The first half of the twentieth century marks the birth of three masterpieces for violin and piano, each bearing the traits of it's author and echoing the thriving creativity of the time. Aylen Pritchin and Lukas Geniusas lead us through this mesmerizing exploration that extends from Debussy's evocative power to Stravinsky's modernism, without neglecting the nostalgic gaze of Hahn. Behold a sublime panorama of the rich and turbulent years of a musical France.

Classical Music

While he left an extensive and significant output of stage-works, the contribution of Kurt Weill to orchestral and instrumental genres was largely restricted to his formative years.

D’ALBERT Tiefland: Symphonic Prologue. Symphony in F, Op. 4 • Jun Märkl, cond; MDR Leipzig RSO • NAXOS 8.572805 (62:40)


A recording of Eugen d’Albert’s early Symphony in F Major appeared on CPO three years ago and was reviewed by James A. Altena in 33:6. That version was conducted by Herman Bäumer leading the Osnabrücker Symphony Orchestra. D’Albert’s life story is reasonably well known, so it needn’t be recapped at length. In short, he was born in Glasgow, studied in London, and at 17 won a scholarship to study in Austria. There he was so taken with Austro-German music and culture that he repudiated his English training as worthless and from that day forward considered himself a right and proper German. He studied with Liszt, met Brahms, and built a career as one of the foremost piano virtuosos of his day. Between 1904 and 1905, d’Albert toured the U.S., and in 1907 succeeded Joseph Joachim as director of Berlin’s Hochschulefür Musik. D’Albert counted among his circle of associates and friends, Richard Strauss, who dedicated his Burleske to him, Hans Pfitzner, Engelbert Humperdinck, and Ignatz Waghalter (see the interview with Irmina Trynkos in 36:3). D’Albert’s personal life was a bit of a mess. Like Henry VIII, he married and divorced six times, though as far as we know, all of d’Albert’s wives kept their heads. When connubial contentment eluded him, he comforted himself in the arms of a mistress. His love of Germany and all things German must have soured when the First World War broke out, for in 1914, he moved to Zurich and became a Swiss citizen. He died, however, in Riga, Latvia, where he’d traveled to secure a divorce from his sixth wife.


Little by little d’Albert’s interest in composing began to overtake his career as a pianist. His output is not insignificant. It includes 21 operas, of which the seventh, Tiefland , first staged in 1903, was a major success, playing in houses around the world. It still holds the boards today, though mainly in Austria and Germany. Other works include a Cello Concerto, two piano concertos (available on Volume 9 of Hyperion’s “Romantic Piano Concerto” series), a couple of string quartets, an overture to Grillparzer’s Esther , a Piano Sonata, a handful of solo piano pieces, and lots and lots of songs.


Note: d’Albert composed the overture to Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience in 1881, just prior to his departure for Austria. Except for the cello concerto, the two piano concertos, the symphony on this disc, and his opera, Tiefland , plus several recordings of excerpts therefrom, not a lot else by d’Albert has found its way onto disc.


Another note: if you’re searching ArkivMusic for d’Albert, you’ll find him listed under the letter “A,” as Albert, Eugène d’—odd, since the site lists D’Indy as D’Indy, Vincent. Maybe it has something to do with the lowercase “d” vs. the uppercase “D.” Amazon and the Fanfare Archive put d’Albert under “D,” but the Archive purges the apostrophe, giving his name as dAlbert. How many ways can you spell “dog?” How about “dawg?”


I concur in the opinion of others that d’Albert’s compositional strength lies mainly in his mastery of the craft; his thematic ideas lend themselves well to development and he knows his way around the orchestra. I find it a bit more difficult, however, to concur with colleague Altena that Brahms and Schumann are ever-present in d’Albert’s 1886 symphony. If you’ve not heard the piece before, my guess is you would find its soundscape rather generic, as if fashioned from some factory-made, synthetic, wash-and-wear fabric. The garment fits the style of the day, but the pants are somehow baggy and nondescript. Granted, d’Albert was only 22 when he composed his one and only symphony, but attractive as it is in the moment, it’s not the sort of work whose melodies or other features linger.


