Classical Music

G. COATES Symphonies: No. 1; 1 No. 7; 2 No. 14 3 ? Jorge Rotter, cond; 1 Siegerland O; 1 Olaf Henzold, cond; 2 Bavarian RSO; 2 Christoph Poppen, cond; 3 Munich CO; 3 Raymond Curfs (kd) 3 ? NAXOS 8.559289 (65:47)


First, this is Gloria Coates (b. 1938) not Eric. Second, we have a welcome addition to a still-too-small discography of one of the most original living American composers. I will confess this is my first encounter (far too late) with her music, but I have been primed by word of mouth, above all by former Fanfare critic Kyle Gann, who praises her lavishly in his American Music in the Twentieth Century. And the advance word has been confirmed by the music I?ve finally heard.


Coates is definitely a composer in the mold of the American ?ultramodernists? of the early 20th century. The listener will immediately sense an adventurous, uncompromising, cantankerous spirit in her work that is a descendant of such as Ives, Ruggles, Cowell, and Crawford. Her most distinguishing technique is that of the string glissando, which in lesser hands can be a cheap symbol of modernist instability, and a passport to aural seasickness. Not here. Coates is careful to place her sliding tones at the service of larger processes: canons in particular, or ?additive/subtractive? lines that expand and contract the range of the glissando over time and in perceptible patterns. She?s a wonderfully paradoxical composer because, on the one hand, the music is highly experimental in its surface technique, but on the other hand, classical in its attention to form and development within the symphonic argument. She?s a very conceptual composer, as both the titles of movements (Symphony No. 7?s movements are ?The Whirligig of Time,? ?The Glass of Time,? and ?Corridors of Time?) and her attachment to strict processes, nowadays called algorithms, may suggest. But no matter how idealistic the music, it always carries a visceral impact, or in good old American terms, a real wallop.


The three works on this program nicely cover the composer?s entire symphonic cycle (up to this point), dipping into the start, the middle, and end. Symphony No. 1 (1972?73) is her best-known work, also referred to as ?Music on Open Strings.? The work begins with an alternate pentatonic tuning of the instruments, and in the third movement incorporates the scordatura (retuning) of the strings back to the conventional tuning into the real-time performance fabric. Not all the sounds are just the five pitches, though, as Coates inserts all sorts of glissandos that enrich the texture, even if they don?t establish other firm pitch centers. It?s a highly original work, and a bracing combination of both minimalist and modernist practices.


The Symphony No. 7 (1990; a tribute to ?Those who brought down the Wall in PEACE,? though there is little I hear that?s programmatic in the actual music) is the most European sounding of the three works: not a surprise, as the composer has lived her mature artistic life in Germany, another marker of her ?outsider? status. It?s highly abstract in its materials, and verges on being the work whose glissandos wear out their welcome. But just when I started feeling the music was becoming predictable (in the first and third movements), it marshals its forces to create overwhelming climaxes that simultaneously sound surprising yet natural. I don?t know exactly what the technique is, but I suspect Coates has deep processes at work that lead to a culmination one desires but can?t easily predict. The relentless growth and impact of the piece, a storm in sound, is similar to Xenakis?s Jonchaies for orchestra, though I don?t claim it?s quite as great a work.


The final work, Symphony No. 14 (2001?02, ?Symphony in Microtones?), is by far the most American-sounding piece, for at least two obvious reasons. First, the piece (for strings and timpani?only the Seventh uses full orchestra on this collection) divides the string orchestra into two halves, tuned a quarter tone apart. Some of the music is so dense one doesn?t really perceive the differences, but in cases of the hymn quotation discussed below, it can be striking. The effect is the most Ivesian of this set and, in particular, I think of the composer of the Robert Browning Overture as an antecedent here.


Second, the first two movements quote pieces by Supply Belcher (a late 18th-century Maine hymnodist) and William Billings, the Boston Revolutionary-period composer who was himself an aesthetic revolutionary of the first order. The Billings choice is particularly apt, as it is ?Jargon,? his completely atonal (though better stated, it could be called ?non-functional,? as all the intervals are consonant, but they don?t make up traditional tonal chords) choral work, a message from another universe to the 18th century. In both movements, the antique sources emerge from Coates?s swirling textures like apparitions, an effect that is magical and unnerving. In the Billings movement, after appearing, the source is then stated with the quarter-tone difference, which feels like a true enrichment rather than a mere distortion.


In short, this is remarkable music. At times it can seem too crude and obvious, spurning standards of polish and taste, and then at the next moment it blindsides you with the power of its vision, a balanced match of manner and substance, form and content, style and idea. And on top of it all, if the booklet?s cover is any guide, Coates is a talented visual artist as well, in the tradition of Ruggles.


