As one of the great pianists of the 20th century, WILHELM BACKHAUS (1884–1969) needs no introduction. He recorded almost continuously from 1908 until his death, but this set, focusing on his earliest recordings, completes APR’s coverage (see also APR 6026, APR 6027 and APR 5637) of all his solo and concerto output for The Gramophone Company/HMV, except the electrically recorded Brahms titles, which are available elsewhere. These early discs reveal Backhaus as an exciting young virtuoso, rather than the sober purveyor of German classics he was to become.

In Italy, the guitar had a difficult time being considered a classical instrument like it was in other countries. The first guitar course was instituted in Italian conservatories in 1965 but even in the 70s and 80s many Concerto Societies did not have or promote even the most internationally famous guitarists. This new release collects six performances by guitar students. The album begins with Pasquale Taraffo, who can be considered the perfect example of a performer on the edge between classical and popular music. The album ends with Mario Parodi, an extraordinary performer and musician who is unfortunately often overlooked. The other four protagonists of this new release are part of the Italian guitar revival: from Giulio Giulietti, to Luigi Mozzani and from Luigi Mariotti to Mario Gangi, who made classical guitar famous throughout Italy with his television appearances.

The dance permeated every layer of Romantic society. From popular dance halls to courtly salons, people showed their public face, enjoyed themselves and met one another in waltz time or to the rhythms of the quadrille or the polka. At the same time, ballet gained unprecedented fame on the stage of the Paris Opéra. The music that accompanied this frantic round in France has long been neglected, whereas the Viennese have never ceased to celebrate their waltzes. Under the expert baton of François-Xavier Roth, the orchestra Les Siècles has set out to rediscover this French repertory using historical instruments. Their album explores the output of both established composers – Camille Saint-Saëns, Ambroise Thomas, Charles Gounod, Jules Massenet – and their colleagues who specialized in Terpsichorean entertainment, including Philippe Musard, Isaac Strauss, Émile Waldteufel and Hervé.

REVIEWS:

Beautifully recorded and with Bru Zane’s customary excellent booklet notes, this is a disc to delight Francophiles, especially sweet-toothed ones like myself.

 -- Gramophone

There is a blowsy joie de vivre in these performances by Roth’s French Orchestra Les Siecles that is hard to resist.

-- The Sunday Times (UK)

It’s all very French, and presented with great flair and warmth by Roth and his orchestra.

-- The Guardian (UK)

Review:

At last! While we have plenty of filmed productions of Coppélia to watch and enjoy – whether vintage, bang up to date or downright wacky – and a very good one of Sylvia, this new release finally brings the first of Delibes’s three ballets, La source, to a wide audience via Blu-ray and DVD.

The usual explanation for La source’s historical neglect has been that the contribution of Delibes’s co-composer Ludwig Minkus diminished the overall quality of the score. But that suggestion isn’t an adequate one – or even necessarily accurate. In the first place, we need to be clear that “co-composers” doesn’t mean that each of the score’s individual numbers was a sort of high-quality-Delibes-watered-down-by-workmanlike-Minkus hybrid. In fact, the way in which the collaborative process worked was a very practical one – even if we have no idea why it was adopted – with each man allocated responsibility for different parts of the score. Minkus was entrusted with Act 1 and the second scene of Act 3, while Delibes was responsible for Act 2 and Act 3’s first scene. That turned out, in practice, to be a pretty even split, for Minkus ended up providing about 45 minutes worth of music and Delibes penned about 44[.]

It is certainly true that there are differences between the two men’s scores. To some extent, those derive from the mundanely practical point that each composer was writing music for very different sections of the story. Minkus’s focus in Act 1 was on establishing the ballet’s various characters and generally setting the scene, while the finale to Act 3 offered few opportunities as it gave him only six minutes to wrap up the whole drama. Delibes, on the other hand, was tasked with creating the music underpinning the more glamorous jollifications at the khan’s court, which allowed him to concentrate on writing livelier material that was characterised by far more colour, glitter and exotic sensuality.

There is, however, a second and somewhat more fundamental explanation for the perceived contrasts between the two composers’ scores, for Minkus and Delibes had rather different conceptions of what writing music for the ballet actually meant. The former was a composer of the old school who, as Ivor Guest wrote in his booklet essay for the aforementioned Bonynge CD, “specialised in composing music for the ballet, a field not highly regarded in musical circles but which nonetheless demanded a special gift to satisfy the ballet-master’s requirements – to produce melodious numbers for the dances and suitably descriptive passages for the action, and above all to deliver to a deadline”. That has led some critics to perceive Minkus as little more than a hack journeyman who churned out unmemorable material on demand, even though audiences who have come to appreciate the manner in which his skilfully-wrought scores underpin such popular ballets as Don Quixote and La bayadère might beg to differ. In reality, his music was in no way “inferior” to that of the next generation of ballet composers: it simply aimed to achieve a very different - but certainly no less legitimate – musical and dramatic purpose. The first embodiment of that subsequent generation, Delibes himself, was, on the other hand, a composer whose conception of ballet was developing into something rather more ambitious. No less a figure than Tchaikovsky, the originator of the modern “symphonic” style of ballet score, regarded Sylvia as “the first ballet in which the music constitutes not just the main, but the sole interest. What charm, what grace, what melodic, rhythmic and harmonic richness. I was ashamed. If I had known this music earlier, then of course I would not have written Swan Lake”.

