Classical Music

This cpo release of the complete string quartets of two notable 20th c. Swedish composers, Kurt Atterberg (1887-1974) and Ture Rangström (1884-1947) features the Stenhammar Quartet, one of Scandinavia's outstanding chamber ensembles. Saving the first theme of his first quartet for a future go at quartet composition and completion, Atterberg did eventually incorporate said theme into his second, op. 39 quartet. Literary references are commonly found in Ture Rangström’s works, including in his only string quartet, entitled ‘A Nachtstück (Notturno) in the Manner of E. T. A. Hoffmann’.

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Carl Reinecke was a good composer; his basic amiability and mellifluousness has counted against him, but if you take the time to listen you will probably find his elegantly proportioned and melodically distinguished output very enjoyable. So it is with the First Symphony, a very pretty but nonetheless tightly constructed paean to a sunny A major. For reasons that we need not go into, I happen to have the score of this work, and so can speak with some familiarity, particularly regarding its felicitous orchestration. This is extremely conservative (double winds, two trumpets, three trombones, four horns, timpani, and strings), but very effectively deployed. The strings lead, the woodwinds decorate, and the brass is used judiciously but effectively. For example, the trombones first appear in the very beautiful slow movement, but without trumpets (which are featured in the first movement minus trombones). The entire ensemble plays only in the finale, which has plenty of energy that never slackens. There's nothing earth-shattering here--just good music, often of a balletic quality, and featuring an innocence and simplicity of expression that perhaps explains why the piece has not been deemed worthy of respect (historically) as a representative of the mid-Romantic German symphony.

The Violin Concerto also is very attractive. Its thematic material is primarily lyrical, and the relatively relaxed tempos of its outer movements (Reinecke was big on "moderatos" and "non troppos") give the soloist sufficient room to spin out some of the more intricate passagework without breaking much of a sweat. It was composed for Joachim, who apparently played it with pleasure until the Brahms concerto came along a few years later, after which time he dropped it like a hot potato. Reinecke was no Brahms, a fact that apparently galled him, but happily this didn't move him from his chosen path (can you imagine Brahms writing a harp concerto?).

The two romances for violin and orchestra show Reinecke's melodic gifts at their most winning. Violinst Ingolf Turban has no difficulty with this comparatively untaxing music despite the circumstances of live recording, letting his instrument sing out over the orchestra with an attractively full tone. Both conductor and ensemble sound completely at home in the idiom, and the sonics are consistently good. Whether or not you like this music really depends on your mood. It requires a bit of indulgence if you expect Romantic works in these forms to constitute major statements, but if you're looking for something comfortably easy on the ear that at the same time never sounds cheap or facile, you will likely enjoy this program.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

These cantatas are all products of Telemann’s prodigious final years, dating from 1759 in the case of the first and third, while the second listed was composed in 1762, the year in which the grand old man reached the age of 81. The cantata for Pentecost, Komm Geist des Herrn, is a large-scale work lavishly scored for three trumpets, timpani, two oboes, and strings. The vocal disposition is the usual SATB soloists and choir (in Telemann’s own performances probably one and the same, as with Bach). The cantata is centered round a chorale parody of Luther’s hymn Komm heilger Geist by one of Telemann’s favorite poets, Friedrich Klopstock. This striking example of Telemann’s modernity apparently upset the most conservative of Hamburg’s pastors, whose complaints to the city council sparked off a row in which the composer vigorously defended himself against orders to reinstate Luther’s original text. Anyone reading Klopstock’s fine verse today will wonder what the fuss was about, but the story provides a salutary reminder that clashes between conservatism and “progress” are nothing new. The predominantly joyous character of the cantata is immediately set by the invigorating opening trumpet and drum aria for bass (sung by Ekkehard Abele with resounding authority), its dynamic further enhanced by the thrusting little ornamental figures in the strings. But perhaps the most impressive movement is an accompagnato for tenor, a vivid description of Christ’s spirit manifested in the sudden swirling wind, depicted first by furious scales, then by more gentle rustling figuration. This, along with other imitative effects, is Telemann as the forerunner of the Haydn of The Creation and The Seasons.