The sonic standards of the disc are variable: Symphony No. 1 is a recording from 1980, with more surface noise than we?re now accustomed to, and No. 7 comes from a concert recording of the world premiere. Only No. 14 has the clarity and crispness listeners have come to expect. At the same time, this doesn?t bother me, as none of the earlier sonic flaws are too distracting, and the music overcomes any such obstacle on its innate strengths. There is one serious competitor to this disc, cpo 999 392, which includes Nos. 1 and 7, substituting No. 4 for No. 14. I have not heard it, but I note from its online data that No. 1 is also a live recording from the same year as the Naxos (1980), and No. 7 was recorded in 1991, so I suspect at the very least there are similar sonic issues involved. I have a hunch that, based on repertoire, the Naxos disc will be preferable as an introduction, providing a broad sweep of the composer?s career. But based on what I?ve heard, I also suspect if you are hooked on Coates, you?ll probably need to get the cpo eventually.


This may well reappear on my 2006 Want List.


FANFARE: Robert Carl

When, in 1922, Charles Ives published a volume entitled 114 Songs, he was indirectly drawing attention to the fact that the genre had played a central part in his output. 85 years on and, for all that his wider reputation may now rest on his orchestral, chamber and piano music, songs represent the heart of his creative thinking. Nor was that initial volume comprehensive; Ives having written almost 200 songs, of which this present edition includes all those he completed. The expressive variety encountered is accordingly vast: indeed, the gradual evolution of Ives's songwriting, from those drawing overtly on the Austro-German Lieder and English parlor-song traditions to ones that evince anarchic humor as keenly as others do a profound vision, is analogous to the evolution of American music over the last quarter of the nineteenth and the first quarter of the twentieth centuries. Although it would be possible to collate Ives's songs according to type, the alphabetic approach adopted by this edition ensures each volume (of which this is the sixth and last) contains a representative cross section of his achievement. A wide range of poets is set (Ives could be highly interventionist when it suited his purpose), including (mainly early) German settings as well as forays into French and Italian writers. Moreover, the temporal distance (1887-1926) traversed by the songs is as little compared to their stylistic diversity or their emotional range. The extent to which Ives reworked songs throughout his career is considerable, whether substituting a text or reworking the actual music. To this end, songs with a musical or textual connection are cross linked accordingly (i.e. in brackets at the end of the relevant paragraph). The setting of Rudyard Kipling's Tarrant Moss (1902) uses just two verses, treated in a peremptory fashion as if to suggest that the text was merely the nearest one to hand (see also Volume 5, track 27, Naxos 8.559273). Set to an anonymous text, There is a Certain Garden (1897) has a tripping and irregular piano part against which the vocal line unfolds a little awkwardly, though the charm of the song is undoubted. A revision of an earlier German song, now to Ives's own text, There is a Lane (1902) is a brief but winsome setting; the fond nostalgia of it's vocal line underscored by the piano (see also below, track 27). A late addition to his song canon, They are There! (1942) was Ives's contribution to the American war effort; setting his own (updated) text with a conviction aptly summed up by the subtitle 'Fighting for the People's New Free World'. It can be performed (as here) by unison voices, and with a lively ad lib instrumental part. Ives left a memorable, breathlessly enthusiastic recording.

"There is nothing like Songs of Innocence and of Experience in all of American music...the score is a multicultural stew of idioms, from rigorous modernism to Mahler-like Romanticism, Appalachian folk songs, madrigals, country, ragtime, show music, rock, soul and reggae...Monstrous, indeed...an influential landmark in both the development of Bolcom's eclectic aesthetic and recent American musical history, documenting the liberating shift from high-modernist orthodoxy to an all-embracing post-modern collage of styles...In a coup for UMS and U-M, the feisty classical label Naxos has agreed to issue the first recording of the piece. Naxos engineers will tape Thursday's performance, along with follow-up sessions Friday and Saturday. Despite ecstatic reviews and cult status, the piece has never been commercially recorded...Naxos is covering engineering, production, conductor, soloist, copyright and other fees related to recording. " -- Mark Stryker, Detroit Free Press, April 6th, 2004

"William Bolcom's gigantic, well-more-than-two-hour setting of William Blake's complete "Songs of Innocence and of Experience" poetic cycle is enormously difficult and expensive to perform. Looking down at the forces assembled for the University of Michigan performance in Hill Auditorium here on Thursday night was a mega-Mahlerian experience, with a stage extension needed to accommodate the nearly 500 musicians (bigger than the forces of any Mahler "Symphony of a Thousand" I have encountered). All that was missing were lighting effects and projections of Blake's engravings, suggested in the score. But they were on display in the lobby. So visually it was awesome, and musically it was pretty awesome, too. Mr. Bolcom, who is now 65, has taught at the University of Michigan since 1973. He first became interested in Blake's visionary poems - written in the late 18th century and full of Christian mysticism and a horror of modern life and human cruelty - in 1956, from when his first sketches date. Composed sporadically, the piece received its world and American premieres in 1984 and has been performed intermittently since. At its second appearance in New York, with Leonard Slatkin conducting the St. Louis Symphony at Carnegie Hall in 1992, Edward Rothstein ended the first paragraph of his review in The New York Times with the words, "It should be recorded." Now, at long last, it has been. Thursday's performance was again conducted by Mr. Slatkin and, with patching sessions, will be released on the Naxos label."

