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PLEIN SOMMEIL
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BRITTEN WAR REQUIEM
FOREST FOR THE TREES
DOUCE FRANCE: MELODIES & CHANSONS
PHOENIX REIMAGINED (LIVE)
RHAPSODY IN BLUE
PLEIN SOMMEIL
PLEIN SOMMEIL
Clarion: New Music For Trumpet & Organ
Ballet Spectacular - Giselle, La Fille Mal Gardee, Coppelia
BALLET SPECTACULAR
(3-DVD Box set)
Adolphe Adam
GISELLE
Giselle - Alina Cojocaru
Count Albrecht - Johan Kobborg
Myrtha - Marianela Nuñez
Hilarion - Martin Harvey
Royal Ballet
Royal Opera House Orchestra
Boris Gruzin, conductor
Marius Petipa, choreographer (after Jean Coralli and Jules Perrot)
John MacFarlane, stage and costume designer
Jennifer Tipton, lighting designer
Léo Delibes
COPPÉLIA
Swanilda - Leanne Benjamin
Franz - Carlos Acosta
Doctor Coppélius - Luke Heydon
Coppélia - Leana Palmer
Royal Ballet
Royal Opera House Orchestra
Nicolae Moldaveanu, conductor
Ninette de Valois, choreographer (after Lev Ivanov and Enrico Cecchetti)
Osbert Lancaster, stage and costume designer
John B. Read, lighting designer
Ferdinand Hérold
LA FILLE MAL GARDÉE
Colas - Carlos Acosta
Lise - Marianela Nuñez
Simone - William Tuckett
Alain - Jonathan Howells
Royal Ballet
Royal Opera House Orchestra
Anthony Twiner, conductor
Frederick Ashton, choreographer
Osbert Lancaster, set and costume designer
John B. Read, lighting designer
Recorded live at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London, January 2006 (Giselle), 2000 (Coppélia) and 2 February 2005 (La Fille Mal Gardée)
Bonus:
- Illustrated synopsis
- Cast gallery
- Historic 10-minute film, “The Ballet Moves” (Coppélia)
- llustrated biography of Osbert Lancaster (Coppélia)
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Picture format: NTSC 16:9 anamorphic
Sound format: LPCM Stereo / 5.1 Surround sound
Region code: 0 (worldwide)
Menu language (bonus): English
Running time: 5 hrs 44 mins
No. of DVDs: 3
Bach: Clavier Ubung Vol 1 / Benjamin Alard
Born in 1985, the French Alard is both an award-winning harpsichordist and organist who studied at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis. At 25, he has already performed with leading period-instrument ensembles, such as La Petite Bande under Sigiswald Kuijken and Capriccio Stravagante under Skip Sempé, and he has established himself as a leading presence as a keyboard artist on the early-music scene, participating in a number of international festivals.
Going up against established masters in this repertoire—and for apples-to-apples comparison I cite only harpsichordists—such as Christophe Rousset, Pieter-Jan Belder, Ralph Kirkpatrick, Gustav Leonhardt, Trevor Pinnock, Igor Kipnis, and Blandine Verlet—the young Alard has stones; you’ve got to give him that. The question is does he have the goods to pull it off? And the answer, in a word, is “yes.”
The six keyboard partitas that comprise Part I of Bach’s Clavier-Übung (Keyboard Practice) in its totality are arguably the pinnacle of the composer’s works for solo harpsichord. Though they are among Bach’s earliest pieces to be published (they appeared in print between 1726 and 1730), they are actually the last of his three sets of keyboard suites to be written. (They were composed between 1725 and 1730–31.) The English Suites were composed sometime between 1715 and 1720, and the French Suites, between 1722 and 1725. We may therefore assume that the partitas are a summation, up to that time, of Bach’s compositional style and technique as applied to the harpsichord, for which they were written.
Speculation has it that Bach intended to write a seventh partita, perhaps as a tribute to his predecessor in Leipzig, Johann Kuhnau, who had published two volumes of his own Neue Clavier-Übung, each containing seven partitas. Bach’s choice of keys for his six partitas does suggest a planned seventh that would have had to be in F Major to complete the scheme; indeed, F Major is the key of the Italian Concerto that opens the Clavier-Übung, part II. Is it possible that the movements of the Italian Concerto would have been incorporated into the seventh, missing, partita? It’s an interesting theory.
In three out of the six partitas, Bach pretty much follows standard operating procedure vis-à-vis succession of movements. All six partitas, without exception, begin with an introductory movement, though fancifully, perhaps, Bach calls each by a different name: Praeludium, Sinfonia, Fantasia, Ouverture, Praeambulum, and Toccata. These are followed in Nos. 1, 3, and 5 by the customary stylized dance movements: Allemande, Courante (or Corrente, depending on whether Bach was in French or Italian mood), and Sarabande. Again, in all six partitas, one or more take-your-pick dance movements, such as Menuet, Gavotte, Passepied, etc., are inserted after the Sarabande. And in all but No. 2, the partitas end with the customary concluding Gigue. But No. 2, one of the three “irregulars,” ends with a movement Bach calls Capriccio, which is not in the usual 6/8 or 12/8 gigue meter, but in 2/4, so it’s not just another gigue by a whimsical name.
