recording. Viviana Sofronitsky’s performance is one which fascinates at all levels. The anticipation of hearing how certain passages will sound on the MacNulty instrument is always rewarded with refreshing and unusual sonorities and tremendous inventiveness. Being a huge fan of Schubert’s piano sonatas and lieder I’ve been less keen on this work in general, but hearing the way it can sound on fortepiano and played so expertly has revived my interest more than somewhat. Schubert’s melodramatic writing makes absolute sense with this instrument, and the at times almost orchestral sounds which emanate clearly show how Schubert anticipates later generations and names such as Wagner, Berlioz and Liszt in his exploratory harmonic relationships and thematic developments. The difference between a pp and f or ff isn’t just soft or loud here, and the change in colour and texture between different moments is hard to describe in words. Take the bass line from 1:51 to 2:10 in the second movement Adagio, which has a driven, vocal quality as the dynamic increases. I find the personality which emerges from this kind of effect quite bewitching, and the entire piece comes alive in this version.

This recording probably won’t substitute your favourite concert grand performances, but if you still perceive listening to the fortepiano as a kind of hair-shirt experience then this disc should make you think again, though it does require decent equipment to bring the best of the subtleties of colour to the fore.

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

Julian Steckel – remember that name – Bravo!

This is the concerto debut disc by the young – not yet thirty – German cellist Julian Steckel. Let me say right away I like everything about this disc – a lot! Intelligently programmed, very well engineered and stunningly played by both the orchestra and all importantly the soloist. Clearly there are many fine cellists competing for the attention of the classical music world. Most have bravura techniques that were the reserve of the super-elite barely a generation ago but all too often this can be at the expense of musicality or sensitivity. What impresses and indeed thrills me about Steckel’s playing is the range of colour and emotion he finds in this trio of rather wonderful scores.
 
It was an excellent idea to bring together on a single disc three cello concertos by three Jewish composers of the last century. Two, Korngold and Goldschmidt, were displaced from their native lands by the rise of the Nazis whilst Bloch, although Swiss-born and thereby protected from the horrors of the final solution at first hand, also left his native land to settle in America. None of the works presented here are ‘rare’ in recording terms and Bloch’s Schelomo is that composer’s most popular concert work. Admirers of the other two composers are almost certain to have these works in their collections too so why buy this disc? The answer is because it is simply that good. The disc opens with the Korngold Cello Concerto in C Op.37. The genesis of the work is well-known; for the Bette Davis film Deception the key love triangle consisted of a musician, a composer and Davis. At a crucial point in the film the cellist/musician plays in concert the composer’s concerto. For this sequence Korngold wrote a six minute mini-concerto which was expanded into the ‘full-scale’ work we have here. Even then it lasts a bare twelve minutes. Korngold had a unique clause in his Warner Brothers contract allowing him to retain intellectual ownership of the music he wrote for their films hence themes from film scores appear in concert works and vice versa. This is a work where the boundary between celluloid and stage blurs to nothing. By having to cram the entire concept of a concerto into such a short time-frame there is a danger that it will appear as all gesture and little content – Addinsell’s Warsaw Concerto is surely the ultimate example of that appealing failing. Korngold’s genius – and I am sure he was a genius – is that it works and is satisfying both as music and formally. The first thirty seconds of the performance here tells you that you are in for something rather special. The orchestral introduction is alert; lean and motile but with the sharp tang of nostalgia that is uniquely Korngold. Steckel’s entry is confident, ardent, articulate and superbly projected. At the same time the engineering and production allows conductor Daniel Raiskin to bring out so many telling details in Korngold’s brilliant scoring. The more you hear of Korngold the more you realise what a unique sound-world he created characterised by halos of brilliant harps, keyboards and tuned percussion enveloping lyrical lines of heart-breaking beauty. Listen to Steckel’s handling of the second subject; [track 1 1:20] – this is head-turningly, heart-stoppingly, lump-in-throat-makingly beautiful. As I said, there have been several other versions of this work; I still have a great affection for the first version I knew on the RCA Classic Films scores series played by Francisco Gabarro (RCA GD80185 recently reissued as Sony RCA Red Seal 88697 81266 2), but Steckel is better. Likewise Peter Dixon on Chandos (CHAN9508 or more recently CHAN10433X) and Julius Berger on CPO (999 077 or as part of set of 4 CPO 999150-2) are perfectly good just not this good. For Korngold completists the Naxos version of the film score played by Alexander Zagorinsky is of interest because it is the compact film-score version (Naxos 8.570110-11). There is one last version worth hearing but hard to find because it was on a BBC Music Magazine cover disc played by Frederick Zlotkin conducted by Leonard Slatkin (BBC MM234, 2003). [Not to forget Zuill Bailey on ASV] They are the sons of the cellist Eleanor Aller who played the solo part on the soundtrack and Zlotkin plays her cello.
 
