Third Coast Percussion has been saluted by the Washington Post for its “virtuosity and precisely timed wit”, and was called by the New York Times a “commandingly elegant” ensemble. The group, which is ensemble-in-residence at the University of Notre Dame, teaches and performs a concert series in Chicago, and has commissioned dozens of new works.; This album is the ensemble’s Cedille label debut, and is an 80th birthday acknowledgement to American composer Steve Reich, the founding father of musical minimalism. This CD features four of Reich’s most notable percussion works.

Review:

It’s above all a sensual approach to tone color that comes through in Third Coast’s take on classic works, whether it’s the relaxed warmth of the Mallet Quartet or the glistening brightness of “Music for Pieces of Wood.” Joined by the pianists David Friend and Oliver Hagen, the ensemble also finds full-blooded drama in the Sextet, which contains within its five movements a world of expressions from impish charm to almost oppressive darkness.

– New York Times

SOWERBY: Symphony No. 2 / Concert Overture / All on a Summer

Oboist Alex Klein, formerly of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, has an absolutely staggering technique, a sweet, pure tone, and seemingly endless breath control. His performances of these three challenging concertos, two of which were composed for him, are simply the last word in virtuosity as well as a true labor of love. After more than 80 minutes of music (on two discs for the price of one) I experienced no aural fatigue at all, and given the fact that the oboe is not necessarily one of the more alluring solo instruments, that's saying a lot. I must confess, there were times in the Yano concerto when I thought it would be nice if the oboe part had been left out, but that wasn't because of any deficiency in the playing. It's just that 37 minutes is a long time for any wind concerto, even one that gives plenty of opportunity for the orchestra to strut its stuff. But I'm getting ahead of myself.


First up on the program is Martinu's exquisite Concerto for Oboe and Small Orchestra, with its radiant textures (helped by a prominent piano part), lyrically syncopated melodies, and superb sense of form. Its scant 16 minutes radiate so much personality, charm, and freshness that it tends to dwarf the other two more imposing works on the program, fine as they are. Pawel Sydor's concerto Virtuti Militari has a lengthy program that speaks of the solo as a Polish hero representing virtue and democratic values fighting a bunch of political "maggots" symbolized by low strings and brass, while "the crowd" vacillates between them. I find the whole idea to be silly, but what matters is that the music is quite enjoyable and the opposition of the solo to the full ensemble is what concertos are all about anyway. The orchestration also is appealingly over-the-top in a juicy, Hollywood manner, and there's a gorgeous, lyrical tune for the oboe a few minutes into the work that sounds like the most beautiful thing ever written for the instrument (and Klein plays it that way). I could do without the "extended playing techniques", which as usual with wind instruments means making all kinds of nasty screeching sounds--exactly what most beginners on the instrument do their best to avoid. But Sydor's bows to the avant-garde never become annoying and always make sense in context.


Brazilian composer Marco Aurélio Yano died in 1991 at the age of 27 of brain cancer, leaving his Oboe Concerto incomplete regarding orchestration. Klein and colleagues of the composer finished the task very lovingly, and it's a very beautiful (if long) work. The first movement represents for Klein a narrative of the composer's final illness, and again I don't think that the programmatic suggestion helps. It's certainly a bitingly intense 10 minutes of music, with an enigmatic conclusion, and stylistically it lives in a different world from the rest of the work. The two ensuing movements are both based on Brazilian folk music and have extremely engaging tunes, very colorfully scored. The presence of the oboe does not in any way inhibit the exuberant use of a large orchestra, though as suggested at the beginning of this review, I could have done without that last cadenza in the finale. Never mind. I know that I will enjoy listening to this piece again, and that's ultimately what matters.