In the two remaining “irregular” partitas, Nos. 4 and 6, Bach gets cutesy with the standard layout of movements, inserting an Aria or Air in between the Courante and Sarabande, so that we end up with insertions both before the Sarabande and after it. To mix it up further, in No. 4, Bach calls his Courante by its French name, but the Aria that follows it by its Italian name; whereas in No. 6, he reverses himself, calling his Corrente by its Italian name and his Air by its French name. Whether this has some special significance or not, I don’t know, but is it too much to imagine that Bach wasn’t the stern wig he’s often portrayed as, and that he was just being mischievous? The aforementioned Capriccio movement offers ample evidence of the composer’s off-the-wall humor; it’s a real ear-tickler.
A final footnote to this whole business is that at one point the partitas came close to being called German Suites to complement the already written English and French Suites, which, technically speaking, are no more English or French, respectively, than are the partitas German. And who would know better than Christophe Rousset? Harpsichordist, Baroque music specialist, and Frenchman, he has observed that all of Bach’s keyboard suites follow a largely Italian convention.
Now, back in Fanfare 27:4, Patrick Meanor reviewed a recording of the partitas on the Satirino label performed by harpsichordist Kenneth Weiss. That was in 2004. Six years later, as inexplicably but often happens, the same album was sent to the magazine to be reviewed again, and this time, as recently as 33:5, it was assigned to Christopher Brodersen. The American-born Weiss has long been active on the Parisian period-instrument scene, having collaborated with William Christie and Les Arts Florissants for many years. In any case, both Meanor and Brodersen found much to rave about in Weiss’s readings, which the harpsichordist performs on a copy of a Gottfried Silbermann instrument built by Anthony Sidey. I missed Meanor’s earlier review, but based on Brodersen’s glowing account, I decided to acquire the Weiss on my own. Contra my colleagues, I found Sidey’s harpsichord, or Satirino’s recording of it, hard and metallic sounding and fatiguing to listen to. So, only in part for that reason, Weiss’s recording would not have received my recommendation had I reviewed it.
That is not the case with the sound of Alard’s harpsichord, which is also modeled after a German instrument by Sidey. It is captured perfectly at an ideal distance in the ambient and ever so slightly reverberant acoustic of the Chapelle Notre-Dame de Bon-Secours in Paris. Balanced throughout its registers, of crystal clarity in its voicing, and so dulcet of tone is this instrument that I found myself listening, enchanted, to all six partitas straight through without tiring of it.
If Meanor found Weiss’s performances “passionate,” “poignant,” “terrifying,” and “filled with existential dread,” I found them aggressive, driven, and in-your-face—other reasons, in addition to the aforementioned clangorous and clattering sound of the instrument, that Weiss is not to my liking. In contrast, I find Alard’s readings poetic, lyrical, filled with grace, and ultimately sublime. Perhaps it’s the difference between the American in Paris, Weiss, and the patrician elegance and refinement of the natural-born Frenchman, Alard.
In Alard’s playing, I hear a natural and logical connection to, and extension of, François Couperin and the French keyboard tradition, and I find it exquisitely beautiful. The style is manifested in Alard’s exceptionally imaginative, perfectly timed, and delightful agréments that he applies so tastefully in the binary repeats. Even in the fiendishly difficult Capriccio of the C-Minor Partita, which is already wacky enough as is with its oddball dissonances and harmonic excursions, Alard finds the time and space between the notes to add just the right zinger of an embellishment. Just listen to the mordents that trip by at 1:29 and again at 1:33 in the repeat of the A section. But there are other ways to embellish besides adding ornamental notes, and you can hear it in Alard’s playing of the repeated B section. Here the embellishing takes the form of coordinating the right and left hands differently than in the first time through, so that the syncopated and offbeat rhythms in the counterpoint take on a totally different emphasis.
The more I listened to these performances, the more I came to believe that there is as much genius in Alard’s conception of this music as there is in Bach’s creation of it. For me, this is now, and will be for the foreseeable future, the be-all and end-all of Bach keyboard partita recordings. The set is beautifully presented in a four-panel cardboard foldout with detailed, informative notes in French and English and enhanced by a wealth of photographs. If Weiss’s partitas show up on Brodersen’s 2010 Want List, Alard’s may well show up on mine. But whether it does or not (there are always hard choices to make), if you care about Bach on the harpsichord, you must not be without this release for another minute.
-- Jerry Dubins, FANFARE [9/2010]
Field: Piano Concertos, Vol. 3
The Division Flute / Emma Murphy, Et Al
Described by the London music publisher as 'Very Improveing and Delightful to all lovers of that instrument' The first Part of the Division Flute was originally issued for the Baroque treble recorder in 1705. Murphy's love of the recorder inspired her to record some of the best known recorder music, as well as some of the most neglected, from a collection that has never been fully recorded before. A fantastic disc of musicians at the forefront of early music today.