Kaum wag ich es is a considerably more modest work, designated simply “church music” and intended for the 19th Sunday after Trinity. Scored for the same vocal forces as Komm Geist, the orchestration calls for only strings. The text is an ode, Die Begnadigung (“The Pardon”), by Joachim Eschenburg, one of the younger poets encouraged by Telemann. It takes as its theme the dark night of the sinner’s soul redeemed by God’s forgiveness, thus being linked to the Epistle for the day (Ephesians 4:17-32), a detail that might have been mentioned by the otherwise profuse booklet notes. Telemann set all six stanzas, treating the first and last as chorales framing short, through-composed arias. The arias chart a progress from the pain of sin (alto), underpinned by an accompaniment of sliding chromatic strings and sharply etched stabbing figures, through remorse, a cantabile aria for tenor supported by expressive string arpeggiations, agitation at the approach of Christ (soprano), and finally to the forgiving words of Jesus.

The final “cantata”—scored for the same forces as the Pentecost cantata with the addition of a pair of flutes—has a text by another young Hamburg poet, Daniel Schiebeler, and is also described as Kirchemusik. Er kam, lobsingt ihm; it follows a similar format to the preceding work, an ode with six stanzas, all but the last of which is a solo. The text for Ascension Day is not only concerned with the risen Christ but also is a retrospective comment on His suffering in death. As in Kaum wag ich es, the care with which Telemann sets this vividly descriptive text is remarkable, achieving in the process a synthesis between words and music of a kind for which one has to look back to the 17th century for models.

Little comment is needed at this late stage on Ludger Rémy’s unfailingly stylish and idiomatic way with Telemann’s music, except to say the alto Elisabeth Graf’s unusually masculine sounding alto is less to my taste than the other soloists, all familiar Rémy regulars. Her diction, too, seems less incisive than that of her colleagues. The engineering is well in line with cpo’s usual high standards, but the poor playing time earns a black mark. The radical manner in which Telemann carried the church cantata forward after Bach’s death is an aspect of his music still scarcely recognized. This outstanding release sheds revealing light on the subject.

FANFARE: Brian Robins

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Includes concerto(s) for piano by Darius Milhaud. Ensemble: Southwest German Radio Orchestra Kaiserslautern. Conductor: Alun Francis. Soloist: Michael Korstick.
Includes work(s) for piano and orchestra by Darius Milhaud. Ensemble: Southwest German Radio Orchestra Kaiserslautern. Conductor: Alun Francis. Soloist: Michael Korstick.

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

KEISER Ich liege und schlafe. Wir gingen alle in der Irre. Seelige Erlösungs-Gedanken • Thomas Ihlenfeldt, cond; Eeva Tenkanen, Doerthe Maria Sandmann (sop); Olivia Vermeulen (alt); Knut Schoch, Julian Podger (ten); Raimonds Spogis, Matthias Jahrmärker (bs); Capella Orlandi Bremen (period instruments) • cpo 999 821 (79:24 Text and Translation)


I confess that I’ve always had a soft spot for early 18th-century Hamburg. Here is where German opera was really born, not as an experiment but rather as a full-fledged genre that survived for more than 30 years as a going concern. Here is where Handel got his start, Telemann came to enjoy a long tenure, and Johann Mattheson began to theorize on all and sundry. It was a quirky place, allowed to be established by the Pietist faction of the city on the marketplace where they sold geese (and everyone knows what they sound like) and evolving into the first diverse opera house, where individual works would have a blend of German, Italian, and occasionally even French. The composer who oversaw much of its halcyon days was Reinhard Keiser, a figure who looms large in the history of the German Baroque. He was the major figure who likewise accomplished much during his work in the city, bringing a certain renown to the house for its music.


All was not rosy, of course, since there were continual battles between the Pietists and traditional Lutherans who ran the place, often resulting in odd conflicts, not to mention continual threat of closure to the opera. But as entertaining as the opera was, there were other needs, and Kapellmeister Keiser attempted to accommodate them all. Among these were the occasional need for sacred music, particularly during Lent, when the opera was closed, which brings us to this disc comprising some of Keiser’s Passion music, as the title of the recording states. In the world of early 18th-century religion, the conflict at this time of year manifested itself in how one was to set the four Gospels to music, or whether this was to be more allegorical or exegetical than literal. For the Pietists, of course, no music at all beyond simple congregational singing was best, but often attempts were made to flesh out the terse Biblical Passion by elaborate texts with exotic titles. My favorite is Brocke’s Der für die Sünden der Welt gemarterte und sterbende Jesus (Martyred and Dying Jesus for the Sins of the World), a catchy title even if a bit epic. Keiser, who set this in 1711, turned out to be as prolific and interesting a composer of these sorts of things as he was for opera, and this release of three examples of other Passion music of a smaller sort are fully representative of his often progressive musical compositions.