Paul Freeman and the Czech National Symphony Orchestra offer expert accompaniments and sound completely at home in all three works. I would have expected this of the Martinu, but it would be very difficult to point out any specific instance where these players put a foot wrong in the other pieces either. The engineering really makes the best possible case for the performances. Klein is naturally balanced against the ensemble, with plenty of air around his instrument so that the acoustic enhances the mellow warmth of his tone and never transmits an excessive amount of mechanical noise. Compared to Klein, Heinz Holliger often sounds like he's playing a kazoo. In short, this disc is a model of sensitive artistry, enterprising repertoire selection, and superlative engineering. It just doesn't get any better. [12/15/2004]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

CIMAROSA / MOLIQUE / MOSCHELES: Wind Concertos

Includes passacaglia(s) by Heinrich Ignaz Biber. Soloist: Rachel Barton Pine.
Includes sonata(s) for violin and basso continuo by Johann Georg Pisendel. Soloist: Rachel Barton Pine.
Includes work(s) by Johann Paul von Westhoff. Soloist: Rachel Barton Pine.

Includes gigue(s) by Jean-Baptiste Lully. Soloist: David Schrader.

"Cedille continues to delight me with the quality of its engineering and production. The latest release--again demonstrating the recording-booth talents of Bill Maylone--is Soler's Quintets for Harpsichord and Strings . . . Schrader plays a large harpsichord, resonant and full-voiced. The recording seems perfectly balanced between small-room acoustics . . . and large-ensemble spaciousness." (Fanfare)

Padre Antonio Soler's six quintets for harpsichord and string quartet are post-Baroque masterstrokes, blending Baroque and early Classical styles with a savory seasoning of Spanish folk music.

"In terms of crowd-pleasing qualities, the last three quintets of Soler may even eclipse their predecessors," says record producer James Ginsburg. "Yet they also reward the serious listener."

While formally less diverse than the first three quintets, the latter three are especially lyrical and offer a stimulating variety of moods and timbres which -- at least in the hands of the present performers -- evoke the sound of woodwinds, chimes, harp, and even Spanish guitar.

"František Vincenc Kramá?, as he is correctly named, is better known as Franz Vinzenz Krommer. Born in Bohemia in 1759, he was educated, in part, by an uncle, but taught himself theory. He left Bohemia in 1785 and worked extensively in Hungary for the better part of 10 years. From 1795 until his death in 1831 he worked in Vienna. His reputation was very high, and his works were quite widely known throughout Europe. His quartets were considered on a par with Haydn's, and overall he was often compared to Beethoven. From our point of view those statements may be excessive, but he certainly was a polished musician deserving considerable renown. His wind concertos are especially fine, and are gradually becoming well regarded in our own time.

His two oboe concertos were written in Vienna in 1803 and 1805. Both are dramatic works with virtuoso turns and leaps abounding. The first is more Mozartean in nature while the second has distinct overtones of early Beethoven. Both are first-class pieces that deserve to be known.

Johann Nepomuk Hummel is more of a known quantity. He was highly regarded in Vienna as a contemporary of Beethoven, though of somewhat lesser stature. His Introduction, Theme, and Variations is a polished, virtuoso piece of considerable brilliance.

Alex Klein was born in Brazil, trained at Oberlin College, and for the last five years has been principal oboist of the Chicago Symphony. His technique is flawless. He is well supported by Paul Freeman and the Czech National Symphony. Cedille's recorded sound is first-class, as expected from this source."-- John Bauman, Fanfare [11/1999]

"A first-rate recording of a durable classic." (Opera News)

"Chicago Opera Theater brings the story fully and frighteningly to life for the first time on compact disc. Joyce Castle sings the title role . . . with chilling malevolence. Bedi brings to the role [of Monica] a pervasive and affecting sweetness." (Newark Star-Ledger)

"Exudes a riveting theatrical atmosphere." (Dallas Morning News)

Oft-performed but mysteriously absent on recordings, Menotti's eerie opera The Medium has materialized in its first recording in more than a quarter century. This two-act "musical drama" is about a fake psychic whose surprise encounter with the unknown leads to murder and mayhem. It is stage a dozen times annually in the US alone. Yet, recordings haven't been available for years, and (until now) it has never appeared on CD.

