Classical Music

Recorded in: Henry Wood Hall, Glasgow 1 August 1986 Producer(s) Brian Couzens Sound Engineer(s) Ralph Couzens Philip Couzens [Assistant]

14.99

Eugen Suchon (1908-93) was the most influential and respected Slovak composer of the 20th c. This new Chandos CD features the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra and it's artistic director Neeme J�rvi performing three of Suchon's greatest symphonic works, composed during the years he spent teaching in Bratislava, both pre- and post- WWII. His interest in the origins of Slovak folk music and extended tonality are to be heard. Winner of two Grammy� Awards, in 2004 and 2010, the ENSO is the longest, continually operating professional orchestra of it's kind in Estonia and tours worldwide.

Also available: Life with Czech Music - Dvorák, Smetana / Sir Charles Mackerras

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Contains 4 CDs + 1 DVD.

Reviews:

The Cunning Little Vixen, Sinfonietta, Taras Bulba

Charles Mackerras speaks of this set as his last series of Janácek recordings, which is understandable--but let's fervently hope that he hangs around to make many more discs for Supraphon (and other labels). Some of this material has appeared previously in the opera sets: the overtures and interludes to Kát'a Kabanová and Sárka. The rest of the items are new and wonderful. Most interesting for Janácek collectors may be this superb Suite from The Cunning Little Vixen that follows the outline of Talich's arrangement (that is, Act 1 minus the voices) but restores the composer's original orchestration. It's wonderful. Equally wonderful is the performance of Schluck und Jau, certainly its finest on disc, and the same holds true of the Jealousy Overture (a bit messy in the earlier Decca recording).


This performance of the Sinfonietta is thrilling: swifter than the somewhat staid Decca recordings and even more exciting than Mackerras' famous first effort with the Pro Arte Orchestra (now on Testament). He whips up the excitement at such points as the third movement's central climax with uninhibited abandon, and the Czech Philharmonic responds with explosive enthusiasm. The same qualities characterize the second two movements of Taras Bulba; the first is a touch relaxed, not as violent in the battle scene as some others I could name (Ancerl, for example), but it's never slack or self-consciously smooth. The recordings--both live and studio efforts from a variety of venues--sound consistently excellent. Mackerras did more for Janácek than any other conductor living or dead, and it's fitting that he should leave his final thoughts on this music with the Czech Philharmonic and Supraphon. A set not to be missed! [5/4/2004]

– David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

DVD - Jealousy, Taras Bulba, Glagolitic Mass
If the idea of watching a Mass on DVD doesn't seem all that inspiring, consider that the work in question is Janácek's powerful Glagolitic Mass. The already enthralling music gains a visceral intensity under Charles Mackerras' masterful and potent conducting. The visual element only heightens the drama, as we see the elegance of the beautifully adorned Dvorák Hall--a fitting setting for this ceremonial music. The cameras also capture the individual performers in their most important passages--Eva Urbanová's impassioned solos, Leo Marian Vodicka's fearsome tenor utterances, as well as Peter Mikuláš' stern bass proclamations. There are well-timed shots of the Prague Philharmonic Choir as well, and of course, the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, which plays brilliantly. Organist Jan Hora, who gives a virtuoso performance of this all-important part, unfortunately is out of view (we see instead the pipes of his massive instrument). Mackerras, who uses Janácek's restored original score with its more colorful orchestration and raucous percussion parts, conducts vibrantly, with swift tempos making for a rousing occasion.


The Czech Philharmonic is the star of Jealousy (the original prelude to Jenufa) and Taras Bulba, and again it plays marvelously with virtuoso contributions from all sections. Now the camera pinpoints the many instrumental solos as well as individual orchestral sections in critical passages, indicating the video director's familiarity with the score. Mackerras' interpretations have been documented previously on audio-only recordings, perhaps most sumptuously with the Vienna Philharmonic on Decca. The sound on this video version is not so resplendent (it's not something you'd play with the TV off), but it suits the medium well, and it's quite fascinating to see the greatest living Janácek conductor at work. This is one DVD you'll watch many times. [9/13/2005]

– Victor Carr Jr, ClassicsToday.com

Double Concerto, Les fresques
The Double Concerto and Les fresques are among Martinu's most satisfying works: behind the cosmopolitan, 'conservative-modern' lingua franca of their language both have a genuine individuality of Utterance, and both have an expressive urgency that repeated hearing intensifies. In the case of the Double Concerto the emotional burden is a brooding disquiet and a stoicism that eloquently reflect the time in which the work was written (1938: it was completed on the very day that the Allies agreed to Germany's annexation of the Sudetenland). In Les fresques there is a rapt, at times ecstatic luminosity, a mystic serenity, even, that is a strikingly apt metaphor for Piero's numinous brightness.