-- John Rockwell, New York Times, April 11, 2004

More cool stuff from Australia! The Queensland seaside city of Townsville deserves a lot of credit for sponsoring both the 1999 Australian Festival of Chamber Music and this recording, particularly as the artistic results certainly reveal a high level of talent on offer. Walter Piston's chamber output, not to mention the rest of his music, seems to be doing better Down Under than here in his native land, a national disgrace for which there is simply no excuse. The Flute Quintet in particular is a certified masterpiece of poised, mellifluous ensemble writing notable for the way in which Piston keeps all five players on an equal musical footing, steadfastly refusing to write a "concerto for flute and string quartet". The Piano Quintet has more bravura but no less melodic appeal, while the two late works, though tougher in fiber, are no less rewarding or expertly crafted. Both demonstrate that Piston's characteristic stylistic fingerprints--the lyrically expansive, moderately paced opening movements, lightning-quick scherzos, probing adagios, and rhythmically buoyant, "American-sounding" finales--were capable of endless development and permutation within the context of a personal, highly disciplined, but never static musical language. As noted above, the performances are all very fine, particularly the liquid flute playing of Olga Shylayeva, and it's interesting to see Naxos house conductor Theodore Kuchar among the violas. An important contribution to Piston's discography and American music in general. Buy two and give one to a friend. --David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

Includes work(s) by various composers.

PERRY Jamestown Concerto. SCHUMAN A Song of Orpheus. THOMSON Cello Concerto • Yehuda Hanani (vc); William Eddins, cond; RTÉ Natl SO • NAXOS 8.559344 (72:09)

And here is another side of William Perry. The Jamestown Concerto (2006) begins with a beautiful solo cello segment that sits halfway between solo cadenza and folkish musing, described as a “cello overture” in Douglas Bruce’s notes. Written to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the first permanent colony in America in Jamestown, Virginia (1607), it is a poignant work that integrates Perry’s trademark filmic qualities into a concert framework. It also includes musical material derived from a madrigal published in 1501 by John Milton (father of the poet). There is a detailed program (trumpets in the second movement, “Settlement Along the River,” announce the arrival of Captain John Smith to quell an uprising, for example), but it is one that strikes me as optional. Yehuda Hanani is a most eloquent soloist. My colleague Lynn René Bayley found this work rather wanting in her review ( Fanfare 32:3). I find the work’s almost childlike sense of wonder and its clear impression of ongoing narrative, beautifully scored, rather compelling. The playful “Pocahontas in London” fourth movement is enchanting; the fifth bustles while faithfully evoking time and place. Skillful, eminently musical, and poignant pretty much sum up this piece.

Good to see William Schuman’s music here, too. The rest of the music will get less of a say on the grounds that it appears in the context of an article on Perry, but it is good to hear Schuman’s A Song of Orpheus (premiered 1962), especially prefaced by a reading (by Jane Alexander) of Shakespeare’s “Orpheus with his Lute.” I agree with Bayley on every count here (except that I actually do like the idea of the reading of the poem). Superbly atmospheric music, yet at the same time sophisticated, especially in harmonic terms. Finally, Virgil Thomson’s Cello Concerto, a remarkably strong and powerful work, is given a proud and muscular account here by Hanani (which is not to underplay Hanani’s deftness in the finale).

The placing of Perry here is important. He justly takes his place with two giants of American music.

FANFARE: Colin Clarke

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PERRY Jamestown Concerto. SCHUMAN A Song of Orpheus. 1 THOMSON Cello Concerto • Yehuda Hanani (vc); William Eddins, cond; Jane Alexander (spkr); 1 RTÉ Natl SO • NAXOS 8.559344 (72:10 Text and Translation)

These three works, tied by their American heritage and syntax, though not entirely by subject matter—the Schuman is, after all, based on verses by Shakespeare—are given intelligent, sensitive, highly musical performances by renowned cellist Yehuda Hanani, conductor Eddins, and the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra of Ireland. The only things they really lack are a more clearly focused sound and a bit more excitement.