If the opening strains of the Symphonic Prologue to Tiefland recall the opening of the Scène aux champs movement from Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique , it’s with good reason. D’Albert is painting a similar pastoral scene in which two shepherds are heard calling to each other on their pipes. Following that, the music seems to meander along a path on which it first meets, greets, and passes Wagner, only to encounter Debussy around the next bend walking his poodles, Pelléas et Mélisande . I confess to never having heard d’Albert’s opera, Tiefland , but if the rest of it is anything like the Prologue, I can understand the work’s success; it’s actually quite alluring, more so I would say than the symphony. But then the symphony is one of the composer’s earliest orchestral efforts—only the Piano Concerto No. 1 of 1884 predates it—whereas Tiefland came after d’Albert’s self-styled conversion to German-hood, and is a mature work by a composer already seasoned in writing for the stage by six previous operas.


I’m unfortunately not familiar with the CPO recording Altena reviewed, but this current release by Jun Märkl and the MDR Leipzig Radio Symphony Orchestra strikes me as eminently satisfactory. Playing and recording are both topnotch, and if you’re not acquainted with d’Albert’s music, this disc, at Naxos’s budget price, is an excellent way to gain some familiarity with it—enough, at least, to know whether you might care to explore further. On those grounds, recommended.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Classical Music

BEETHOVEN Symphonies Nos. 4 1 and 7 2 • Nicholas McGegan, cond; Philharmonia Baroque O (period instruments) • PHILHARMONIA BAROQUE PRODUCTIONS 06 (75:10) Live: Berkeley 1 11/10-11/2012, 2 9/12-13/2009


Unlike a number of other conductors in the early music movement, Nicholas McGegan has waited a long time to commit any of the Beethoven symphonies to disc. The wait has been well worthwhile. These are now my favorite period performance versions of the Fourth and Seventh symphonies on CD. I previously had preferred the Fourth of John Eliot Gardiner. It is faster than McGegan’s in every movement, sometimes significantly so. I feel that McGegan’s tempos allow the music to breathe more and to build up more natural climaxes. Gardiner uses a larger string section, which produces a wider dynamic range than McGegan’s. But McGegan’s orchestra sounds better balanced to me, with the strings allowing for richer textures from the inner voices. Interestingly, both conductors employ the same principal flute, the excellent Janet See, whose album of Vivaldi concertos with McGegan and the PBO is well worth seeking out. In the opening movement of the Fourth, McGegan’s Adagio is like a journey through the Greek underworld, leading to an Allegro vivace that feels like the whole world springing to life. Its development section sounds very Viennese in its congeniality. The second movement resembles chamber music, similar to a Buddhist scroll painting in its play of light and shade. It is significant that McGegan’s violin section includes such period chamber music luminaries as Katherine Kyme, Elizabeth Blumenstock, and Jolianne von Einem. The third movement displays Olympian humor, while the last is very danceable, sort of Beethoven’s version of a hoedown. In both symphonies, McGegan is very generous with repeats.


One of the principal attractions of McGegan’s Seventh is timpanist Kent Reed. Over 20 years ago, I heard a splendid Seventh by the New Jersey Symphony conducted by my friend Jens Nygaard, in which the timpanist, Randall Hicks, really whaled away. The critic assigned to the concert complained that it sounded like a timpani concerto. By now, we are so accustomed to the thwack of period timpani that Reed’s performance doesn’t seem unusual. Before hearing McGegan, my favorite period Seventh was Roger Norrington’s Stuttgart account. He is more fastidious in the middle movements about Beethoven’s metronome markings, though McGegan’s tempos there feel less rushed. Norrington’s strings, modern instruments played without vibrato, make a thicker, less appealing sound than McGegan’s more gossamer section. What’s more, McGegan conducts the entire symphony with a Beechamesque twinkle in his eye that Norrington lacks. The introduction to McGegan’s first movement is fleet-footed, with beautiful wind playing. The main section features wonderful waves of sound that ebb and flow, while the coda offers splendidly braying horns. McGegan’s slow movement is measured, with a careful delineation of dynamics. Its sensation is that of a haunted, misty reverie. The third movement feels as if the different sections of the orchestra are engaged in a conversation. Its trio sounds like an ecstatic shepherd’s song. The concluding movement is a jolly, mercurial romp. McGegan’s Seventh, congenial as it is, is one you can live with very easily.


