On 18 March 1860, Vienna witnessed a genuine political sensation at the second concert of Euterpe, a young orchestra society. The programme began with several pieces by Ernst II, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, which were received with great applause for the composer, who was present. Equally successful was Fantasia symphonica on themes by Ernst II, for which the Kapellmeister of the Theater an der Wien was responsible - none other than Franz von Suppe, who had succeeded in weaving several themes by his blue-blooded "colleague" into a rousing, impressive symphony. Once again, Suppe's classical training had paid off. Although he achieved immortality as the composer of Die schone Galathee and, above all, Boccaccio, he made a significant contribution with a number of serious works (such as the Requiem cpo 777 842-2). The "symphonic fantasy" is paired with Twelve Spanish Dances, a spirited collection of delightful miniatures from which the famous Jota rears it's head time and again

At around the same time as George Frideric Handel, Johann David Heinichen, a pupil at St Thomas's School in Leipzig, set off on a grand tour to Italy in 1710. The trained lawyer could no longer resist his urge for music and was promptly and richly rewarded for his grand tour. He was swept along by the musical trends of the day. The music of Antonio Vivaldi, Alessandro Scarlatti and Francesco Gasparini had an immediate effect on him, whilst the masters of the time, such as Monteverdi and Carissimi, exerted a more indirect influence - and when he returned home in 1716, he was no longer the same man. He soon became Kapellmeister at the Dresden court, to which he made significant contributions until later in life (1729). Among other things, Heinichen left behind some fifty solo cantatas. Five of these enchanting, Italian-inspired opera scenes in pocket-sized form make up the programme of this production, whose soloist has mastered emotions in all of their facets and transformed them into sound.

It 'doesn't take long before one is captivated by Emilie Mayer's spirited and distinctive music. The same applies to the Constanze Quartet's interpretation, which does full justice to the music. We can look forward to [...] Vol. 2,' remarked a well-known blogger after discovering three string quartets by the Mecklenburg composer (CD cpo 555 600-2). This man is in good company, and he will not be the only one to savour the second instalment of the planned complete recordings with great pleasure. Emilie Mayer, celebrated during her lifetime primarily as a symphonist, proves herself a masterful exponent of classical forms, subtle plays of musical lines and delicate harmonies, even in the supreme discipline of chamber music. Many will regret that only seven of her twelve quartets have survived - just enough to fill a third CD in the near future.

After making stops in Stralsund, Danzig and Magdeburg, the European Hanseatic Ensemble, under the baton of it's musical guide Manfred Cordes, now reaches the Hanseatic city of Hamburg, which was already a flourishing centre of music in the 17th century. People could afford music, they indulged in it, and a standard was maintained that radiated everywhere. Given such opulence, the choice must have been a real dilemma for the performers involved in this latest production. The recordings were undoubtedly also a distinct pleasure, for they were made at a memorable location - in the New Church in the orgryte district of Gothenburg, where the world's largest mean-tone-tuned organ has been for a quarter of a century. This marvel, completed in 2000, is the secret star of the Hanseatic programme, from which the names of Praetorius, Weckmann and Selle stand out as particularly prominent masters.

This production is dedicated to two orchestral works that vividly reflect the liberation struggle of Yugoslavia. Before this South Slavic confederation managed to break free from Soviet control, the doctrine of Socialist Realism applied here too. Papandopulo found his way out of the dilemma. His Second Symphony, completed in April 1946, depicts - according to the programme - the artist's path to the light. This established narrative, compliant with the party line, unfolds in five disparate movements. While the first two parts are new original compositions, the rest consists of existing material that the composer has skilfully arranged for orchestra. Thus he could initially adopt a more modern style and subsequently produce a more folk-like ambient to evoke the era before the Stalinist dictatorship. The Vrzino kolo for piano and orchestra was written twelve years later. Here the wind had shifted to the west; the seeds of modernism had blown in and triggered furious developments. Based on an ancient legend, Papandopulo unleashes a wild "witches' round dance" in which a fire-breathing dragon appears, a city in flames shrill, garish sounds that would have earned Papandopulo severe admonishments earlier.