Turning to Schelomo competition is if anything even fiercer. Liner-note writer Norbert Ely describes it as “a deeply pessimistic work” which I suppose it is although I must admit I had never thought of it as such. Another valid point Ely makes is how Bloch forged a musical language which he describes as coming from an “imaginary folklore”. Indeed Schelomo is soaked in music that seems to echo with archaic ritualistic chants whilst actually being original themes. As with the Korngold it is a work where the cello-cantor-protagonist has to play with an extraordinarily wide range of tonal colour and musical flexibility. Here, as throughout the entire programme, Steckel displays his chamber-music loving roots with playing of rapt concentration and pared-back beauty. I have heard performances which emphasise the virtuosic elements more but if you buy into Ely’s concept of “ecstatic pessimism” then this performance is a revelation. Again elsewhere I have occasionally found the rhapsodic form of the work can give it a loose and discursive feel. With Steckel the sense of directed movement and controlled development is unmistakable. As ever, he is helped in this enormously by the excellent Staatsorchester Rheinische Philharmonie with Raiskin’s unerring sense of pace. Time and again I found myself hearing little flecks of orchestral colour and nuance that I have not noticed before. Perhaps this does not displace my other favourite versions but that has more to do with them presenting valid alternatives. The passage that resonates here for me is the broken lament on the cello after the main central climax of the work [track 2 14:10] – playing of profound beauty and poignancy; “why hast thou forsaken me” in music. Part of Steckel’s particular skill is matching his tone, both bow speed and pressure, to his vibrato – at times febrile and fast and at others wider and slower. It might seem like an obvious way to vary one’s palette but it is rarely used with such carefully considered sophistication as here.
 
After a brief reassessment in the mid-nineties it seems that the music of Berthold Goldschmidt is sinking back into obscurity. The relative lack of interest is marked by the fact that the recoding of his cello concerto here – just its third by my reckoning – makes it his most recorded work. Steckel is again in powerful company with David Geringas on CPO (an all-Goldschmidt orchestral works disc: 999 277-2 ) and no less than Yo-Yo Ma on Decca (a Goldschmidt concertos disc: 0289 455 5862 2 DM). But he has nothing to fear from either. This work was written in 1953/4 as an evolution of a lost piano and cello work written for Emanuel Feuermann in 1932. The reason it fits so well in the programme here is the way it can be heard as springing from much of the same cultural and aesthetic heritage as the other two works yet ultimately pursuing a more abstract and ‘pure music’ path than the emotional Schelomo or literally cinematic Korngold. The orchestration is sterner, more cerebral than the other two; by no means lacking in colour or beauty but less luxuriant. Likewise the soloist leads a rigorous musical debate rather than riding the passionate wave. All of the earlier virtues of the disc are again evident – beautifully secure yet flexible playing from all departments of the orchestra and the transparent recording allowing the contrapuntal detail of the score to register with natural ease.
 
I have not mentioned before that I like very much the balance that has been achieved between soloist and orchestra. Given that the three works were recorded at different sessions spread over four months the consistency of the sound is exceptional. After the hot-house emotions of Bloch and Korngold, Goldschmidt can seem to be relatively staid although the second movement Caprice mélancolique is powerful and terse. The inspiration for the work is neo-baroque with an expressionist element that must have seemed terribly contrary to the mood of the times in which it was written. With the benefit of more than fifty years hindsight it can be seen that Goldschmidt forged a very individual musical personality from pre-existing materials and forms. Therein lies another unifying link with these three works and composers. None of them was revolutionary but neither were they anything like as reactionary as they were considered during their compositional lifetimes. The closing Tarantella of Goldschmidt’s concerto has a rather take-it-or-leave-it feel which I rather like – a sense of following one’s own path without compromise.
 