The sound engineering in both symphonies is excellent. If you are looking for these works on modern instruments, I would recommend George Szell in Cleveland for the Fourth and Karl Böhm with the Vienna Philharmonic for the Seventh, although his Berlin account is nearly as good. McGegan’s album is a marvelous blend of the wisdom of the old master conductors with the finesse of period instruments. His Beethoven is an extremely likable fellow of vast ingenuity, an artist with whose work you never are sated. There is not one unconsidered bar of music in the whole album.


FANFARE: Dave Saemann

Alexander Glazunov's Symphony No. 2 (completed in 1886, when the composer was 21) is distinguished by its quintessentially Russian thematic style, which like Borodin's juxtaposes "oriental" and "occidental" melodies. The Symphony's main theme, announced in a commanding unison statement at the first movement's opening, appears in all four movements in various guises, establishing the work's cyclic unity. Glazunov's motivic development technique stems directly from contemporary Russian practice (already he displays the mastery of orchestration and large forms that would characterize his later work), so any fan of 19th century Russian symphonic music will find much that is comfortably familiar here. However, even non-Russophiles will derive enjoyment from Glazunov's always ear-catching tunes, colorful orchestration, and dramatic sensibility (particularly in the outer movements). Tadaaki Otaka shows himself to be finely attuned to Glazunov's special sound-world and lavishes much care and affection on this music, leading the BBC Wales Orchestra in an enthusiastic and highly polished performance.


Glazunov's Mazurka in G major (1888) actually is a self-contained suite of dances (the dance suite was a popular form of the Russian National school) and points the way toward the imaginative and vibrant style of his later ballet scores. The orchestral fantasy From Darkness to Light was dedicated to Busoni, and it displays (in the darkness section) some surprisingly advanced harmonic devices (Glazunov reportedly had no sympathy for any modernist tendencies, at least later in his career). Out of this pushed-to-the-edge chromaticism emerge the pure tonal harmonies of light, as the work follows a rather obvious path of "transfiguration". Otaka and his forces are just as convincing in these two filler works, making the whole program quite enjoyable. BIS' vivid recording presents a naturally balanced sound picture with a wide dynamic range.
--Victor Carr Jr, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

2006 Grammy nominee for Best Classical Crossover Album.

Estonian composer Eino Tamberg (b. 1930) is the real deal--a composer with a fresh take on traditional tonal music who knows how to write tunes and score them with unfailing color and point. His Concerto Grosso--for flute, trumpet, clarinet, alto saxophone, bassoon, piano, harp, strings, and percussion--is a masterpiece of 20th century neo-classicism and it deserves to be a repertory item. It dates from 1956 and at only Op. 5 it announces a major talent. The Symphonic Dances arrived a year later and fall within similar stylistic parameters, from the opening tune that has a Poulenc-like wit, to the three saxophones that give Tamberg's scoring a truly modern feel.

If you had the chance to hear Tamberg's 1976 opera Cyrano de Bergerac (and if you didn't, get it--it's on CPO), then you already know that he has a wonderful feeling for the theater, and for writing dramatic music. The ballet Joanna Tentata is based on the same source that gave us Penderecki's opera The Devils of Loudon. Now let's face it, stories about demonic possession in a convent have lots of juicy potential, as well as a long history on the stage, going back through Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel to Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable. Tamberg's ballet suite instantly establishes the story's haunted setting (church bells leading to a big, dissonant instrumental pileup), but the music at the same time celebrates and positively reeks of the dance. And once again we can only applaud Tamberg's willingness (and ability) to write a good tune.