History teaches us that we should be wary of attaching such absolute labels as "inventor of " or "father or mother of ' with the blanks to be filled in with every conceivable phenomenon from the string quartet to film. For time and again, deeper research necessitates revisions - as in the case here, where suddenly two new fathers of Russian music relegate the younger Mikhail Glinka and the mighty handful to the back seats. Bohemian Ernst Wanczura (pronounced Van-CHUR-a), born ten years before Mozart, ended up in St Petersburg and was possibly the first composer to use folk songs in his delightful Symphonies Op. 1 and Op. 2. His colleague Fomin, fifteen years his junior, with the beautiful first name Yevstigney Ipat'yevich, a pupil of the famous Bolognese Padre Martini at the state's expense, was particularly successful with stage works. His melodramas and operas are veritable parabolic mirrors in which Italian, Russian and Western stylistic features coalesce into a distinctive expression that could undoubtedly have become a significant force had Fomin been granted a longer life.

Classical Music

Classical Music

This album was nominated for the 2006 Grammy Award for Best Orchestral Performance.

REVIEW:

Within the first few seconds of the first track--the Sonata No. 1 in G major--most listeners will find themselves in surprisingly familiar territory--surprising because this little-known 18th-century composer seems to have written a popular tune long attributed to Pergolesi, a misattribution given additional false credibility by its use in Stravinsky's Pulcinella. In fact Stravinsky used selections from several of Domenico Gallo's trio sonatas in his famous ballet music, thinking them to be works of Pergolesi because they were published under his name in late-19th century English editions.

Ultimately--other than the fact that it's always nice to set the record straight--the author of these expertly written and very appealing works for violins, cello, and harpsichord is not so important as what they offer to listeners and to performers. (For the record, even Gallo's authorship isn't absolutely certain for all 12 sonatas.)

As realized by these four excellent players and their well-matched period instruments, we can count on a steadfastly upbeat, uplifting hour and 10 minutes of first rate chamber music notable for its lovely, lively melodies and skillfully varied textures and harmonic settings. Gallo shows much of his best stuff in his slow movements--and so do the performers, who demonstrate their facility in bringing out the music's emotional core. Good examples are the slow movements of No. 2 in B-flat, No. 3 in C minor, and the very Bach-like No. 6 in D major for which, unfortunately, you'll have to do a little searching because each work is served by only one track number. Throughout, the playing is stylish and full of personality, buoyed by unfaltering technical confidence and assured ensemble interaction. The sound is intimate, warm, and resonant. It's not Bach; it's not even Pergolesi. But it's well worth a place in your CD collection, especially as this set contains pieces you won't find anywhere else. Perhaps Parnassi musici and/or other musicians will be motivated to explore and record the many other works by Gallo that remain unpublished and unperformed.

-- David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

Classical Music

Violinist/composer Karol Lipinski (1790-1861) has been dubbed the "Polish Paganini". Is that nickname a compliment or something of a slight? The two men were contemporaries who at first meeting were mutual admirers and even colleagues in presenting double concerts; later, their partnership soured, and now Lipinski's soubriquet might sound more like second-best than a mark of distinction. And although Lipinski's contemporaries left records of their admiration for his performing skills (among his fans were Berlioz, Schumann, and Wagner), we can only directly judge his merit by his compositions.


Like the Italian violinist, Lipinski focused his energies on writing caprices and concertos for the violin--horrendously difficult works that meander quite a bit, as evidenced on this disc, while providing a compelling platform for a talented technician to let sparks fly. Here, French/German violinist Albrecht Breuninger and conductor Wojciech Rajski reexamine Lipinski in a program that features a complete reading of his second violin concerto as well as the allegro movements from Lipinski's third and fourth concertos. (Lipinski was not a composer of any great brevity; each allegro runs about 15 minutes.) These concertos may have all the heft of a cream puff, but all the tricks of a virtuoso violinist's trade are here: flashy runs, extended trills, dazzling pizzicato passages, the whole spectrum of bowing techniques, outrageous string crossings, and a tonal range that takes the soloist to every left-hand position possible.