Part of a series on sacred music in Hamburg, this disc explores some quite different aspects of the music of the season. The first work, described as a motet but really more of a self-contained cantata, begins and ends with the same chorus, “Ich liege und schlafe ganz mit Frieden” (I lie and sleep wholly at peace), consisting of lyrical imitative vocal entrances above an ostinato ground bass that is so soft and gentle that one hardly seems to notice its entrance. Pairs of arias and a central lilting chorus fill the inner movements. The second work is, alas, only a fragment of a larger St. Luke Passion. It ends abruptly when Pilate asks the question “Are you the Son of God?” We may not have the beginning either, but the chorus that starts it, “Wir gingen alle in der Irre” (We have all sinned), has a decidedly Purcellian feeling, with its insistent oboes and perpetual-motion line; one is reminded of the “Wondrous Machine” in his Ode to St. Cecelia . The recitatives and dialogue move along smartly, and the arias would not be out of place in Bach. It is truly a pity we don’t have the whole thing. The cantata that ends this triumvirate of works is a self-contained sequence of recitatives and arias taken from a larger oratorio titled Der zum Tode verurtheilte und gekreutzigte Jesus (Jesus, condemned to death and crucified), which Keiser published separately in 1715 as a sort of reflective work. While it seems a bit incongruous, the quality of the music, from the dramatic accompagnatos to the spooky final aria with its ground bass and pizzicato strings, is uniformly high.


Thomas Ihlenfeldt’s early-music group, the Capella Orlandi Bremen, is superb. They blend well, are in tune, and, even though largely one on a part, create a nice, colorful texture. The soloists, who double as the “choir,” are also excellent. I am always impressed with Baroque improvisation, which soprano Doerthe Sandmann does with grace and simplicity, and I do like the light baritone à la Max von Egmond of Raimonds Spogis. I would, of course, really like for a thicker texture in the choruses, but this ensemble simply works well together. I think this really ought to be a part of one’s Baroque collection, particularly since it shows something more common than the sometimes idiosyncratic Passions of Bach. Keiser is no slouch, and this proves him to be versatile and dramatic. Highly recommended.


FANFARE: Bertil van Boer

Neither of these ballets receives regular performance on stage or in concert. Indeed, L'enfant prodigue enjoys the remarkable distinction of being ignored both in ballet form and as arranged (twice!) as the composer's Fourth Symphony. And yet the composer's unwillingness to let go of the music tells us something, for although it isn't in his popular, "Romantic" vein, it's a pretty substantial 38 minutes that contains plenty of first-rate invention. And in fact the same holds true for Le Pas d'Acier (The Steel Steps), which many listeners associate with Mossolov's Iron Foundry and other examples of Socialist Realist machine music. In reality, it sounds just like Prokofiev, full of the gawky harmonies, rhythmic ostinatos, bass drum-laden and heavy brass orchestral textures, and the hard brilliance that feature prominently in all of the composer's big works.


So the bottom line is that both ballets are in fact consistently inventive, ear catching, and very well played and recorded by Michail Jurowski, the WDR orchestra, and CPO. Jurowski manages to maintain a consistent level of excitement and energy without ever becoming crude or coarse, which is no mean achievement in the more densely written passages. There aren't many recordings of these pieces in any case, and if you enjoy the Prokofiev of, say, The Gambler and the other early operas, you really ought to give this a listen.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Listening to these works is synonymous with pure joy: Graupner's expressive chromaticism, the uncommonly manifold instrumental color artistry in the arias, and the most highly proficient application of the Baroque doctrine of the affections are enchanting and gripping. All of this is more immediately understandable and emotionally more heartfelt than the works of Bach. This is what klassik-heute. Com wrote following the release of our Vol. 2 with the Passion cantatas of Christoph Graupner. And now - for the Passion season - we are releasing Vol. 3. Once again the instrumentation has been designed with great variety, and it is here that the key to Graupner's personal style is to be found: he captivates listeners not so much with impressive, highly memorable �melodies� but with intensive playing with the various tone colors made available to him by the court chapel members and their instruments on each particular occasion. For all their individuality and rich variety, however, the cantatas are linked together: the three works for Quinquagesima, Passion Sunday, and Holy Thursday presented here adhere to the formal structure with seven numbers as a rule most frequently employed by Graupner. Their design is largely symmetrical, with framing choral numbers and one soprano aria and one bass aria. These cantatas have in common a contrast principle assigned central importance and employed on a textual and dramatic level as well as in the musical design. It is precisely here that Graupner's original background as an opera composer is reflected, a circumstance that had enabled him to gather experience with pronounced dramaturgical oppositions.