Believe it or not, some of this music has been recorded previously. The Concerto Grosso appeared on a difficult-to-source Antes CD in a very fine performance by Estonian forces. This new version is wonderful too, even more naturally recorded, and Neeme Järvi is just the conductor for this colorful, exciting, and strongly gestural music. The musicians of the Residentie Orkest also clearly relish Tamberg's ebullient musical personality and the opportunities he gives them to shine. We can only hope that BIS will delve more deeply into Tamberg's output and help to bring him some of the international attention he surely deserves.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Not many instruments have a birthday - the tuba, however, does: the 12th September 1835. It is true that more or less similar instruments were already in existence, but it was on that day that a patent for the instrument was registered in Germany. By the second half of the century, with the operas of Richard Wagner, it had become an indispensable colour in the orchestra, and was later to play a significant role in works by such composers as Richard Strauss, Stravinsky and Prokofiev. Tuba concertos started to appear in the middle of the twentieth century, and finally gave lie to the cliché that the tuba was heavy, clumsy and incapable of playing fast. On this disc, the Norwegian tuba virtuoso Øystein Baadsvik explores some of these concertante works, including pieces by the Georgian composer Alexander Arutiunian and the Swedish composer Torbjörn Lundquist. The programme opens and closes with a Williams, however. Written in 1954, Ralph Vaughan Williams' Concerto for Bass Tuba was at first considered a last eccentricity of an aged composer, but with the passing of time it has become recognized as a classic.

Classical Music

REVIEW:

Jean-Jacques Kantorow has recorded Saint-Saëns’s two other violin concertos on BIS 860, which I reviewed in 21:6 and on BIS 1060, which I also reviewed, in 25:5. In the first case, it seemed to me that Kantorow exaggerated rhythms “until they become irritating,” and, in the second, that he provided an attractive alternative to either Ruggiero Ricci or Philippe Graffin in this least initially ingratiating of Saint-Saëns’s violin concertos. Kantorow is aggressively piquant in the Third Concerto as well, but the competition’s stiffer, with Arthur Grumiaux having made two recordings of it and Nathan Milstein, one—in addition to Zino Francescatti’s legendary account, which the work’s admirers should find in equal parts more noble and less racy. While Kantorow slashes with abandon in the first movement and wheedles intimately in the second, he comes into his own in the third, exhibiting greater accentual restraint yet stunning technical aplomb in passagework that defies the notes’ assessment that those seeking traditional virtuosity in this work will be disappointed. As in the slow movement, he reveals the rich lyricism of the finale’s reflective interludes. Center stage, Graffin creates an impression of cogency in this last movement for which mannerisms in the headlong first movement and the occasionally languorous slow movement hardly prepare. The orchestral support, represented in resonant and wide-ranging recorded sound, buoys the soloist throughout, providing both moments of sensitive repose and sonorous bustle.

I’ve most frequently heard Eugène Ysaÿe’s transcription for violin and orchestra of Saint-Saëns’s solo piano étude in an arrangement for violin and piano. In orchestral garb, the work bears greater affinity to Saint-Saëns’s violin concertos; and although Kantorow’s reading may seem brittle compared with Oistrakh’s breathtaking one with pianist Vladimir Yampolsky, the orchestral accompaniment virtually transforms the piece, with the violin lighting the stratosphere with pyrotechnics against a colorful orchestral backdrop, all in the grand manner of Henri Vieuxtemps (Ysaÿe’s teacher). The Caprice andalous , which Dong Suk Kang included in his collection on Naxos 8.550752, 18:2 (which also included the Third Concerto—Kang’s performance of the Caprice, and of the Concerto, sounds especially refined and elegant after hearing Kantorow’s more urgent and slightly more mannered ones), seems to be Saint-Saëns’s most overtly Spanish number, although he had embodied Pablo Sarasate’s musical personality with greater or lesser success in the Havanaise and Introduction and rondo capriccioso as well as in the Third Concerto. The work’s ethnicity and its brilliant writing for the soloist, especially at the conclusion, may overcome for listeners any resistance to what they deem less immediately appealing thematic material. And certainly Kantorow makes the most of opportunities for display.