A "sensational success" for Menotti (Kobbé's Opera Book), the present version of The Medium had its premiere February 18, 1947 at New York's Heckscher Theater. New York Times music critic Olin Downes wrote, "we have here the quality of opera. It is dramatic music, emphatic in action as well as feeling, and in essence song, which is what opera must be. No other American composer has shown the inborn talent that Mr. Menotti, an Italian by descent, unquestionable possesses for the lyric theater." Critic (and composer) Virgil Thomson called it a "first-class musico-theatrical work . . . the most gripping operatic narrative [he] has witnessed in many a year . . .[It] wrings every heart string, and the music is thoroughly touching."

SOWERBY: Tone Poems

The devil's a fiddler extraordinaire: If you doubt it, watch him play baubles by Paganini in The Witches of Eastwick or a remarkable variation on The Devil s Dream in The Devil and Daniel Webster. Bach and Bruckner wrote for God, but who wrote the music for His infernal adversary? Unsavory types like Liszt, Berlioz, Paganini, and Ernst, among others; and their musical sketches are just a bit too lifelike for comfort, especially as Halloween approaches. In fact, Cedille Records, releasing Rachel Barton's collection in time for the celebration, included packages of Red Hots with review copies (which I assume the Editor ate before passing the disc on to me).

In earlier reviews, I've noted a slenderness in Rachel Barton's tone (specifically in Handel Sonatas, Cedille CDR90000 032, Fanfare 21:1 and in concertos by black composers, Cedille CDR 90000 035, 21:5). She must have been washing down steaks with raw eggs in the meantime, because her sound in her new release could knock you out of your seat, as at the beginning of Saint-Saëns's Danse macabre or the end of Milstein's Mephisto Waltz (after Liszt). Overcoming one technical challenge after another with intimidating self-confidence, she and pianist Patrick Sinozich create a sinister atmosphere in Saint-Saëns's Danse. Tartini's original version of his "Devil's Trill," no longer such a novelty as when Eduard Melkus recorded it on LP (Archiv 2533 086), still hasn't received the same lengthy roster of sulfurous recordings as has Kreisler's edition. Andrew Manze showed how far a half-cracked imagination could take the sonata (Harmonia Mundi USA, HMU 907213, 21:5), but Barton has achieved a similarly exciting and somewhat more ingratiating effect on her modern instrument (actually not so modern—the "ex-Lobkowicz" Antonius and Hieronymous Amati of 1617, beautifully represented in the booklet)—simply by making the most of the original (and spikier) harmonies at tempos that are, in the fast movements, at least, among the quickest I've heard. And although her ornamentation of the repeated sections hews closer to the traditional line than did Manze's, it's both idiomatic and highly theatrical. Heifetz's adoption of Bazzini's Dance of the Goblins nearly knocked it out of the ring; and it occasions one of the few unfavorable comparisons with other artists: Even if she could match Heifetz's speed in the left-hand pizzicatos, Barton's dancing seems left-footed. But there's no such heavy labor in her daunting gallop though the night in Ernst's Erlkönig transcription. Leila Josefowicz (Philips 446 700-2) made more of the dialog between the riders, but hardly left the listener so breathless. Barton's performance charges with a frenzy similar to Ingolf Turban's (Claves CD 50-9613, 20:6). The violin is no Et? clarinet, and it's as hard to imagine any wholly successful transcription of Berlioz's Witches' Sabbath. Barton and Sinozich's cauldron does occasionally bubble, though, with the performers' enthusiasm as the main ingredient. The inclusion of Stravinsky's Devil's Dance in his own trio version is a stroke of macabre genius, and Sarasate's Faust Fantasy, less familiar than its counterpart by Wieniawski, is exceptionally welcome.

The detailed notes, excellent photography, as well as the larger-than-life presence the engineers have accorded the performers, enhance the appeal of a release that deserves a place in every violinist's library. A frightfully good, thoroughly entertaining fire and brimstone recital, warmly (or, in keeping with the theme, hotly) recommended. Look out, Jack Nicholson!