William Perry’s concerto is the newest, written in 2006 and premiered in January 2007 by Hanani with the Musica Nova Orchestra in Scottsdale, Arizona. It is also, alas, the weakest. There are some splendid moments in all five movements, depicting the embarkation of the Virginia Company from London in 1606, settlements along the James River (including the introduction of Pocahontas), harsh winters of the colony, Pocahontas in London, and Jamestown 400 years later on; yet in each of these movements the music either began or deteriorated in interest for me, evidencing a style I would charitably describe as populist tonal banality. I don’t know if Perry purposely chose this route or if inspiration failed to connect the more imaginative sequences of his work (the third movement, the opening of the first, and the closing pages of the second), but for all its workmanlike qualities I felt it failed to gel.

Also, perhaps, the populist feel of this concerto was too much in contrast to the more serious and imaginative Song of Orpheus by Schuman. I’d almost forgotten what a truly splendid composer he was! None of this music is unattractive, yet none of it can be called easy listening. Not a note or phrase seems banal, prolonged, or unnecessary. Though perhaps more carefully crafted than written in a flash of insight, this concerto was nevertheless finished in only 11 months, premiered by the excellent American cellist Leonard Rose in 1962. The music is very close in concept to Berlioz’s longer and more familiar Harold in Italy , employing long stretches where the orchestra takes the lead and the cello amiably adds its commentary. Schuman wanted Shakespeare’s poem to be either printed in the concert program or recited from the stage. Of course, the brief text is included in the liner notes, but Naxos felt a need to hire actress Jane Alexander to recite the poem anyway. It’s a nice touch but, to me, an unnecessary extravagance.

I found Thomson’s Concerto (sometimes subtitled “Rider on the Plains”) to be perhaps the crown jewel of this collection. Quite in contrast to both the populist (but not popular ) style of his film scores, which I feel are the finest ever written by an American, or the rhythmically dense, polyphonic style of his operas, the concerto strode a peculiar middle ground. Charming if not-quite-catchy melodies based on hymns, circle game tunes, and even a snippet from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 6 were seamlessly woven into a rich tapestry. The cello definitely takes center stage here, with some of the most extraordinary and complex music Thomson ever wrote. At one point he even sends it flying up into the violin range, much like Chopin’s Introduction and Polonaise for cello but for a much longer period of time. Hanani, great virtuoso that he is, handles this with astounding aplomb if not quite the firm control of pitch that Emanuel Feuermann displayed in his Victor recording of the Chopin piece. But how many cellists are Feuermann? Answer: one. Feuermann! (It may also be of interest to note that, in this Concerto, Hanani is playing the same instrument that Paul Olefsky, principal cellist of the Philadelphia Orchestra, used in the 1950 premiere. Emmanuel Feldman also does a splendid job with this Concerto on the Albany label, but the more interesting pairing of the Schuman—not available elsewhere—makes this, for me, a more arresting disc.

This is certainly a splendid release, and should by no means be passed up, despite my few disappointments regarding sound and the Perry concerto.

FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

TAVENER: John Tavener - A Portrait (MCCLEERY)

Opera Explained: ROSSINI - Tancredi (Smillie)

I have to confess that I was a bit concerned at the opening of this new performance of Roy Harris' Third Symphony, where Marin Alsop and the otherwise very good Colorado Symphony fail to match the urgency and passion of Bernstein's benchmark Sony recording. Once the piece gets moving, however, the music quickly builds to an explosive account of the big fugue, with brilliant contributions from the brass, while the tragic conclusion with its pounding timpani pedal is perhaps the most intense yet captured on disc. Certainly no one has made the final bars sound more convincing or inevitable. Just a touch more drive at the very beginning and this might have been the new reference recording for the work, but as it is my reservations are minuscule and it's definitely a "keeper".


Having a modern recording on hand of the delightful "Folk Song Symphony" certainly adds to the disc's attractions. There's only one other that enjoyed general circulation, Golschmann's on Vanguard, and heaven only knows if it's still available. In any case, this one is definitely superior sonically, though I marginally prefer the earlier version's quicker tempos in Western Cowboy and Negro Fantasy (the second and sixth movements, respectively). Alsop still has the edge, though, in terms of both singing and playing, and her quicker sections pack an even bigger punch than the Vanguard release. This is a really attractive work that ought to be better known. If the composer in question had been English/Irish (and some of the tunes actually are: The Girl I Left Behind Me, a.k.a. The Wandering Laborer, also appears in Hamilton Harty's "Irish" Symphony), we'd no doubt have a plethora of modern recordings from which to choose. Never mind: this one will do very nicely.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

We start with a pretty conventional three-movement, neo-Romantic Violin Concerto, written in 1940. The conductor’s program notes equate it with Bruch, but it’s not that old fashioned; there are hints of Bloch as well. Still, I find the opening Allegro too predictable and, at 14 minutes, too long. The Bruch connection could be some actual quotations in the violin part, but there are also some original ideas presented. McKay’s music is strongest, and most original, in his slow movements; he had a gift for the long melody and knew exactly what to do with one. Right from the opening note, the Andante quasi adagio rings true. Even the solo part changes instantly: the ultra-conventional figurations and filigree of the first movement give way to a soaring, wide-ranging line, which shares and exchanges ideas with solo woodwinds. Did the soloist feel the same way? His earlier cadenzas sound uncommitted; now he is all heart and beauty. A happy, lively finale also makes more use of winds than did the opening movement, and the solo line becomes more brilliant. One can’t help liking it.