Just as BIS’s volume surrounding the First Concerto included the Sarabande for string orchestra, op. 93/1, and the recording of the Second Concerto included Spartacus and La muse et le poète for violin, cello, and orchestra, this third volume in what appears to be a series includes the more austere Prélude to Le déluge (in which Kantorow extracts from the orchestra a nostalgic sentiment that goes beyond the suggestive violin solo) and a rambustious performance by Heini Kärkkäinen of the Valse caprice , op. 76. As in the works for violin, the engineers have placed the soloist center stage, but the depth and definition of the orchestral sound ensures that the accompaniment never degenerates into a drop cloth merely catching splotches of color the soloist insouciantly sprinkles. The program concludes with the bumptious Allegro appassionato , op. 70, with bubbling high spirits at its center.

Although Kantorow’s reading of the first two movements of the Third Violin Concerto may seem just too headlong and too diffuse, respectively, for some listeners, the bracing third nearly redeems them, and the other two bravura works for violin (Ysaÿe’s in its stirring orchestral setting)—to say nothing of the additional pieces in affecting readings led stylishly by Kantorow and, in the last two, played brightly and energetically by Kärkkäinen—tip the balance in the recording’s favor. Recommended.

-- FANFARE (Robert Maxham)

Having recently recorded the symphonies of both Glazunov and Rachmaninov, we continue our Russian theme with the first of a series of recordings of Rimsky-Korskov's symphonies. These are performed by the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Kees Bakels. The present disc couples one of Rimsky-Korsakov's most popular pieces with a symphony that deserves a much wider audience. Both works swhow their author's fertile, often fantastical imagination as welll as the mastery of orchestration for which he is renowned. While Scheherazade is in every orchestra's repertoire and most music lovers' collections, Rimsky-Korsakov's symphonies inexplicably remain under-recorded and appear infrequently on the concert platform. Both works exemplify the Romantic notion of programme music (where extra-musical references are explicitly related to what we hear). Rimsky-Korsakov had a vivid sense of colour that brings his programmes to life and which make his works highly appealing. The disc once again illustrates just how good the Malyasian Philharmonic Orchestra is under its founding conductor Kees Bakels.

The music of Snöfrid, a major work for orchestra, narrator, and chorus, strongly resembles that of The Wood-Nymph. Given its date of composition (1900) it comes straight out of Sibelius' early maturity, and much as I normally detest any music for narrator and orchestra, this is powerful stuff that does not deserve to be neglected. The same holds true of the cantata Oma Maa (My Country), though the Coronation Cantata of 1896, pleasant enough, is more of an occasional work. All three are very well performed by the Lahti Symphony Orchestra under Osmo Vänskä, as we have come to expect. The Jubilate Choir, while not as polished as some, has the right enthusiasm and the populist touch that the music ideally demands. It isn't a large body, and this actually seems to work to the music's advantage, allowing orchestral detail to register naturally and keeping each work from sounding over-inflated. On the other hand, there's certainly no question of timid or tepid performances. There have been other good recordings of Sibelius' works for chorus and orchestra, not least from Paavo Berglund, but these equal or surpass the competition in just about any area you care to name.