The format of the packaging is the increasingly popular cardboard gatefold with the liner booklet tucked into a slot of the cover. The liner is in German and English only. Norbert Ely’s notes are brief but good.
 
This looks like it is a self-promoted disc by Steckel. If so, knowing the time effort and cost of mounting such a project, I hope it has the success and gains the attention playing of this calibre richly deserves. Increasingly players are having to self-promote and I am always sorry if I cannot be as enthusiastic about the results as that kind of dedication and effort merits. But here we have a disc that would grace the release schedule of any major international company and playing worthy of comparison with the very finest. The tiniest caveat is the short playing time at 54:04 but as a tailor would say, “never mind the cost, feel the quality”. Here on a single disc we have the finest version of the Korngold and performances of major works by Bloch and Goldschmidt more than equal to any other. Julian Steckel – remember that name – Bravo!
 
-- Nick Barnard, MusicWeb International

In Hamburg, 1775, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, by then an internationally celebrated and well-connected figure, was surely aware of the genre’s popularity. After all, his half-brother, the London-based Johann Christian, was central in promoting this new culture of domestic piano playing. Responsive to the market demand, C.P.E. came to an agreement with the London publisher Bremner to publish the following year Six Sonatas for the Harpsichord or Pianoforte accompanied by Violin and Violoncello (Wq. 89). Despite the title, Bach referred to these works at times as Trios, at times as Sonatas, and sometimes even as “Trios (which are also Solos)”. Business acumen aside, these works reveal C.P.E. Bach at the height of his career and are full of invention, expression, and shocking surprises that at times surpass what even Beethoven might dare to do. Despite their 10-year career that includes winning many high-powered awards around the world, this is the Linos Piano Trio’s debut recording.

Classical Music

Leonard Bernstein was certainly not surrounded by an aura of aloofness. He enjoyed his immense popularity, although he never consciously attempted to be “everybody’s darling” and to be hailed as “Lenny” by everyone on the street. His parents had officially named him Louis, but tended to call him Leonard. Serge Koussevitsky, his teacher and elder friend- with whom he not only shared an outstanding musical talent but also an Eastern European Jewish family background- called him Lenyusha. This release is being presented in honor of Bernstein’s 100th birthday. A high caliber artist roster led by Wayne Marshall is playing most of Bernstein’s Piano and chamber music which is not at all known to most connoisseurs of his music. A great part of these short pieces have until now only been available on vintage albums, making this release even more special.

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BEETHOVEN Violin Concerto. BERG Violin Concerto • Antje Weithaas (vn); Steven Sloane, cond; Stavanger SO • AVI 8553305 (67:51)


Violinist Antje Weithaas’s pairing of Beethoven’s and Berg’s violin concertos isn’t the first, even in recent memory—Isabelle Faust did so, for example, with Claudio Abbado on Harmonia Mundi 902105 ( Fanfare 35:6). Arabella Steinbacher also programmed the two works, with Andris Nelsons conducting the WDR SO (Orfeo, 778 091, Fanfare 33:4)—which, incidentally, at 75:22, lasted almost eight minutes longer than Weithaas’s performances—and Audite released a pair of older readings by Christian Ferras of the two works with different conductors. Weithaas asks in the booklet notes for the reason for yet another recording of Beethoven’s Concerto and gives a sort of answer—she believes that she’s found something personal to say in (through?) it. She plays a violin made by Peter Greiner in 2001; and, in doing so, joins a number of intrepid artists willing to espouse the productions of contemporary violin makers. That violin itself deserves attention, because of the bright, silvery sound she draws from it, one that’s generally more than captivating (the engineers have made a contribution to its effect, of course). And, with it, she does manage, as she seems to have hoped, to express a message that, while it may in itself not be so original, yet features many nuances that do from moment to moment in the first movement, in passagework and in cantabile, repeatedly bring something unexpected for the listener to ponder. Her tempos in the first movement remain on the quick side, but that’s no hindrance to the music’s profundity, as Jascha Heifetz and Aaron Rosand have shown. She sounds at times commanding and at times like pure quicksilver in the cadenza, which introduces timpani (as did Beethoven’s own for his piano transcription of the concerto), and the effect is electrifying. (Isabelle Faust, Ji?í B?lohlávek and the Prague Philharmonia, Harmonia Mundi 90194, Fanfare 32:4, also gave an electrifying account of the cadenza.) The purity of tone that graced Weithaas’s reading of the first movement plays an even more central role in the slow one. Anne-Sophie Mutter dug for more individuality and depth in the movement’s preternaturally still sections with what sounded like warped tools; Weithaas does so without a trace of eccentricity, either stylistic or timbral. While the soloist combines fluidity in statements of the finale’s main subject matter with confident declamation in the episodes (while interspersing a large number of striking cadenzas), Steven Sloane and the orchestra make the tuttis, as in the first movement, authoritatively explosive, but at the same time achieve admirable clarity of detail. Which would be the greater arrogance, to release yet another recording of Beethoven’s work or to believe yourself capable of doing so? Weithaas may be guilty on both counts, but she acquits herself of all charges with a convincing performance that combines light and dark in a delightfully individual way.