Not surprisingly, both pieces have been quite often recorded, but neither of them is at all easy to conduct or to balance. The proliferation of string lines in the Double Concerto can easily sound confused, and there is the problem of where in the sound picture the pianist should be placed: as a soloist, as continuo-player or as provider of edge and attack to the bass-line (the instrument appears in all three roles). The colours of Les fresques are still more easily dulled, shot and hatched as they so often are by solo instruments: the work demands a difficult combination of transparency and richness. Mackerras and his engineers succeed, so it seems to me, quite admirably in both cases. The tension of the Double Concerto's outer movements is finely sustained, there is great weight and intensity to the fuller pages, but enough power is kept in hand (the wide range of the recording plays a part in this) for the conclusion to be formidably powerful, and the excellent pianist seems always to be in the right perspective.

Les fresques are still finer, if anything: the solo lines characterfully expressive, the brighter colours resplendent, but the eloquent purity that is at the music's centre never obscured. [7/1985]

– Gramophone

Classical Music

LATE BACH

THREE POLISH TENORS

SVENDSEN Norwegian Artists’ Carnival, Op. 14. Violin Concerto in A, Op. 61. Two Icelandic Melodies. Symphony No. 1 in D, Op. 4 • Neeme Järvi, cond; 1Marianne Thorsen (vn); Bergen PO • CHANDOS 10766 (74:10)

This is Volume 3 in a series of discs devoted to the orchestral works of a composer who, it’s believed, composed no more than 33 works with opus numbers, of which approximately 21 are orchestral scores, if you count the cantatas for chorus and orchestra. If you don’t count them, then the four works included on this latest installment, added to the 10 included on Volume 1 (see Fanfare 35:5), plus the four included on Volume 2 (Fanfare 36:4), should wrap up this survey, but with Neeme Järvi you never know.

The famous anecdote of the volatile relationship between Svendsen and his American wife ending with her tossing her husband’s manuscript of a Third Symphony into the fire is probably fictional, but it makes for colorful reading. Sketches, however, for what was probably on its way to becoming another symphony were expanded and orchestrated by Norwegian composer Bjørn Morten Christophersen and premiered by the Bergen Philharmonic as recently as 2011. Perhaps in a follow-up album, Järvi will give us Christophersen’s speculative score.

Meanwhile, what we have on the present disc are Svendsen’s First Symphony and a very ambitious Violin Concerto, plus the shorter programmatic pieces, Norwegian Artist’s Carnival and Two Icelandic Melodies. Svendsen is what I would characterize as a Scandinavian generalist. Like his close contemporaries, Grieg and Danish composer C. F. E. Horneman, Svendsen was yet another product of the Leipzig Conservatory, studying violin with Ferdinand David (of Mendelssohn Violin Concerto fame) and composition with Carl Reinecke. But Svendsen’s works that bear national or folkloristic titles, like Norwegian Artist’s Carnival, don’t sound Norwegian the way Grieg’s music does. In fact, in both style and content, there’s little difference between the boisterous, celebratory, dance-like character of the symphony and the Carnival; and listening to the Two Icelandic Melodies, I’m not sure you would know if you were in Iceland or Finland—there’s a hint of Sibelius in the air.

The violin concerto betrays Svendsen’s training as a violinist under David in many places, but it’s not likely to find a niche among the great romantic concertos, firstly because it’s not really much of a virtuoso vehicle, and secondly, because the composer was so symphonically oriented in his approach that, as pointed out by the above Christopherson, who authored the album note, the work is more of a symphony with violin obbligato than it is a concerto, modeled along the lines of Berlioz’s Harold in Italy. It has, however, been recorded before, not that terribly long ago by Lars Bjørnkjær for Danacord, reviewed in 31:6, a disc I’m afraid I don’t have, but also by Arve Tellefsen with the Oslo Philharmonic on a 1990s Norsk Kulturrads Forlag (NKF) CD, which I do have. Though Tellefsen is every bit Marianne Thorsen’s match on the current Chandos release, unfortunately the NKF recording is a bit dull and recessed sounding.

With the exception of the Romance for Violin and Orchestra, the one work which has probably kept Svendsen from slipping below the horizon with the late-setting summer Scandinavian sun, all of the works on this third volume of his orchestral output are pleasant and attractive, and in the capable hands of Neeme Järvi, the Bergen Philharmonic, violinist Marianne Thorsen, and Chandos’s engineers, beautifully played and recorded; but—ah, the inevitable “but”—the musical nourishment Svendsen affords is probably not life-sustaining. Still, if you’re an obsessive collector, as I suspect many of Fanfare’s readers are, and you acquired Volumes 1 and 2 of this Svendsen survey, this third is obligatory.

FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Import Hybrid-SACD pressing.

Classical Music

This re-release of The Canterbury Pilgrims forms part of the new Hickox Legacy commemorative series on Chandos Records, leading up to (and continuing beyond) the fifth anniversary, in November 2013, of the conductor's untimely death. The two-disc set is issued for the price of 1 CD. The pioneering account of The Canterbury Pilgrims, a colorful but neglected work by Sir George Dyson, brilliantly depicts assorted characters from the prologues of Chaucer’s famous Canterbury Tales, while highlighting key aspects of Hickox’s recorded legacy: the championing of neglected repertoire in general, and British repertoire in particular, as well as his special affinity with choral music. ‘Chaucer’s amusingly ironic depictions and Dyson’s memorable tunes and imaginative orchestration are a winning combination. If you like Gerontius, Vaughan Williams and Ireland, you’ll like Dyson. Go out and buy this disc *****’. - BBC Music Magazine ‘This is a very fine recording… Every layer in the texture is exceptionally well defined and integrated, which is no mean feat when such elaborate forces – soloists, choir, and orchestra – are involved’ – Gramophone Magazine

This is a set that no one who cares about Dvorák’s symphonies can afford to ignore. These performances really do belong in every serious collection.