D. Scarlatti: Complete Keyboard Sonatas Vol 5 / Benjamin Frith
Laureate Series - Violin - Korngold / Lin, Loeb
Compared to Kiss, Lin sounds relatively sweet-toned, and the timings of his movements fall between those of Kiss and Waltman. But while those two-odd minutes may seem insignificant in a four-movement work, they also can represent a sort of general relaxation that makes the work sound more discursive, though Lin and Loeb play with plenty of energy and attack the more aggressive passages in the first movement, for example, with plenty of gusto and plenty of sharp-edged panache at the movement’s climax. The duo also takes command in the large-scale Scherzo (at 10:37 in this recording, that movement occupies almost a third of the Sonata’s duration), and though there may be a degree of roughness in Lin’s attack, he brings a sense of excitement to the movement. Lin’s purity of tone on the E string generates thrilling intensity in the slow movement, powering its leaps into the stratosphere. If the Sonata’s dedicatees inspired its seriousness, Korngold certainly rose to the occasion, and so do Lin and Loeb.
The shorter pieces begin with the Serenade from Der Schneemann, a rapt miniature that shows off Lin’s tonal command but also his wide and rather slow vibrato, which, for some listeners, may even threaten to grow annoying. From Korngold’s opera, Die tote Stadt, come the two short pieces, “Tanzlied” and “Marietta’s Lied,” the first a delicately wistful song that’s immediately ingratiating, and the second, an affecting lyrical outpouring that could vie successfully with the most popular works in the genre. The Caprice, subtitled “Wichtelmännchen,” or “Goblins” could similarly almost take the place of several similar pieces, like Bazzini’s Dance of the Goblins or Paganini’s “Witches’ Dance” on recital programs, though it’s more atmospheric than brilliant. Lin sounds a bit more polite in this miniature—and occasionally more ardent, by turns—than does Shaham, who plays it with more suggestive macabre energy.
Naxos’s issue offers yet another chance to ponder the question posed above: did Korngold’s work in Hollywood debase his musical coin or polish it? Lin and Loeb make a great deal of this repertoire, and their readings deserve a recommendation to anyone interested in it, in young violinists (the release appears as part of Naxos’s “Laureate” series), or in Korngold—or even to more general listeners. Recommended."
FANFARE: Robert Maxham
Benjamin, G.: Antara / Boulez, P.: Derive / Memoriale / Harv
Fountain, Judson: Dark, Dark Dark Tales and Other Dark Tales
Field: Piano Music Vol 2 / Benjamin Frith
Mendelssohn: Piano Works Vol 1 / Benjamin Frith
Field: Piano Music Vol 1 - Nocturnes And Sonatas / Frith
Benjamin: Into the Little Hill, Flight & Dream of the Song
Written in his late teens: Flight, for solo flute, whose swooping crests and curlicues are fervently relished in Michael Cox's performance. Benjamin describes the piece as 'inspired by the sight of birds soaring and dipping over the peaks of the Swiss Alps'. Listening to the piece you'll hear a panoply of songs surfing the musical thermals in the alpine either: low, long-breathed cries and calls, filigree flocks of ornamentation in the atmospheric heights of the flute's register, a chorus of vapors conjured by a single instrument. Into The Little Hill is based on the Pied Piper story, allowing audiences an immediate entry point into the opera's dramaturgy. But Crimp's re-telling simultaneously updates the story, with its politicians, photographs, and limousines, and opens up further mythic dimensions to the narrative. The drama of Into the Little Hill is concisce, clear and simultaneously ambiguous, even chilling. Benjamin says, 'Martin's text is hard-edged, formal, and hyper-condensed'. The reason for its musical and dramatic success is Benjamin's unerring feeling for expressive characterisation. Each layer of Into the Little Hill's score is immediately identifiable, from the Crowd's baying cries of 'Kill them' rightat the start of the piece, to the rodentine scurrying of the rat's music, and the Mother's lamenting grief in the last scene. Dream of the Song is a mysteriously sensual and sensually strange song-cycle for countertenor, a halo of female voices that are similar in register, but so different in timbre and sound and expression, and orchestra. The counter-tenor sings poems, in English, by Jewish poets of 11th century Andalucia, themselves inspired by Arabic poetry of earlier centuries. There are images of ravishment and wonder here - moonlight, the celestial tent of the sky, a dream of a gazelle, a harp, a flute - but they are always undercut by other ideas. Above all, it's the gossamer rapier of Benjamin's music that cuts to the heart of these settings.
Dances To A Black Pipe / Martin Frost
COPLAND; BRAHMS; FROST; LUTOSLAWSKI; PIAZZOLLA; HILLBORG; HOGBERG AUSTRALIAN CHAMBER ORCHESTRA; FROST (CLAR.); TOGNETTI (DIR.) DANCES TO A BLACK PIPE- CONCERTO FOR CLARINET AND STRING ORCHESTRA WITH HARP AND PIANO; HUNGARIAN DANCES NOS 1, 12, 13 & 21; KLEZMER DANCES FOR CLARINET AND STRINGS; DANCE PRELUDES (2ND VERSION); OBLIVION FOR CLARINET, SOLO VIOLIN AND STRINGS; ETC.
POETS ARE GATHERING
BACH: COMPLETE WORKS FOR KEYBOARD VOL. 9
SPINDRIFT