Weithaas and Sloane also adopt a quick tempo in the first half of Alban Berg’s Concerto’s first movement, a tempo that, perhaps surprisingly, does little to disperse its mists and brings passages together for listeners in a fresh way (recall the famous, perceptually ambiguous, duck-rabbit). As in one of the outstanding early recordings of the work, that by André Gertler (Angel 3509, released on CD as Hungaroton 31635), the engineers have placed the violin within the orchestral web, and make a strong case for it belonging there. Sloane and the orchestra revel in the shifting timbres of the first movement’s scherzo-like second half but build to an almost terrifying climax near the middle. Weithaas slashes more savagely than Gertler did in the opening of the second movement’s first half (and Sloane extracts more disturbing dissonances from the orchestra than did Paul Kletzki in that recording). And they create, in the tragedy at the end of that half, a terrifying sense of existential Angst . And in embellishing the chorale tune ( Es ist genug ) that Berg spun out of his tone row, Weithaas and Sloane evince an almost chamber-like intimacy.


Previous experience with Weithaas’s recordings made the arrival of this one for review particularly intriguing, raising the highest expectations. Each and every aspect of the release (including the prepossessing tone of Greiner’s violin) has met, and even exceeded, those expectations. A recording of special merit, it deserves a place on every record shelf. Urgently recommended.


FANFARE: Robert Maxham

Markus Sch�fer writes of his new release: "A musical interpretation should always strive to breathe new life into a composer's legacy by making it audible and understandable in accordance with the here and now. In this new recording we have once again dared to open up our performance experimentally to the sort of effects that emerge from spontaneous improvisation. Faithfulness to the original begins with a willingness to decode, decipher, and interpret the score; it is not achieved by staring fearfully in awe at the manuscript. To the contrary: we are fully aware that any confrontation with a masterpiece of the past can only be justified if we recreate it anew while maintaining a fragile balance between faithfulness to the musical work and faithfulness to the "text"."

This new release is the third installment in the successful ongoing Mahler cycle by Adam Fischer and the Duesseldorfer Symphoniker. Adam Fischer writes in his booklet notes: “I am delighted to perform and record the complete symphonies of Gustav Mahler with the Dusseldorfer Symphoniker. The result, we hope, should be something special: a rendition that stems from an active collaboration in which we mutually inspire one another. This should not be “my” Mahler, but “our” Mahler… Gustav Mahler premiered his First Symphony at the age of 29. For personal reasons I feel a close bond with that 29-year-old Musical Director of the Hungarian State Opera. 120 years later, I was named General Music Director of the same opera house. We both hastily abandoned the institution after 2 ½ years. I would still like to relate a personal reminiscence of one of the performances of “my” First Symphony. The First Symphony was the first occasion I ever heard music by Mahler live on stage: in Vienna when I was nineteen years old, and the experience marked me for life.”

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It is difficult to ascertain how many horn concertos Joseph Haydn and his younger brother Michael actually wrote. Certain works are lost; others are erroneously ascribed, or their authenticity at least doubtful. One of the concertos has even been ascribed by different musicologists to Joseph and to Michael Haydn, but it may have been written by another person entirely. The two brothers wrote most of their concertos for the widest variety of solo instruments, but usually in the same type of situation: i.e. once they had assumed important posts at the head of renowned court orchestras. Joseph Haydn became Kapellmeister for the Esterhazy princes in 1761, and Michael became concertmaster of the Salzburg archdiocese court orchestra in 1763. The court musicians in both orchestras were virtuosos in their own right, and one of the tasks of a Kapellmeister consisted in composing new works that permitted them to display their outstanding abilities in the presence of their sovereigns.