The Suite on 16th-Century Hymn Tunes (an homage to one Louis Bourgeois) relapses into convention, recalling Vaughan Williams without matching him. It was written for organ in 1945, scored for strings shortly thereafter, and rescored for two string orchestras in 1962, the version heard here. A celesta joins in the fourth (Choeur céleste) of five movements; the work’s slow movement, it again stands out. A cogent listener (she doesn’t like being identified as my wife) thought the piece might be William Boyce, and English for sure. The Sinfonietta (1942) is a surprise: romantic excess has abdicated in favor of sharp, clean harmonies and rhythms. McKay has jumped a musical generation in the two years since the Violin Concerto; he seems as much at home in what was a very modern idiom for its day as he was in the earlier style. An Allegro . . . con brio (he writes verbose movement indications) has bite and wit; the Moderato pastorale makes varying use of a ripe oboe tune, enriching a nearly 10-minute movement at every turn. The colorfully scored finale, Allegro . . . molto, is brilliant fun.

Song over the Great Plains (1953) is a serious 14-minute tone poem, looking backward to Howard Hanson from McKay’s days at the Eastman School. Rich, mildly dissonant harmonies and heavy-duty scoring dominate, as trombones prevail. There is an occasional piano obbligato, played by Ludmilla Kovaleva, which serves primarily as respite from the tense atmosphere. The whole is not quite convincing, running just a touch too close to Hollywood. On another day, I might fall for it. All the performances are expert and seem sympathetic; the recordings are satisfactory.

James H. North, FANFARE

Amy Beach's songs are pleasant enough, and certainly well-crafted, with smartly chosen texts--Burns, Longfellow, Browning, Shelley, and some lesser-known poets, including Beach herself. But most of their appeal lies with the composer's deftness in borrowing from and incorporating the styles of major artists such as Schubert, Brahms, Wolf, Richard Strauss, and Debussy into her writing. She even takes directly from Beethoven in her quite lovely song "The Rainy Day". In other words, there's nothing really original here, but melodically and in terms of overall accessibility and singability, Beach understood the genre and knew how to create music that nearly everyone--singers as well as listeners--could enjoy. There are lullabies, German lied, and French chansons, as well as a nod or two to English and American parlor-song. And we're fortunate to have as our interpreter a singer who is one of the world's experts in this repertoire: mezzo-soprano Katherine Kelton did her doctoral dissertation on Beach's songs. She exhibits a voice of rich color and easy, inviting expressiveness, and her technique effortlessly conveys the varied moods and cleverly imitative styles so that we can just sit back and appreciate each one of these charming if not particularly profound works. Beach's piano accompaniments are carefully thought-out and add essential, characterful aspects of tone, color, and texture that are often very technically challenging. Catherine Bringerud is completely at home with this music and at one with Kelton's vocal interpretations. The sound is complementary to vocal and instrumental timbres and presents the performances in realistic perspective. Fans of American song--and especially of Amy Beach (who did much of her writing just down the road from where I'm writing this review, at the MacDowell Colony in Peterborough, NH)--shouldn't miss this interpretively considerate, solidly performed recital.

--David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

The Violin Concerto is one of Schuman's most powerful works. Emotionally packed, it could almost be considered a symphony for violin and orchestra. Rather than "accompanying" the soloist in the classic tradition, the orchestra becomes a participant in the high drama. The work is indeed extremely theatrical, evoking powerful emotions in a highly charged romantic atmosphere. Schuman was a poet at heart. His earliest interests actually included the writing of poetry. The concerto has some of the most poetic music ever written by Schuman. The work underwent several transformations after each of the first performances. Schuman seemed unsatisfied with the form, eventually settling for the final version of two very large movements instead of the original three. The final version of the work was performed by Roman Totenberg at the Aspen Festival in Colorado in 1959. - Jose Serebrier

This selection was nominated for the 2001 Grammy Awards for "Best Orchestral Performance" and "Best Instrumental Soloist(s) Performance (with Orchestra)."

from Daniel Felsenfeld's Liner Notes:

Copland seemed to have two separate sides, the populist and the aesthete. The Sonata for Violin and Piano seems to fall in between the two, being jaunty and full of good tunes, but also based on sophisticated harmonies and unorthodox musical schemes. The piece is dedicated to Lieutenant Harry H. Dunham, a close friend of Copland’s who died in battle, and the date of its première (17th January 1944, with violinist Ruth Posselt and the composer at the piano) shows that war was probably very much on the pacifist Copland’s mind. Cast in three movements with traditional titles (Andante, Lento and Allegretto giusto) this is truly a neo-classical work, but it is also pure Copland; as with everything, he took what he needed of the theoretical conceits, but ultimately composed to his instincts.