As for the orchestral works, the performances are just as fine. The Andante Festivo, not a major work in any case, sounds unusually gripping in this taut interpretation, while Rakastava ("The Lover") is tuneful and charming, if not much more. The real treat here is the Overture in A minor, another mature work (1902) full of arresting writing for the brass section and a central allegro that, in its pastoral freshness, could have come from the pen of no other composer. Fans of Sibelius who don't know this piece will find much to savor--and again, this is as fine a performance as it has ever received. Indeed, the entire package is unusually interesting and uniformly desirable, which is unusual given the wide-ranging variety of music on offer. Sonically this is as fine as anything BIS has given us from Lahti, which is to say that it's on par with the best the industry has to offer. If you are looking to extend your Sibelius collection beyond the best-known symphonies and tone poems, this extremely enjoyable disc should command your immediate attention. [12/1/2004]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

SYMPHONY NO 2

All of his Mozart concerto films in one place, including his very last concert with orchestra, and both performances of K456

The Magnificat is the Virgin Mary's song of praise to God after one of the Bible's greatest wonders: the angel Gabriel visiting her with the message that she is to be the mother of God's son. + In his setting composer Kim Andr� Arnesen expresses the feelings Mary must have felt: wonder, devotion, gratitude, joy, humility, hope and compassion. + God's selection of an unknown woman living in poverty to be the mother of His son is a bottom-up view of the world if ever there was one - and Arnesen sees the Magnificat as offering support and hope for all people struggling against adversity or in need of strength. + Musica Celestis portrays the ceaseless praising of God by angels in heaven. + Aaron Jay Kernis builds his work around a fairly simple melody that he remolds in a series of variations. + The intensely beautiful and mostly barren Hardangervidda mountain plateau inspired Ola Gjeilo to write Tundra, while his Song of the Universal expresses unabashed optimism, exuberance and poet Walt Whitman's unwavering confidence in our deeper humanity - all through the prism of a big, warm, beating heart.

SCHUMANN Symphonies: No. 1; No. 3 • Christian Zacharias, cond; Lausanne CO • MDG 940 1772-6 (65:34)


When Schumann’s orchestral music is discussed what almost inevitably comes up are his difficulties dealing with orchestration, especially later in his career. In assessing Schumann’s “skills” as an orchestrator, Felix Weingartner was blunt, if not brutal: “…he did not know how to handle the orchestra, either as director or as composer. He worked almost always with the full material but did not take the pains to elaborate the parts according to the character of the separate instruments. With almost childlike stupidity he expected to attain fullness and strength by doubling the instruments. Therefore the instrumentation is heavy and inflexible; the color gray against gray; the most important themes, if played according to his directions, sometimes cannot be heard; and a true forte is almost as impossible as a true piano …Schumann’s symphonies are composed for the pianoforte, and arranged—unhappily not well at that—for the orchestra.”


Schumann ran into difficulty at the very first rehearsal of the First Symphony. The first two measures of the opening fanfare were originally a third lower but Schumann discovered that, since the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra performed on “natural” horns and trumpets, the next-to-last pair of notes had to be played by “stopping” the instruments, resulting in a sound that Schumann compared to “a violent cold in the head.” Mendelssohn, who was conducting, suggested moving the passage up a third and Schumann assented. Interestingly, even with valved instruments now in use, most conductors, at least on recordings, stick to Mendelssohn’s solution. Many conductors handle the “thickness” that Weingartner complained of by following his advice and thinning out the orchestration; some, on the other hand, either reorchestrate to bring out important themes or stick to Schumann’s orchestration but make adjustments in the sectional balance.


Conducting the Lausanne Chamber Orchestra, Christian Zacharias has an ensemble that, with something close to 50 players, is approximately the same size as Mendelssohn’s Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra so no thinning out is probably necessary. Although I wish the horns were a little louder, one hears much interesting detail that is often lost when the symphonies are played by a large orchestra using Schumann’s orchestration (most of the problems emerge in the later symphonies which Schumann composed during and after his bad experience conducting an orchestra in Düsseldorf). Zacharias’s “Spring” Symphony is a relaxed, moderately paced performance. Tempo-wise, it inhabits the middle of the pack and, for my taste, challenges the very best ones, my favorite of which is Peter Maag’s, with the Bern Symphony Orchestra. I wouldn’t have minded a little more playfulness in the finale—he’s pretty straightforward here and in the “Rhenish,” with the most grudging observation of ritardandos and other such tempo adjustments. Both performances abound in snappy rhythms, giving them a kind of buoyant “innocence” that I found quite charming. MDG has provided clear, detailed sound. There are a good many strong performances out there but these two carve out a special niche for themselves. I’ll bet Weingartner would have approved.