-- Robert Maxham, Fanfare, Issue 22:3 (Jan/Feb 1999)

SHOSTAKOVICH String Quartets: Nos. 1–4. PROKOFIEV String Quartet No. 2 • Pacifica Qrt • ÇEDILLE 30 (2 CDs: 129:17)

Sooner or later, most contributors to this journal are bound to receive letters from disgruntled readers and the occasional colleague complaining about what they perceive to be an unfairly negative review, or even an unfairly positive one. But I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever been chided by a colleague as I was by Peter J. Rabinowitz in Fanfare 35:4 for submitting an enthusiastic review that wasn’t enthusiastic enough. In a second-opinion follow-up to my review of Volume 1 of the Pacifica Quartet’s new Shostakovich cycle, Rabinowitz took exception to my “Goldilocks” analogy in which I stated that the Pacifica’s performances struck me as “j-u-s-t right.”

Although I never got to review the Pacifica’s complete Mendelssohn quartets, they showed up on a couple of Want Lists, and in a number of reviews of Mendelssohn quartet recordings by other ensembles, I’ve repeatedly singled out the Pacifica’s version as equaling, if not surpassing, the Emerson’s set. So, as a rejoinder to Rabinowitz, let me just say for the record that I agree with him that the Pacifica’s Shostakovich is not “middle of the road,” and by “j-u-s-t right” I didn’t mean to imply that the ensemble’s performances straddled the fence or clung to the median strip running down the center of the highway. There is no better string quartet on the scene today than the Pacifica. In terms of technical precision and keenness of musical insight, the Pacifica is the true inheritor of the Emerson’s crown and, in warmth of tone and emotional responsiveness, I often find the Pacifica superior to the Emerson.

That said, there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that once the Pacifica has completed its Shostakovich cycle it will be among the top two or three to have, those others being the aforesaid Emerson and what some consider to be the definitive Fitzwilliam. With this release of Volume 2, the Pacifica has now crossed the ocean more than halfway. Eight of the 15 quartets have now been committed to disc—Nos. 5–8 in Volume 1, and now Nos. 1–4 here. And as in the previous volume, the MO is to include another roughly contemporaneous string quartet by another Russian composer. In Volume 1 it was Miaskovsky; here it’s Prokofiev.

Shostakovich’s quartets span a period of 36 years; the first was written in 1938, the last in 1974. The four quartets heard here are the composer’s earliest, though in the overall chronology of his works, you could say that he got a relatively late start in the quartet-writing business. He’d already written his first five symphonies by 1937, before his first quartet was even a twinkle in his ear.

As he is quoted in Shostakovich: A Life Remembered , it was the composer’s intention to write 24 quartets following a cyclic progression of major and minor keys. Unlike Bach, however, who proceeded through the keys by semitone, or Chopin, who in his 24 preludes proceeded via the Circle of Fifths, Shostakovich adopted a unique scheme of his own. He proceeds—at least in the 15 quartets he managed to write—more or less by submediants (by sixths). The first six quartets, all in major, follow the pattern. C, A, F, D, B?, G—A being a sixth above C, F being a sixth above A, and so on. But then something goes askew with the plan. No. 7 should have been in E?, but instead Shostakovich throws a monkeywrench into the works by giving us a quartet in F?-Minor. No. 8 returns to the pattern with C Minor, which would have been the submediant of No. 7 if No. 7 had followed the plan and been in E?. Another deviation comes with No. 10, which is also in the “wrong” key from what it should be, but the pattern resumes once again with No. 11.

In a fascinating analysis of the quartets (quartets.de/index.html), one Ian Strachan explains that “the insertion of F?-Minor and the effective rotation of E? sharp major [ sic ] and C minor were done so that quartet number nine would be written in E?-Major and quartet number 16 in B Major. By doing so Shostakovich would ensure that his initials (DSCH) were used as the keys in quartets whose number are a perfect square (D Major: quartet number four or 2 squared; S, in the German notation or E?-Major in the English: quartet number nine or 3 squared; C Major: quartet number one or 1 squared; and H or B Major in the English notation as quartet number 16, or 4 squared). So it seems that Shostakovich, a tonal composer who delighted in keeping detailed numerical records of football scores, indulged in numerical as well as musical ciphers.”