Two Pieces for violin and piano, which Copland wrote in the mid 1920s for himself and violinist Samuel Dushkin to play in a Boulanger-sponsored concert in Paris, is a chance to see Copland playing with new ideas, including a new fascination with jazz (this is also the period he was writing his heavily jazz-influenced Piano Concerto). Much of this music would be mined for later scores, but they do hold interest on their own. This is music that is bitonal (in more than one key at once), undoubtedly influenced by Darius Milhaud, whom Copland esteemed highly. In the Ukelele Serenade Copland is having a good time trying to make the fiddle sound like something it is not.

Copland’s piano trio Vitebsk, one of his few "Jewish" works, is here arranged for violin and piano. It is a startling piece, full of wailing dissonances, even using microtones, notes which fall in between the cracks of piano keys, not of the "Western" well-tempered system. It is based on The Dybuk, a Jewish folk-tale, which also fascinated George Gershwin and Leonard Bernstein, about spirits and doomed love in a small Hasidic community, and Copland hoped the music would, in his own words, "...reflect the harshness and drama of Jewish life in White Russia." It is, therefore, a lean, almost angry work, with many moods contained in its taut single movement.

Dipping even further into the well of Copland’s juvenilia, Two Preludes for Violin and Piano are attempts to translate poetry into music, as Liszt had done in his tone poems. The poets in whom Copland found inspiration were Witter Bynner and Wallace Stevens, both contemporaneous and American. Here we see the seed of the Copland yet to come, the off-kilter rhythms, the stark harmonies, and the sparseness of texture. The titles offer their own explanations; these are musical moment pieces, composed to a single-focused and specific idea of mood.

Originally scored for flute and piano, Copland’s Duo was re-scored by the composer in 1977 at the request of Robert Mann, the violinist for the Juilliard Quartet and Copland enthusiast. The "all-but" sonata was therefore transcribed into this version, which took a good deal less time than the composition - Copland worked for three years on the Duo, commissioned by William Kinkcaid. The famous flautist wanted something that would work "...like a sonata," and Copland certainly delivered the goods, offering a tightly formed work in three movements. The second movement in particular, the composition of which took most of the three years, evokes, in the composer’s own words "a certain mood that I connect with myself - a rather sad and wistful one, I suppose."

The ballet Rodeo was a divisive moment in Copland’s career, a complete smash hit, and yet the piece that managed to alienate him from much of his community. Copland, they thought, had sold out. Copland even incorporates some memorable American folk-tunes. It is a cowboy romance, full of wranglers and cowgirls, and culminating in a hoedown. The choreography and scenario were by Agnes de Mille, who, on the strength of her work on Rodeo, was hired to choreograph a new musical by Rodgers and Hammerstein called Oklahoma!, and Copland composed dutifully to her vision, though he preferred his idea for a ballet about Ellis Island. The 1942 première at the Metropolitan Opera was an enormous success, with a standing ovation. The suite from the work is one of Copland’s most recognizable achievements, with hundreds of performances and countless wonderful recordings.

Daniel Felsenfeld

There are remarkably few differences, almost none of substance, between the performances on two recently released recordings--this one and another with Micaela Comberti and Colin Tilney on Dorian--of Bach's Six Sonatas for Violin and Harpsichord. (For comments on a third recent set, from Rachel Podger and Trevor Pinnock on Channel Classics, see reviews.) Even the first movement of the first sonata is exactly the same timing for both. Yes, Lucy van Dael's violin, at least in this sonic environment, has a somewhat richer, more resonant lower register (both instruments share the same bright timbre in their upper range), and Bob van Asperen's harpsichord is a bit rounder and warmer of tone than Tilney's. And in general, Comberti and Tilney's tempos are slower, which perhaps gives the impression of a sharper, more deliberate articulation from Tilney's harpsichord. Van Asperen's instrument is recorded slightly more distant than Tilney's, giving more prominence to van Dael's violin, which seems to go counter to Bach's intentions--these in fact are not solo sonatas per se, but trio sonatas in which the upper line of the harpsichord performs in duet with the violin, accompanied by the keyboard's bass line.