It is far too easy, in fact, to assert glibly that any contrasts between the two composers’ contributions are necessarily qualitative in nature. Indeed, when listened to blind and without foreknowledge of who actually composed what, the score of La source – skilfully edited and occasionally augmented here by Marc-Olivier Dupin - actually emerges as a pretty seamless whole.

In reality, there were two other much more significant causes of the ballet’s failure to maintain a long-term place in the repertoire. In the first case, its plot was undeniably involved, and it is notable that the production under consideration omits several of its complicating plotlines. Moreover, the fact that there are no less than three central female figures and that easily confused names were selected for some of the central characters (Naïla/Nouredda, Djémil/Dadjé) does not help. The inconsistency of some of the participants’ on-stage motivations can also be puzzling from time to time – though, in the absence of any other modern production with which to compare it, that may be a feature unique to this particular one.

The second legitimate reason for La source’s relatively rapid descent into obscurity is simply accidental. It successfully maintained its place in the repertoire for a decade and there is no reason to doubt that regular revivals might subsequently have been mounted. However, a disastrous fire in 1873 destroyed the drawings, models and plans on which the original production had been based and, rather than recreate them from scratch, it no doubt seemed easier to ballet impresarios at the time to move on to different projects.

This new Blu-ray/DVD release preserves a new production of the ballet dating from almost 150 years after its premiere. Conservatively choreographed by Jean-Guillaume Bart for the Paris Opera Ballet, it follows the original story’s broad outlines and uses much of the Minkus/Delibes score. Booklet notes author Laure Guilbert is nevertheless at pains to stress that this production is in no way a “reconstruction” of the original but instead has a character and identity of its own. Those last words might be enough to strike fear in the heart of traditionalist ballet fans, but in reality the French choreographer (gushingly described by Ms. Guilbert as a man who “fervently cultivates his attachment to the classical universe… a lover of dance who has transformed [it] into an odyssey throughout the near- and far-flung realms of the art”) is owed a real debt of gratitude for his achievement in returning La source to the stage. There are, it’s true, a few significant problem areas that would have benefited from attention. In the case of the plot, Nouredda’s motivation and reactions as she experiences her character’s trials and tribulations can be somewhat opaque or even downright puzzling. In addition, the stage production itself is visually rather disconcerting. There is, to my own eyes at least, a jarring mismatch between Christian Lacroix’s detailed and often gorgeously elaborate costumes and Éric Ruf’s essentially impressionistic set designs. The latter are highly imaginative and attractive in their own right (especially a set of prominent and exquisitely lit ropes, lowered over the stage from the flies, that represent trees) but they are clearly not intended as any sort of realistic depiction of the settings and that doesn’t gel with the detailed, elaborate and convincingly “realistic” clothing sported by the dancers. Neither element can be described as wrong in itself, but another producer might have chosen to integrate them more effectively.

The quality of the dancing, meanwhile, is generally high, with the women, in particular, demonstrating confident assurance in their own technical skills. Ludmila Pagliero as Naïla performs with delicacy and an appropriate sense of otherworldliness; she presumably impressed not only the theatre audience but the company’s management, too, as within a year of this performance she had been promoted to the top rank of danseuse étoile. Meanwhile, the nature of her role as the princess Nouredda means that the other leading female dancer, Isabelle Ciaravola, tends to spend a disproportionate amount of time on stage looking depressed and generally mopey – although there are also moments, as already noted, when she looks bizarrely happy even though her circumstances are at their worst. If her acting is somewhat questionable, the same cannot be said, however, of Ms. Ciaravola’s dancing which is, invariably, both sensitively and often rather beautifully delivered. Of the men, Karl Paquette combines sheer energy with attention to detail in a winning performance that suffers only from an uncharacteristically drab and featureless costume, little suited, in my opinion, to the hero of a classical ballet. The role of Nouredda’s brother Mozdock, concerned about her only as far as she serves his own political ambitions, is taken by Christophe Duquenne who delivers an effectively villainous turn while leading his energetic and well-drilled soldiers in several lively numbers. Dancing as the elf Zaël, Mathias Heymann is the audience’s favourite as he leaps his way enthusiastically and repeatedly across the stage, creating a genuine character out of his role. The dancer portraying the libidinous khan, Alexis Renaud, makes the most of his opportunities but does not create as much of an impression as the other men. The rest of the company make a very positive contribution, to the extent that I thought that the numbers in which the primary focus was on the corps de ballet were among the most effectively delivered in the whole performance.