And Breuninger soars; his light and unerring touch, such as in the concluding two minutes of the third concerto's Allegro movement, makes these thrilling passages sound like child's play. These showcases are where Lipinski really excels, but don't overlook the sensual lyricism of the one Adagio (from the second concerto), where Breuninger's masterful sense of phrasing brings out all of the piece's shapeliness. The orchestral accompaniment is no less showy: the haughty, pompous opening to the "Concerto Militaire" signals Lipinski's love of grand gestures, and Rajski and his forces dispatch their duty with plenty of zest. The orchestral sound is more two-dimensional than would be ideal; the colors of the brass and winds in particular are quite muted in favor of putting Breuninger upfront. By contrast, the violinist's sound is vibrant and fully realized.
--Anastasia Tsioulcas, ClassicsToday.com

cpo are doing great things for lesser known music, many times undeservedly neglected works. The cycle of Kurt Atterberg’s nine symphonies is one recent project, gloriously realised, Carl Loewe’s songs and ballads is another long-time undertaking; I reviewed volume 20 not long ago, and Franz Lehár’s “other” operettas – apart from that handful that is frequently played – have been given brand new recordings. This is the third within a year. They may not always have picked the best singers in the business and presentation has sometimes been a bit slipshod, but operetta lovers must still feel grateful that the music becomes available.

Eva has never been much of a success and set beside some of his other stage-works the musical – or rather – melodic inspiration seems a bit meagre. The only hit-song is Eva’s Lied early in act I, Wär es auch nichts als ein Augenblick, which also appears a couple of times later on in the operetta as a kind of Leitmotif. There are good enough melodies of typical Lehár Schmalz and a great deal of light-hearted rhythmic dances, but they tend to slip out of one’s memory as soon as they are over. What is obvious though is his masterly handling of the orchestra and more than in any other operetta I know gives grateful and attractive solos to many of the instrumentalists in a transparent orchestral web. I think he is closer to Puccini’s sensuality than Richard Strauss’s overblown bombast, even though in the second act finale there are reminiscences of Der Rosenkavalier, which was premiered almost a year before Eva was first performed, on 24 November 1911 at Theater an der Wien. That was the same theatre that also saw the premiere of Die lustige Witwe, and the first Hanna Glawari and Danilo, Mizzi Günther and Louis Treumann, also sang the leading roles in the new operetta.

The libretto is a variant of the old Cinderella story, where the poor factory girl wins the prince, in this case the owner of the glass factory, situated near Brussels. A kind of social realism, one could think, but in the second act we are back in the normal upper class operetta world, in Octave Flaubert’s villa. The third and last act takes us, not for the first time in a Lehár operetta, to Paris. There are rather few arias, and those few are labelled Lied (song) to make them less pretentious, since they are often very short. Most of the musical numbers are duets, but there are no less than three melodramas that grow into songs or duets. The three finales are quite extended numbers, the one in act II is almost 14 minutes long, and here, just as in the melodrama numbers, Lehár works in freer, partly recitative style, more related to opera. It is also in these more ambitious numbers that his inventive scoring is at its most colourful. This recording is complete with all the spoken dialogue, in some places fairly stilted and unatmospheric but there are several heated scenes where the acting is lively and involved. It is a pity, though, as is unfortunately often the case, that the spoken dialogue is recorded at a seemingly lower level. This means that you have to turn up the volume quite a bit to hear it properly and then turn it down again when the music starts. The melodramas are likewise afflicted and even though Lehár has scored the music lightly, the orchestra still tends to mask some of the spoken words. I also regret that the sung and spoken texts are not printed in the booklet, which would have been a great asset even for fluent German speakers. Apart from the balance problem the recording is good without being very atmospheric. It was recorded in the Festival Hall in Bad Ischl, where every summer there is a Lehár festival. Lehár lived in a beautiful villa in Bad Ischl in Salzkammergut in Austria, from 1910 until his death, but he also had a house in Vienna. This recording was not made during performances but with a cast that had played a number of performances and were settled into their roles. Conducted by Wolfgang Bozic, who is well versed in this genre – I have heard him conduct operetta in Vienna – and he finds that typical Lehárian lilt in the music with tempos that feel absolutely right. The chorus is good. There is even some a cappella singing at the beginning of Act I.