FANFARE: James Miller

Hermann Goetz's lifespan was no longer than Mozart's, and though much admired by contemporaries, as a tragic genius his music became almost forgotten, and the domain of but a few connoisseurs such as Gustav Mahler. Goetz's style remained closer to schumann and Mendelssohn, preferring lyricism and clarity to the more radical approaches of Liszt and Wagner. The virtuoso First Piano Concerto was a student work, its lovely central adagio sharing a use of colorful wind parts with the freshly optimistic Second Piano Concerto composed six years later.

In her intriguing new album, viola da gambist Johanna Rose places a prelude by Sainte-Colombe (father) in front of the six movement Bach suite in D minor, and finished the D major Bach suite with a chaconne by Sainte-Colombe. The third 'suite' is an all family affair with music by both father and son, fashioned into a suite by Rose.

There's a little joke behind the innocuous name of Ernest Bloch's Symphony in E-flat. It is, in truth, one of his most harmonically acerbic works, very close to the tortured contrapuntal idiom of another famous Swiss composer: Honegger. The piece only really achieves its home key in the quiet, final bars, but along the way sparks fly in all directions, and no matter how dissonant the idiom the argument is very easy to follow, and melodies and motives have distinctive, easily recognizable shapes. Andrey Boreyko and the Malmö Orchestra play the work with the guts and vigor it needs, and as usual the BIS recording is superb. The same observations about performance and sound characterize the other two works as well.


Evocations, inspired by a book on Chinese art, deserves to be much better known. Tuneful, glitteringly scored, and with a really exciting central movement (God of War) and a mesmerizing, lyrical finale (Renouveau-Spring), it also has a gentle fund of pentatonic-inspired melody, but otherwise sounds like Bloch in his "exotic" mode. The Three Jewish Poems, though never played in concert, have enjoyed a few recordings, and compared to the competition on Koch and ASV, this performance offers a touch more languor without ever seeming too slow, and it's the best sounding of the batch. BIS is quietly working its way though Bloch's orchestral output, and in my opinion no series in progress on any label is more important or interesting. Hopefully the series will include two of the most enthralling and magnificent of 20th century concertos, the Viola Suite, and the Concerto symphonique, without delay.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Includes work(s) by Franz Joseph Haydn. Ensemble: Toronto Chamber Orchestra. Conductor: Kevin Mallon.

The musical expression of German Romanticism is the theme of this disc. The trajectory of Schumann’s Konzertstück, Op 86, written for four horns and orchestra, goes from heroism to introspection. Two of his Symphonic Etudes, Op 13, were orchestrated by no less a figure than Tchaikovsky, while Albert Parlow orchestrated four of Brahms’ most exciting Hungarian Dances. Mendelsssohn’s Overture to his Ballad Opera Die Heimkehr aus der Fremde (Song and Stranger) embodies classical virtues. Anton Webern’s Langsamer Satz for string quartet has been vibrantly orchestrated by Gerard Schwarz. Hans Pfitzner, one of the last representatives of the movement, is represented by his concise, melodic Symphony in C major.

REVIEWS:

Turning 40 this year, Jonathan Leshnoff is proving to be one of the most gifted traditionalist composers of his generation. Born and raised in New Jersey, he is a graduate of the Peabody Institute in Baltimore, and cites as his most important teachers Moshe Cotel and Thomas Benjamin. He seems to have settled in Baltimore, and is currently Composer-in-Residence of the Baltimore Chamber Orchestra, and on the faculty of Towson University.