Comberti's fast movements at times sound too careful, while van Dael's have an air of frenzy about them that can produce sheer excitement (the Allegro of Sonata No. 2; the two Allegros in No. 4) or nervousness (the final movement of the first sonata), sensations that of course also will vary from listener to listener. There are exceptions: van Dael's slower Adagio in the E major sonata is exquisitely expressed, a lovely rendition of one of Bach's finest "arias", and her dashing final Allegro caps one of the set's highlights. The darker hues of van Dael's violin come into play most prominently in the C minor sonata's slow movements--the sumptuous opening Largo, whose gorgeous melody is the ancestor of "Erbarme dich" from Bach's St. Matthew Passion, and in the viola-like register of the Adagio. In contrast, Comberti's faster Largo sounds less like a song and the harpsichord's undulating figures are more noticeable, almost as if the players were consciously working to obliterate any associations with the melody's more famous religious context (there are hints of this in Tilney's detailed liner notes). Even so, Comberti and Tilney's slightly more leisurely Adagio in the same sonata is very effective, especially the rich violin tone, and here you particularly notice and appreciate the benefits to the overall sonority allowed by the Dorian recording's more even balance. Again, however, the more drawn-out final Allegro sounds merely workmanlike in comparison to van Dael's justly spirited rendition.


Two problems are solved in two different ways by the producers of each recording. First, the Sonata No. 6 went through several changes during Bach's lifetime and therefore the question arises as to how to treat the several existing alternative movements. Comberti and Tilney play the generally accepted five-movement version and add the "Cantabile" movement at the end of the disc as a separate track. Van Dael and van Asperen do the same, except that, in the interest of completeness and to fill out the disc's timing, they add three other alternative movements not found on the Dorian disc. Which brings us to the question of timing: the six sonatas are too long for one disc, too short for two. Dorian adds two "rarely played" harpsichord suites while Naxos chooses to skimp a little on the second disc's timing, which even with the added Sonata No. 6 movements comes to only 49:14. However, at Naxos' budget price, this shouldn't present a major concern even for those time-equals-value CD buyers--less is certainly not less in this case.


Needless to say, it's tough to choose a clear winner here--as so often happens, it's more a matter of personal preference, particularly regarding the instrumental balances. Both performances are top notch, cleanly and clearly articulated and characterized by an almost uncannily similar interpretive manner. I tend to prefer van Dael's singing style and richly colored instrument in the slow movements, but I also find Comberti and Tilney's equally weighted interaction provides a powerful richness to the textures that perhaps lends more legitimacy to their interpretation. Anyone for both? [Editor's note: the complete set of six sonatas on either Naxos or Dorian must be purchased in two separate volumes. The above review applies to the complete set although only volume 1 is indicated in the review heading.]
--David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

Helmut Müller-Brühl and his Cologne Chamber Orchestra continue their fleet-footed traversal of Bach's formidable yet familiar Brandenburg terrain (see review of Vol. I), finishing the set with Nos. 4 and 5, and completing the intelligently compiled and generous program with two concertos that Bach reworked from earlier pieces: the so-called "Triple Concerto", for flute, violin, and harpsichord, and a transposed version of the Brandenburg No. 4 with harpsichord replacing solo violin. Here, the whole ensemble is appreciably more in synch than on Volume I, and Corinne Chapelle's violin solo work in No. 4 is brilliant. Robert Hill keeps up the virtuoso standard with his facile harpsichord finger-work in a sizzling No. 5. Nevertheless, you get the feeling that rolling the general pace of all the movements back just a notch would have left some welcome breathing space and still retained the energy and impetus that Müller-Brühl so determinedly desires. The rarely heard Triple Concerto, with its charming slow movement (and sensitively realized interpretation) and the equally scarce F major transcription (with some impressive recorder playing) are a real bonus. It's especially useful to have both versions of Brandenburg No. 4 on the same disc. The sound is detailed and well-balanced, but the bass register of the harpsichord seems nearly absent. --David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

NORWEGIAN VIOLIN FAVOURITES

It is a trite assumption that by association with Krzysztof Penderecki's Polish identity, a performance of his work by a Polish conductor and orchestra suggests itself to be naturally definitive. In this case however, it may be true. As a former student of Penderecki's, Antoni Wit brings authoritative insight to his direction of the National Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra on this three volume set of Penderecki's orchestral works. The pieces are not presented chronologically. Instead, each disc pairs earlier and later works, which provides a good comparison of the composer's earliest groundbreaking work to his later neo-romantic symphonies.
The first volume is an interesting mix of music, matching the retrospective Third Symphony with earlier and more innovative works such as 'Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima,' 'Flourescences,' and 'De Natura Sonoris 2.' These are pieces of great sonic and formal experimentation. 'Threnody' uses microtonal wails in the strings to deeply disturbing but beautiful effect. In 'Flourescences,' Penderecki uses percussion and polyrhythm sculpturally as much as to define rhythm. Strange metallic rumbling, a typewriter, and droning glissandi in the strings add to the atmosphere of a world where sounds, not pitch or harmony, govern form.
REVIEWS:
American Record Guide (5-6/00, pp.165-66) - Recommended