On the technical side, I was particularly impressed by the effectively realised stage lighting which has been very well captured on film. The sound, as relayed on this recording, is also more than merely acceptable and allows us to appreciate plenty of felicitous detail from the orchestra, led on this occasion by Koen Kessels who will be known to many as music director of the Royal Ballet. Meanwhile, the experienced François Roussillon’s film direction focuses our attention to everything that we need to see while not distracting us unnecessarily or drawing undue attention to itself.

This is an important release for balletomanes. It is, I think, unlikely that there will be an alternative version of La source any time soon...I repeat, therefore, my original reaction to the release of this new and well-produced Blu-ray disc – at last!
 
Rob Maynard

"Essentially, in the incredible ease and naturalness of his pianism, in the unassuming simplicity and absorption of the man, Backhaus was much the same artist and personality then. And he was far from unknown. Even before he won the Rubinstein Prize in 1905, Backhaus was internationally celebrated as a prodigious virtuoso. [...] Backhaus never failed to win a succès d'estime among professional musicians. They always knew his qualities, always marveled at his instrumental perfection, his titanic mastery that scorned every complexity, his unsurpassed freedom and endurance. There was never a time when Backhaus could not toss off any or all of the Chopin études or the Brahms-Paganini variations with an imperturbable calm, an implacable security that left one open-mouthed. Not everyone, for only the pianists really knew what was happening before their eyes and ears, knew how to measure such achievement. There they all sat, in breathless astonishment and envy and despair. [...] Backhaus was a shy, unaffected, recessive personality whose sensational capacities were so unsensationally projected that lay audiences remained totally unconscious of his fabulous accomplishments." (Gerhard Melchert)

REVIEW:

This 10-CD box brings us not only concert recordings of works closely associated with him but also early piano roll and studio recordings, including the first complete recording of the Chopin Etudes and a variety of other short pieces.

Backhaus's technique has been praised by many critics, but his scintillating virtuosity in the shorter pieces on CDs 1 and 2 nevertheless came as a revelation to someone who mainly knows him from his later years. These are technical display pieces, and Backhaus plays them to the hilt.

The most impressive piano rolls are of two Liszt pieces (La Leggierezza and a Mendelssohn paraphrase) and of a very difficult arrangement of a Delibes waltz by Dohnanyi. The sparkling virtuosity here is breathtaking.

CD 3 has the 24 Chopin Etudes. They have been reissued repeatedly, but this was a nice opportunity to hear them again. They remain one of the best recordings of these challenging pieces, and the sound is quite good. Backhaus's seemingly effortless technical mastery without musical superficiality is spellbinding. He was the rare German pianist who excelled in Chopin.

The Beethoven sonatas on discs 6-8 come from two recitals: Carnegie Hall, 1954 (8, 25, 17, 26, 32), with four encores, and Carnegie Hall, 1956 (5, 14, 29), with four different encores.  The performances have all the hallmark qualities of Backhaus: They are unfussy, straightforward, and totally convincing.

Turning now to the major concertos, there are two recordings here of Beethoven's Fourth, one with the New York Philharmonic under Guido Cantelli (Carnegie Hall, 1956) and the other with the Suisse Romande under Ferenc Fricsay (Montreux, 1961). They are almost identical in their timing. The sound of the Cantelli recording is boxy, and piano and orchestra are tightly integrated. With Fricsay the sound is better, but the piano is more prominent, drawing attention to the soloist. Backhaus's well-nigh definitive interpretation exhibits superb phrasing, articulation, and dynamics, rhythmic precision, virtuosity without showiness, little rubato, and close coordination with the orchestra.

Not only has this collection been largely cobbled together from previous releases, but CDs 9 and 10 each have less than 40 minutes of music, so there could have been additional recordings of this splendid artist. I already mentioned one omission of information. Some Beethoven sonatas have numbers in the booklet, but others don't. Here a date is duplicated; there a track number is wrong. I wonder how reliable the dates are (see Mozart concerto above). But the booklet essay by Gerhard Melchert is good and includes photographs of the artist at different stages in his career as well as reproductions of newspaper articles and of personal notes or dedications from Brahms (when Backhaus was 10), Arthur Nikisch, Moriz Rosenthal, and Rachmaninoff.

. It struck me that Rachmaninoff and Backhaus have a lot in common. They had a superlative technique; they played serious major works as well as small showpieces (not Backhaus in his later years); their playing was unmannered and unsentimental, brilliant but never superficial; they played hardly any chamber music; they did not teach; and they were very private individuals (especially Backhaus, about whose private life little is known). There is a famous anecdote about Rachmaninoff who, when asked who he thought were the great living pianists, replied, "Well, there is Josef Hofmann and there is myself" and then fell silent. He should have added Backhaus.

-- American Record Guide (Bruno Repp)

For their latest album, Neeme Jaarvi and his Estonian National Symphony Orchestra present a delightful program of lesser-known stage music from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The Overtures by Thomas, Auber, and Boieldieu were all composed for works staged at the Opera-Comique in Paris, and are wonderful examples of the period.