Of the soloists Morenike Fadayomi impresses in the title role with a large vibrant dramatic soprano voice. It comes as no surprise to find that she has been singing both Aida and Salome. Reinhard Alessandri, an experienced operetta singer. I saw his Edwin in Die Csardasfürstin at Volksoper some years ago. He is a good actor while his voice is rather small and he has some trouble with the top notes. But he can sing meltingly beautifully when the tessitura is not too high and in the main he makes a positive impression. Zora Antonic as Pipsi is fully into her role and Thomas Malik is just perfect for the comic part as Dagobert with his expressive and fluent buffo tenor. Stefan Frey contributes one of his well-researched liner notes and also a synopsis that unfortunately isn’t related to the track-list, but rather gives a general overview. On the credit side it is nice to have several photos, both from the original production back in 1911 and from the Bad Ischl event.

A matter of swings and roundabouts but operetta lovers will find much to enjoy here.

Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International

Alas, cpo’s otherwise detailed and informative liner notes on the music itself offer nothing by way of biographical data on its composer other than his birth and death dates. I was, however, able to find a Web site dedicated to Wetz’s life and career (Len@musicweb-international.com). The following biographical sketch is based on the essay by Eric Schissel found there.

Richard Wetz was born in Gleiwitz, Upper Silesia, on February 26, 1875. At first a self taught musician, he ultimately enrolled in the Leipzig Conservatory and, apparently finding it uncongenial, left that august institution after a mere six weeks. From that point, his career was lackluster at best. After seeking private instruction both in Leipzig and Munich, one of his early advocates, Felix Weingartner, secured a conductor’s post for him in Stralsund. He lasted only a few months. He tried another post in Wuppertal with, apparently, similar results. Returning to Leipzig, he steeped himself in the music of Bruckner, Wagner, and Liszt, ultimately writing a book on Liszt in 1925.

In 1906, Wetz received the post of director of the Erfurt Music Society. By that time he had composed two operas to his own librettos, the second of which was a failure. Two years later, his Kleist Overture, op. 16 was premiered in Berlin under Nikisch (not a bad advocate!). Unfortunately, Wetz’s overture was upstaged by its concert mate, Elgar’s Enigma Variations, and garnered only tepid reviews.

Wetz’s career finally took off in 1917 with the premiere of his first symphony. Other works that established him in the German-speaking world include his Gesang des Lebens, op. 29, Hyperion (on texts by Holderlin) for baritone, mixed chorus, and orchestra (op. 32, 1912), and his violin sonata, op. 33.

No date of composition is provided for his Requiem, op. 50. The high opus number, however, indicates that it was produced near the end of his life. He died in Erfurt on January 16, 1935. This release’s liner notes state that the work was last performed in Erfurt on Good Friday, 1943.

By the evidence before me, Wetz is a post-Romantic composer of considerable imagination, skill, and refinement. This requiem is indeed haunted by the ghost of Bruckner, but in its underlying message of consolation for the living, it brings Brahms to mind, and given some of its pastel orchestral shadings and its harmonically chromatic moments, it, especially in its Kyrie, evokes Fauré’s most gentle of requiems. Its Dies Irae gets as close to theatricality as one is to find in this work, but it closes with a sense of resignation, and then consolation. Its final pages are among the finest in this piece. I find it ironic that Lisztian chromaticism, which pops up repeatedly, becomes so similar to that of Fauré, but then, Fauré has often been likened to the French Brahms. Is it a case of cultural diffusion, or merely parallel development?