This is Naxos’s second release devoted to the music of Leshnoff. I reviewed its predecessor favorably in Fanfare 34:3; that one featured a violin concerto and a string quartet. Looking back at that review, I see that I wrote this about his Violin Concerto: “Flagrantly and unabashedly tonal and melodic, its conventional and accessible style calls to mind the music of Lowell Liebermann, though it reveals a greater sense of expressive urgency.” Funny, I was thinking exactly the same thing as I listened to this CD, except that I find this more recent release even more appealing by quite a margin. Like the earlier CD, each piece falls into a slightly different stylistic category, yet each remains satisfying in its own way.

Almost immediately after composing his Violin Concerto, Leshnoff was asked to write a Double Concerto featuring violin and viola. He completed the work later the same year, in 2007. This ambitious four-movement concerto grabbed me immediately. Its style is thoroughly traditional and clearly tonal in the late-romantic sense. That is, the listener will hear nothing that couldn’t have been written by a neo-romantic composer 50 years ago. This is, of course, a bold and courageous posture for a composer to take, because not only does he place himself in direct comparison with many celebrated figures of the recent past, but his chosen language makes it virtually impossible for him to avoid the “sounds like” references that so many critics use to diminish the stature of traditionalist composers and their works. I must emphasize that “sounds like” references in this review are provided solely to give the reader a frame of reference that might facilitate his forming a mental impression of what the music sounds like, not a criticism or accusation of “derivativeness.”

Lasting nearly half an hour, the Double Concerto is a serious, passionate work in four movements. Its opening movement is fraught with a grim, heartfelt pathos strongly reminiscent of Ernest Bloch. The second movement is a lively, exciting scherzo with no shortage of lyrical moments. The third movement is a mysterious nocturne that returns to the somber cast of the opening. The finale is a perpetual-motion affair that calls Shostakovich to mind; despite its continuous vigor, it ends the work on a subdued note. The solo performances, featuring violinist Charles Wetherbee (who excelled in the aforementioned Violin Concerto) and violist Roberto Díaz, are truly masterly, while the orchestra, under the direction of its founder, Michael Stern, provides the solid, confident support one might expect of a far more seasoned ensemble. The IRIS Orchestra, formed in 2000 as the resident orchestra of the Germantown Performing Arts Center in Tennessee, is extraordinarily fine, and Stern appears to be a committed advocate of Leshnoff’s music.

Leshnoff’s Symphony No. 1 was commissioned by Stern, and is subtitled, “Forgotten Chants and Refrains.” It was completed in 2004—earlier than the Double Concerto—but is more obviously a work of the turn of the 21st century, in its emphasis on sonority and gesture reminiscent of the music of Joseph Schwantner, as well as in its passages of rhythmic stasis. The work comprises five movements, played without pause, and is supposedly a “Brotherhood of Man” sort of statement. Lately I find myself on a campaign against references to extra-musical content and meaning that are not borne out by the music itself. I have no particular criticisms of Leshnoff’s Symphony, which I enjoyed greatly; I just think that its pretense of “[speaking] to all humanity in an uplifting way” is irrelevant. The Symphony opens with a slow introduction that produces a great sense of anticipation, which is released in the energetic movement that follows. The third movement—the centerpiece—is the longest, and after an eerie opening, becomes more hymn-like, with quotations from earlier religious music, including Gregorian chant (presumably for purposes of spiritual uplift), before returning to its initial mysterious character. The fourth movement also includes quotations and, like the second, provides rapid activity through swirling gestures. The finale, “Resolution,” is solemn and chant-like, bringing the work—like the Double Concerto—to a subdued conclusion. Despite my carping about extra-musical meaning, this is a satisfying work with potentially broad appeal, demonstrating that there is still plenty meaningful to say within the symphonic genre.

Rush is a relatively short, very animated work dating from 2008 that partakes of the post-minimalist manner of John Adams and Michael Torke. It is quite successful in generating the kind of excited exuberance for which such pieces seem to strive, although Rush offers quieter moments as well.

As indicated earlier, the performances presented here are superb, and the music provides just less than an hour of fully enjoyable listening.

-- FANFARE (Walter Simmons)