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BEETHOVEN Piano Sonatas Nos. 27, 28, 30, 31 • Dina Ugorskaja (pn) • CAVI 8553299 (77:35)


Dina Ugorskaja, the daughter of the pianist Anatol Ugorski, is a Russian pianist and composer trained in Germany. Early in her career, she has already recorded Beethoven’s “Hammerklavier” and op. 111 sonatas, the Chopin preludes, and a disc of Handel suites. The Sonata No. 27, the first of the 32 in which Beethoven uses German to indicate the movements’ tempo and character, is the piano work in which Beethoven’s late period begins, and Ugorskaja’s playing is fully alive to the quick changes of mood in its stark, febrile first movement, with extremely sensitive pacing of the rise and fall of each phrase, and careful weighing of tone. Her tempo for the second movement is on the slow side, but the melody is patiently shaped, as if sung, never in a hurry. This is a terrific performance of an elusive work.


Ugorskaja’s well-projected, unforced sound, and instinctively rhapsodic, though tasteful, responses to the music’s changes of character, are a good fit with the predominantly lyrical sonatas Nos. 30 and 31, though there’s real grandeur in her playing in the sections that need it. How beautifully she plays the right hand melody in No. 30’s third movement’s first variation, in which Beethoven uncannily anticipates the ornamented singing line of Chopin’s nocturnes, pieces that I’d love to hear her play. No. 31 receives a properly serious, thoughtfully savored reading, with highly expressive playing in the mystical latter sections of the piece. There are one or two moments in the first movement where Ugorskaja’s impulse to move the music forward detracts from the movement’s benign, stable character, but that’s a small quibble.


In op. 101 (Sonata No. 28), I was a little disappointed in her reading of the second movement, a tricky, fast march. In it, her espressivo approach, so winning in the sonata’s first movement, isn’t always rhythmically consistent enough in the repeated dotted rhythms. (Igor Levit’s splendid performance on a recent Sony disc has more speed and better control.) Nonetheless, Ugorskaja’s late Beethoven is cognizant of the sonatas’ details and structure, and manages to sound personally expressive without being self-indulgent. Cavi’s engineering captures the depth and variety of her splendid, “open” sound. Highly recommended.


FANFARE: Paul Orgel

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In February 2016 the recording took place in the Studio 2 of the Bayerischer Rundfunk in Munich. Dina Ugorskaja pursued the finishing process of the master with great impulse and unbelievable energy during all the time when her health abated, even to the point where she selected and approved herself the booklet notes by Tatjana Frumkis. This project will stay simply as a singular milestone, there was a lot planned by the two artists “…They were also ambivalent toward one another. Prokofiev accused Shostakovich of “devouring everything” (the fact that the younger composer dared to incorporate the street genres of entertainment music into his classical compositions), and affirmed that Shostakovich had no gift for melody. Shostakovich, for his part, occasionally found Prokofiev’s music too crude, too clearly illustrative. Yet in spite of the largely unfair criticism they directed toward one another, each one never let his counterpart entirely out of his sight, or, to be more exact, of his ears. Ever since the 1920s their music was featured on joint recital programmes. The young Shostakovich acknowledged Prokofiev’s influence on certain of his own works. Prokofiev, when abroad, encouraged “chemical exchange between Russia and Europe” and promoted Shostakovich’s works in particular, even expressing the wish that his younger colleague be allowed to perform abroad, too. But that was not to be. From the late 1930s to the early 1950s, their paths went on crossing in the territory of the totalitarian Soviet Union. Ever since then, the Prokofiev-Shostakovich dichotomy, an undeclared competition, has never ceased. (From the booklet lines notes by Tatjana Frumkis).

The series of the complete Mahler Symphonies with the Düsseldorf Symphonic under the baton of Ádám Fischer continues here with the release of the Symphony No. 9. Over the last two years Ádám Fischer’s Mahler recordings grew to a most successful recording project, winning the BBC Music Magazine Award, and the OPUS KLASSIK Trophy in Germany. Adam Fischer: "Mahler wrote his Ninth symphony in 1909, and it is about death. To be more precise it is about dying. And I know of no other language apart from German in which the words 'death' (Tod) and 'dying' have entirely different etymologies."