Without getting into a moment-to-moment analysis of this piece, suffice it to say that throughout this heartfelt work Wetz steers judiciously between the darkness and light inherent in the text. Does this obscure offering by an obscure composer belong in the international standard repertoire? After listening to this fine and illuminating performance, I can answer that question in a single word: absolutely.

FANFARE: William Zagorski

Includes work(s) by Samuel Scheidt. Ensembles: La Capella Ducale, Cologne Musica Fiata. Conductor: Roland Wilson.

Not too many years ago Max Bruch was close to being a "one-hit wonder" in the classical music lists, that hit being his G minor violin concerto. There were a couple of shorter pieces, notably the Kol Nidrei, but there was little available evidence to judge the opinion of some familiar observers that Bruch was as great a composer as his contemporary Johannes Brahms.


With the CD era came an expansion of recorded repertoire, and now Bruch's three symphonies, more concertos, and several other large-scale works are available. None I've heard shows that he was near Brahms' equal, but they have solid workmanship, good melodies, considerable imagination, and other virtues that result in worthwhile music. However, what likely kept Bruch from the highest compositional magnitude is his music's pervasive comfortable Victorian bourgeois outlook.


A look at Bruch's catalog reveals an emphasis on choral music, including that form so beloved of Victorians, the oratorio. Lay of the Bell (as its title is rendered in the flowery English translation of Edward Bulwer Lytton used in CPO's detailed program book) is not religious, but it is moralistic. Schiller's text was a mainstay of German sentiment during the 19th century. Casting a bell in a foundry is an allegory for raising a child to be a good person, presumed to be the path to ensuring personal prosperity and a well-ordered society. This sentiment foundered on the shoals of World War I and went under entirely during the Nazi era.

So this 100-minute-long choral and orchestral piece comes with a strike against it: It's a bit hard to read the text (particularly in the overheated language of Bulwer Lytton, he most famed for "It was a dark and stormy night...") without sniggering, the while Bruch's music plows on with undiminished earnestness. However, heard without first reading program notes or text, it becomes a very interesting, entertaining work, and it remains so on subsequent listening. There is some stodginess in the music, but it doesn't drag despite the pompous text. The large form is shaped well, so that the unexpected presence of the Christmas tune "Silent Night" at the work's end (unexplained by the notes or the text) evokes a satisfying frisson.

The performers approach the work as worthy of admiration, and they prove that it is. Fine melodies, along with an intriguing harmonic language marrying Brahmsian solidity with Wagnerian love of suspensions and other devices to keep harmonies unpredictable, make the music interesting. The four soloists are a fine group, singing with lyrical tones rather than the barking sound often heard in middle-European oratorio performances. Jac van Steen and his orchestra and chorus work well together, and the live audience is well behaved. The sound is a bit opaque, but not to a troublesome degree.

This is a big piece, obviously intended by the composer to be an Important Work. Ein Deutsches Requiem it ain't, but in this recording it provides a welcome insight into a composer who evidently has a lot of good unknown music still mouldering on library shelves.
--Joseph Stevenson, ClassicsToday.com

Julius Röntgen was a remarkable composer: prolific, joyous, traditional at heart, but eclectic in practice. As with many, similarly productive artists, his output is often adjudged “variable” by those who haven’t heard most of it. Of the roughly two dozen symphonies that he composed, most appeared in the final years of his life (he died in 1932). No. 9 dates from 1930. Subtitled “The Bitonal,” Röntgen called it “ultra-modern,” and indeed the opening bars bear a striking resemblance to those of the Berg Violin Concerto, composed some five years later (sound clips). That said, this single movement piece, lasting only a bit more than a quarter of an hour, quickly reveals its clearly tonal grounding, “bi” or not. What truly stands out is not just the harmonic audacity, but the often arresting use of instrumental color (the harp at the start) and keen feeling for atmosphere. It’s a fine piece.