COATES, E.: London Calling - Music for Wind Band

OCKEGHEM: Missa L'homme arme / JOSQUIN: Memor esto verbi tui

It is a trite assumption that by association with Krzysztof Penderecki's Polish identity, a performance of his work by a Polish conductor and orchestra suggests itself to be naturally definitive. In this case however, it may be true. As a former student of Penderecki's, Antoni Wit brings authoritative insight to his direction of the National Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra on this three volume set of Penderecki's orchestral works. The pieces are not presented chronologically. Instead, each disc pairs earlier and later works, which provides a good comparison of the composer's earliest groundbreaking work to his later neo-romantic symphonies.
The third volume includes Penderecki's Second and Fourth Symphonies. The Second Symphony, known as the 'Christmas Symphony,' continues the composer's exploration of neo-romanticism. Tortuous chromaticism, darkly introspective strings and fierce brass declarations color this as a Christmas of extreme sobriety. Moments of exuberant triumph alternate with ferocious doom. A careful listening will reveal the setting of the carol "Silent Night" in the first movement, and again in the finale. The Fourth Symphony opens with long sustained notes in the brass, wrapped in winding chromatic lines by the orchestra; this is a texture that recurs in various combinations through the symphony.

CANNABICH: Symphonies Nos. 47 - 52

Vanhal: Symphonies, Vol. 2

Brahms: Four-Hand Piano Music, Vol. 8

Brahms: Four-Hand Piano Music, Vol. 6

Henry Kimball Hadley (1871-1937) came from a highly musical Massachusetts family and showed considerable compositional promise early in his life (he completed his first opera at age 17). A major figure in Hadley's development was George Chadwick, with whom he studied counterpoint and composition before continuing his musical education in Vienna. Hadley's music shows an accomplished technique and, as with that of many American composers of his generation, it bears heavy European influence (though in Hadley's case, it also contains occasional traces of his home soil). The Ocean, composed between 1920 and 1921, is as atmospheric as its title suggests, displaying Hadley's skill at evocative orchestration. The musical language sounds at first to be purely impressionistic, but further along there are indications of the German post-romantic style, especially Zemlinsky. The Culprit Fay (1908) revels in the pre-impressionist sounds of Paul Dukas (La Peri comes to mind) as it relates Drake's fairy-tale poem.


It's surprising that Hadley's Symphony No. 4, composed three years later, sounds stylistically like a much earlier work, with roots firmly planted in the 19th century. The four movements act as a musical compass, describing the four regions of the globe: North portrays the frigid artic regions in terse declamations reminiscent of Richard Strauss' Macbeth; East is spiced by "oriental" modes and colors; South, the most "American"-sounding movement, captures that region's flavor with the use of ragtime melodies; and West combines adventurous "outdoors" music with Native American melodies and rhythms in a movement that not surprisingly brings to mind Dvorak's New World Symphony. This is really fine music and you can't help but wonder how it all but disappeared from modern concert programs. But if it had received anything like the wholly persuasive and committed (as well as enjoyable) performances provided by John McLaughlin Williams and the National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine, it certainly shouldn't have. This team once again has put together an irresistibly fresh and rewarding program, and Naxos has captured it all in fine sound.
--Victor Carr Jr., ClassicsToday.com

Brahms: Four-Hand Piano Music, Vol. 9

DISCOVER OPERA

It's good to see Paul Creston's music making a bit of a comeback. Neeme Järvi recorded the Second Symphony for Chandos, and Gerard Schwarz did the Third (and much else besides) for Delos, so this latest entry in Naxos' American Music Series faces some stiff competition. Fortunately, the performances are excellent and hold their own without qualification. Kuchar and his orchestra already have recorded a first-rate Prokofiev symphony cycle for Naxos, and are working on Martinu as well, so it's no surprise that Creston fits their musical profile. New to CD is the zippy First Symphony, a typically American-sounding neo-classical piece in four brief movements variously marked "With Majesty", "With Humor", "With Serenity", and "With Gaiety". So they are, and so they sound.

The brilliant "song and dance" Second Symphony gets a particularly lively performance here: it's a truly original masterpiece in two movements that should be played and enjoyed at least as often as, say, the Third Symphonies of Copland, Harris, or Schuman. Inspired by episodes in the life of Christ (birth, crucifixion, and resurrection), the Third Symphony, entitled "Three Mysteries", combines Creston's love of Gregorian chant with his invigorating sense of rhythm. Its religious inspiration lends the music a calm solemnity that never becomes saccharine or insincere. Hopefully Naxos will get around to the remaining symphonies and other orchestral works. This is really good stuff, nicely recorded too.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com