In a way, I suppose, this tends to reinforce something I’ve said before about Shostakovich’s quartets, not that they’re all alike, but that there’s a prevailing sense of continuity in the musical discourse that makes them seem like one cogent and coherent conversation from beginning to end, which, of course, could be advanced as an argument for listening to them in order. Still, the above bit of clever mathematical manipulation presumes the existence of a 16th which was never written, as well as the continuation of the pattern all the way through to a nonexistent final 24th quartet. You’ve got to love stuff like this; it can be so earnest in its pursuit of the Delphic. Or, as the oracle once said, “Pi are square, cake are round.”

Nonetheless, I would urge you to visit the website because it goes way beyond the tortured math I’ve touched on here. It also provides a detailed history, description, and analysis of every single quartet.

The First Quartet, for the most part, is a bouncy, one might almost say joyful, thing. The coruscating harmonies, rhythmic ostinatos, and pervasive gloom we often associate with Shostakovich’s music are saved for the later quartets.

The austerity and menace begin to creep in as early as the Second Quartet. The Soviet victory over Hitler’s army was near in the early fall of 1944 when Shostakovich composed the work, practically in the same breath as his famous E-Minor Piano Trio, but he wasn’t in a celebratory mood. There’s a Russianness or East European Jewishness to the melodic and harmonic material, which often sounds like it’s derived from folk songs and klezmer dances soured and bent out of shape by Shostakovich’s parodying techniques.

Superficially, the Third Quartet (1946) bears some resemblance to the First Quartet in its opening swagger and jaunty Haydnesque character, but it’s a cheerfulness colored by disappointment and disillusion. The piece was written on the eve that ushered in the dark days of the Zhdanov denouncement and the targeting of Soviet artists and intellectuals. Shostakovich’s state of mind is reflected in the fact that the Third Quartet is the only work he wrote during this year.

The Fourth Quartet (1949) ran into resistance for other reasons and of a different sort. Characterized as another of his “Jewish” works—though not Jewish, Shostakovich was drawn to Jewish musical and cultural themes throughout his life—the Fourth Quartet appeared at exactly the time that the Cold War was heating up, anti-Semitism was once again on the rise (if it had ever abated), and Stalin was gleefully engaged in another round of persecution and purges. The horror is made manifest in the leering danse macabre of the concluding Allegretto, one of the standout movements in the entire quartet cycle.

For Prokofiev the string quartet plays a far less central role in his output; he wrote only two, the first in 1930, and the second, included in the present set, in 1941. Writing string quartets was not a particularly self-motivated or self-fulfilling effort for him, and this, his second go at the medium, was apparently not even his idea. Having been sent to a Soviet outpost presumed safe from Germany’s invading forces, Prokofiev was encouraged to write a string quartet based on the Kabardino-Balkar folk themes common to the North Caucasus region to which he and other artists had been evacuated. He seems to have warmed to the idea, producing a fine example of abstract music inspired by authentic folk elements.

In every single movement of Shostakovich’s quartets and in the Prokofiev, the Pacifica Quartet penetrates to the very heart and soul of the music. What stands out—matters of technical precision and ensemble blending and balance are givens—is the way in which the players probe for and reveal amazing details even in passages that, superficially, may seem to present relatively flat surfaces unlikely to yield much in the way of dimensionality, such as the Adagio of the Third Quartet. But under inspection of the Pacifica’s microscope, the music displays a topography filled with hidden peaks and valleys. It’s this intellectual curiosity to explore, wedded to largesse of emotional expressivity that makes these performances special.

I hope Rabinowitz takes this to be the fervently enthusiastic recommendation intended.

FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

This new release is the first recording to feature the Casavant Frères organ built during the early 1990s for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra at Orchestra Hall. The beautifully produced recording highlights four substantial and worthwhile American works written between 1943 and 1990, in brilliant performances by organist David Schrader with the Grant Park Orchestra (which offers summer concerts in Chicago), conducted by the Uruguayan-born, Viennese-trained Carlos Kalmar. Hence, this disc will be of great interest to aficionados of organ music, as well as to those with a special interest in American music or in these four Pulitzer Prize-winning composers.

Samuel Barber’s Toccata festiva was composed in 1960 to commemorate the installation of a new organ donated by Mary Curtis Bok Zimbalist to Philadelphia’s Academy of Music. (At a cost of $150,000, the Aeolian-Skinner was the largest movable pipe organ in the world at the time.) Her gift also included the commissioning of a celebratory piece of music for the occasion. Barber’s Toccata is one of his very few works that have the ring of a “potboiler” (although, in fact, Barber declined the fee offered by his devoted, long-time patron). That is, its fabrication of hearty good cheer seems a tad forced, as it works through material strongly reminiscent of previous successes, most notably, Knoxville (the justly beloved vocal work whose deeply reflective nostalgia is almost diametrically opposed to the extroverted character of this showpiece). Nevertheless, Barber’s workmanship was never less than meticulous, and the resulting composition fulfills its requirements with impeccable panache. As fine as this performance and recording may be, however, those listeners whose interest is limited to the Barber will probably be happier with the original recording that featured E. Power Biggs with the Philadelphia Orchestra under Ormandy. I believe that this rendition is still available on an all-Barber CD reissue.

Speaking of Biggs, Walter Piston’s Prelude and Allegro was commissioned in 1943 by the esteemed organist for one of his weekly radio broadcasts. The Prelude offers a warmly expressive, long-lined polyphony that calls Barber’s own style to mind; the Allegro cuts less deeply than the opening, and displays the briskly vigorous, syncopated counterpoint generally associated with its composer.

The music of Leo Sowerby (1895–1968), a prolific composer based for many years in Chicago, has never gained a strong foothold with the listening public, although there have been recent efforts to prompt a reconsideration of his output. From my perspective, Sowerby’s music, like that of many mid-Western composers, suffers from a neutrality of affect, untroubled by either spiritual or emotional conflict. This 18-minute Concertpiece, dating from 1951, is representative of such a characterization: a robust, full-throated fantasia-like piece that falls loosely into three sections. Simple modal thematic material is developed into rather elaborate, chromatic textures. Post-Romantic in its musical language, but abstract in structure, the work is unavoidably comparable to Howard Hanson’s Concerto for Organ, Harp, and Strings, completed just ten years earlier. The works cover very similar terrain, expressively and stylistically, although Hanson’s offers a stronger personal profile.

The most recent composition is Snow Walker, written in 1990 by Michael Colgrass. Colgrass, who turned seventy this year, lived for some time among the Inuit in northern Canada. “Snow Walker” is apparently an Inuit image that represents death and resurrection. In five movements, this 22-minute work was inspired by Inuit mythology and by the composer’s impressions of the Arctic. Like much music of the 1990s, Snow Walker is oriented around gesture and sonority, rather than by the dynamics of harmonic melody, meter, or tonality. For me, a little of this sort of thing goes a long way; each time I listened to the piece, my interest had waned by the fourth section. (Actually, I suspect that Colgrass’s interest waned by the fourth section.) However, the first three sections are quite compelling in their preternatural way. The first movement, “Polar Landscape,” is enormously evocative; the second attempts to simulate a type of Inuit singing that resembles an unearthly sort of laughter; the third, entitled “The Whispering Voices of the Spirits Who Ride with the Lights in the Sky,” is almost terrifying in its eeriness.

In summary, this will be a welcome acquisition for those whose interests embrace this repertoire.