Symphony No. 21 is a touch longer–a single movement just shy of twenty minutes. It has a certain Brucknerian nobility both in the writing for the brass as well as the freely contrapuntal style of much of the texture. It dates from only about a year after the Ninth, which tells you something about Röntgen’s rate of production during these late years. The earlier Serenade (1902) does exactly what music of its type ought to: it’s relaxed, tuneful, sunny, lyrical, and vivacious by turns. Röntgen’s love of Grieg and the Scandinavian nationalists is very much in evidence.

As with the other discs in this series, David Porcelijn leads vivid and confident performances of this very unfamiliar music. He secures good playing from the Frankfurt players, and CPO’s sonics, typically, are terrific. This disc admirably displays both Röntgen’s wide range of expression and his development as an artist. It’s music well worth getting to know.

– ClassicsToday (David Hurwitz)

The stage had fascinated Alexander Tansman ever since his youth. One example is the music for Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, which was performed at the Polish Theater in Lódz in 1916. Alexandre Arnoux wrote the librettos for the ballets Sextuor and Bric à brac. The atmosphere of his novella Sextuor recalls E. T. A. Hoffmann’s romantic narratives. It is the dramatic love story of the passion shared by a violin and a violoncello for a flute. The actors are musical instruments, and Tansman believed that here he had found ideal material for a ballet. And so it was: the work composed in 1923 was performed with great international success and made the young composer famous. Although he suffered a great loss when his mother died in 1935, Tansman found the strength to write a larger theatrical work. The result was the ballet Bric à brac. The director of the Grand Opéra in Paris wanted this ballet set between stalls of wood and corrugated iron at a flea market near the Porte de Clignancourt for a premiere during the 1939 / 40 season. However, the outbreak of World War II thwarted these plans. After long negotiations the work finally premiered on 30 November 1958.

While Louis Glass until about 1910 had endeavored to develop a personally colored type of late romantic symphonic music, a new, strange dimension then suddenly opened up in some of his works. This dimension was connected to the influence of theosophy, which began around 1913 and would lead to some works of speculative stamp. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky and others had established the Theosophical Society in New York in 1875. One of her pupils, the English author Annie Besant, served as the society’s president beginning in 1907 and established the Order of the Star of the East in 1910. When the Danish section first met, Louis Glass played the organ. It was around this time that Glass began his work on the Fantasia for Piano and Orchestra, as this work is the first that reflects the composer’s relation to theosophy- which is shown above all in the work’s introspective motto alluding to theosophy: “From the spirit’s eternal canopy tones calling man sound down. And man turns away from the world and remains alone in order to find peace.”

New chamber compositions by Telemann made available to the concert world by intensive research and in modern score editions form the focus of the Magdeburg Sunday Concerts, in German: the "Sonntagsmusiken." klassik. com described our first album with Advent and Christmas cantatas as "A treasure trove of brilliant sacred arias!" The arias on the second portion of this series involve pieces taken from "complete" sacred compositions and performed in Hamburg’s principal places of worship during the church year 1726-27. The two arias contained in a particular sacred composition were removed from their context for the purposes of publication. The Eisenach court secretary Johann Friedrich Helbig was the author of the texts for the church compositions and the arias included in them. Telemann packed a great deal into the concentrated aria space. We might say that he balanced the minimum of the ensemble with compositional intensity and complexity in respect of melodic formation as well as with the thematic design of the basses, forceful declamation and rhythmic scheme, and the large spectrum of keys and harmonic manifoldness.