-- Walter Simmons, Fanfare

Jennifer Koh is a really good violinist, and this enterprising program showcases her skills comprehensively. Schubert's remarkable late Fantasie in C for Violin and Piano D. 934 still isn't as well known as his other late works, perhaps because he wrote so little music for this combination, but it's a major masterpiece and Koh plays it like one. Her tone is wistful at the opening, lively in the allegros, and in general more gutsy (all to the good) than the recent Shiokawa/Schiff rendition on ECM. Her partner, Reiko Uchida, shares her conception of the piece and isn't afraid to take center stage when called for, particularly in the work's latter stages.


I actually prefer this piano and violin arrangement of Schumann's Fantasie in C Op. 131 to his rather soggy original for violin and orchestra, scored in his most monochrome late style. Koh and Uchida find a lightness and lyricism in the piece that allows us to enjoy the beautiful tunes free of their orchestral shackles, and you would never know that this was not Schumann's intention all along. I'm less thrilled with the Schoenberg Phantasy, which is played about as beautifully as it can be, but it's ugly music and out of place in this context despite the eloquent case made for it in the very detailed and articulate booklet notes by Andrea Lamoreaux. This is one of those cases where the lineup perhaps appears better in theory than in practice, though Ornette Coleman's soulful "Trinity" Fantasy for solo violin does sound right at home here for some reason and makes a fine conclusion to an enterprising program.


Sonically this disc is simply gorgeous. The balances between piano and violin turn out to be just about perfect, and the lower octaves of the keyboard have a depth and presence, especially in piano passages, that is simply thrilling. I would recommend this disc on technical grounds alone, even if the artistic side weren't as successful as it clearly is. So despite my small reservation regarding the inclusion of the Schoenberg (and others may differ with me there), this is a pretty terrific recording on all counts, and the Schubert and Schumann performances make it essential listening for fans of those composers.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Paul Hindemith's chamber music with clarinet includes some of his finest work in the medium. The 1939 Sonata for Clarinet and Piano finds the composer in a surprisingly relaxed and mellow mood, especially considering the terrible situation in which he had recently found himself in Germany--the scandal over the premiere of his opera Mathis der Mahler and his conflict with the Nazi government leading to his eventual emigration to the United States. You'd never know it to hear this sunny, tuneful work, which John Bruce Yeh plays with straightforward charm and just a touch less tonal warmth and attention to dynamic nuance than would be ideal. Still, it's a performance that, like the work itself, falls very easily on the ear, and composer Easley Blackwood offers a sympathetic piano accompaniment.


On the other hand, the Quartet for Clarinet, Violin, Cello, and Piano of 1938 features a slow movement that rises to extraordinary heights of passion, particularly for Hindemith. The players of the Amelia Piano Trio achieve real intensity here, and Yeh's long elegiac solo immediately following the movement's climax is exquisitely phrased. The long, episodic finale's central section, based on an eruptive saltarello rhythm, similarly builds to a moment of almost transfiguring intensity before the more emotionally ambiguous conclusion. If you enjoy Hindemith's best mature work--the Mathis der Maler Symphony, for example--you will find much to admire here. This quartet is a masterpiece, and this easily is its best recorded performance.


The Clarinet Quintet dates from 1923 but was revised in 1954, presumably to make it somewhat less acerbic as was Hindemith's practice in reworking what he came to regard as some of his youthful indiscretions. The very opening, with wild clarinet runs and violent string interjections, shows the energetic young composer at his most colorful and uninhibited, but the work also has plenty of easily enjoyable tunes, and its 20 minutes (spread over five movements) goes very quickly. The two tiny duets for clarinet and violin from the Music Day at Plön aren't musically important or memorable, but they are very well played.


Sonically this recording, like most of Cedille's recent work, is simply gorgeous. You will be hard pressed to find a more natural or better balanced sound than that captured in the Quartet, with the piano perfectly placed and the clarinet beautifully integrated into the ensemble so that Yeh's silky low tones color the string textures as Hindemith intended. The fact that Yeh seems a touch too forward in the Sonata undoubtedly reflects the preference of the players themselves. This then is a very distinguished release, one that even those who normally avoid Hindemith, and especially his chamber music, very easily could come to relish.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com