Donald Francis Tovey famously described Mendelssohn as a “spoiled genius”. If so, then these two works composed between the ages of 14 and 15 reveal his genius before it got spoiled. They are wholly delightful. Mendelssohn’s classical impulses guarantee that he won’t fall into that deadly “allegro moderato” style of concerto-writing that took over the German school in the latter half of the 19th century. This music sizzles. At nearly 45 minutes you would think that the Second concerto would die an early and miserable death, but it doesn’t. The piano writing is consistently scintillating, but never overly dense, and often adventuresome. Just listen to the passage about eight minutes into the Second concerto’s first movement; it’s sensational stuff.

The performances are excellent. Duo Genova & Dimitrov plays with the youthful energy and impulsiveness that the music demands, yet they never bang or overload the very full textures. Ulf Schirmer and his Munich orchestra accompany with equal enthusiasm, and the recording captures the proceedings with amazing fidelity and purity. These works were not published or performed beyond Mendelssohn’s own lifetime until the 1960s. Hearing them rekindles our wonder at the youthful prodigy’s astonishing mastery. Whether his genius was later spoiled will be a source of controversy, but the pleasure to be had from this terrific release shouldn’t be. –- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

Yes, it's really that Schlemihl, the poor guy in Jewish folklore for whom nothing goes right. The composer describes the work's "orgy" sequence as follows: "A fat naked witch, with breasts and belly hanging down, arrives riding a sow to the tune 'Ach! Du Lieber Augustin'." Now who wouldn't want to hear that? The music actually sounds a bit like the waltz from the second movement of Mahler's Ninth Symphony with lots more percussion thrown in (in fact it was composed a couple of years after Mahler's death). The work's subtitle, "A Symphony Life Story", doesn't really begin to describe it, for the piece is a gigantic parody, principally of Strauss' Ein Heldenleben and Sinfonia Domestica. As with those works it has sections that describe the title character's wife, his child, and his various tribulations, but it's at once less specific than Strauss and if anything even more colorful.


Take the opening, a very funny Wagner/Strauss parody that represents the "hero". All of the clichés are firmly in place: the simple triadic melodies, bold writing for brass, and repeated wind chords. There's only one problem--the music can't make up its mind what key it's in. However, the composer's message couldn't be clearer, and while there's much that's quite beautiful (the music of "the woman" and the entire last few minutes), the overriding impression remains one of good-natured fun. There's even a brief tenor solo toward the end that basically says "Your life hasn't been a total waste and you've earned a rest" (or words to that effect), plus some solemn writing for organ that hits an aptly religious note, but not too seriously. It's all gloriously played by the WDR Symphony Orchestra under Michail Jurowski and fabulously well recorded, and I can't recommend it highly enough.


Reznicek apparently did for Raskolnikoff (of Crime and Punishment fame) what Beethoven did for Leonore. This is the second of two Raskolnikoff overtures that he wrote, and it dates from the 1920s (Reznicek was born in 1860, the same year as Mahler, and died in 1945). While not as interesting as Schlemihl (no surprise there), and despite the fact that it takes a while to get going, the piece is just as immaculately crafted and certainly as well performed here. The ending, with the birdsong from the slow movement of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony putting in a brief appearance, can't fail to please even if it leaves open the question of what any of it has to do with Dostoyevsky. Never mind; Reznicek is a major composer and one of the great discoveries of this (or any) year. CPO's ongoing series of recordings is turning into a major event. Just remember, you heard it here first. [3/5/2004]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Hamburg marked an important year in its history in 1762. The city’s large St. Michael’s Church had been destroyed by fire in 1760, and twelve years later the magnificent new Baroque structure (as yet without a tower) was dedicated. This event was celebrated as an official state ceremony, and of course Georg Philipp Telemann, the city’s music director, who by then was eighty-one years old, had to supply the music for it. Aware of the great importance of this event, he produced one of his most magnificent and most expressive scores with an ensemble including six double-choral trumpets and timpani. He wrote Der Tag des Gerichts, the great oratorio of his old age, during the same year, and his dedication music is situated on this same high musical level.