Supraphon has finally released Václav Neumann’s 1970s Dvorák symphony cycle, and what a wonderful event it is. These performances are, on the whole, fresher and freer than his digital remakes, fine though those are, and more warmly recorded. The only exception is the somewhat shrill engineering in the First Symphony, but in general the sonics are comparable to other cycles of the period—Kertész, Kubelik, and Rowicki—and this is unquestionably the best played of them all. It’s difficult to overestimate the value of having the Czech Philharmonic in top form in this music, but the sound of the ensemble really does speak for itself. Kubelik’s Berlin Philharmonic might have the best strings, and the London Symphony for Kertész and Rowicki the boldest horns, but the Czech Philharmonic has the best ensemble, top to bottom, at least in Dvorák.

Consider one example: the climax of the first movement of the Seventh Symphony, a work that shows both the orchestra and Neumann at their very best. If you imprinted on this performance, nothing else can match it in power and intensity. The passionate lyricism of the strings, the thrilling low timpani roll that propels the trombones’ upward arpeggio, and those bright, sforzando trumpets combine to make an unforgettable impression (sound clip below), and it’s all exactly as Dvorák wrote it. Interestingly, where Neumann deviates from the printed page, as in the main theme’s fortissimo counterstatement in the first movement, or in the work’s concluding chorale, he gives the doubling parts to the trumpets rather than the horns, as in most other performances, and this too proves the better decision.

This brings us to Neumann’s own contribution. Traditionally he has gotten short shrift compared to the competition. Some of this was politics. In the 1960s and ’70s the British naturally preferred anything featuring the LSO, and Kubelik was a symbol of democratic resistance to Communist rule. He also had the superb Berlin Philharmonic at his disposal, rather than his usual Bavarian Radio forces, and Deutsche Grammophon behind him. Neumann, on LP at least, was spottily available on generally horrible pressings, and he had the disadvantage to be taking over from Ancerl, an indisputably great conductor who wound up on the right side of Cold War politics. Then Neumann remade all the symphonies in digital sound, a set that Supraphon promoted intensely, and this earlier effort simply disappeared from sight.

In general, Neumann’s approach might sound a touch “old fashioned”—quick movements move at moderate speeds, slow movements flow without ever dragging. Although not quite so slow in the allegros, conductors like Otto Klemperer come to mind. And yet, Neumann is by no means lacking in energy. His Eighth Symphony is as fresh (and swift) as any in the catalog. He whips up quite a frenzy in the finale of the Fifth, and this Third Symphony might just be the best on disc. Its first movement is as energetic as can be, the central funeral march is gorgeous and never stiff, while the finale actually sounds less mechanical at this moderate speed than it does when taken more quickly. The Sixth seldom has been paced more naturally, and as Dvorák fans all know, Ancerl’s benchmark performance is a tough act to follow. Neumann has nothing to fear from the comparison, especially in the coda of the finale, which is stunning.

Neumann always did well by the “New World” Symphony, and in only a few spots in the first two symphonies does Neumann sound less than fully engaged (though in the former, he’s still more effective than in his digital remake). The third movement of the Second, particularly, needs to be crisper. Suitner on Berlin Classics is unmatched here. For the most part, though, Neumann’s performances have held up extremely well. In particular, he offers an object lesson in phrasing and, especially, the correct use of legato in lyrical passages. So many performances today, perhaps encouraged by the perpetual staccato of the early music movement, break up Dvorák’s melodies into fragments, whereas Neumann conducts in whole paragraphs.

The couplings add greatly to this set’s attractions. They are uniformly excellent. The Symphonic Variations overflows with character; the three concert overtures belong together (they share a theme, heard at the outset of In Nature’s Realm), and these versions of the four late symphonic poems rank with the best available. They are also very well recorded. So to summarize, this is a set that no one who cares about Dvorák’s symphonies can afford to ignore. Even if you have the versions just mentioned, these performances really do belong in every serious collection.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

This new release is the final installment in Chandos’ Atterberg series with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra and Neeme Jarvi. This volume features two rarely performed centuries from the later years of Atterberg’s career. The seventh century is featured first in its final form which consists of three movements. While it was composed in 1942 with four movements, it didn’t reach its final shape until 1969 when Atterberg removed the last movement. The ninth symphony was regarded by the composer as “evil.” He set parts of the Icelandic poem “Volupsa” which tells of how evil came into the world and how it will eventually cause total destruction. The work is a single movement large-scale rondo form.

This well-filled disc contains excellent performances of some of Ives most popular and significant works. It’s easy to understand why the “Holidays” Symphony has enjoyed greater success as four individual tone poems. With the exception of Thanksgiving, the three other movements (as well as Central Park in the Dark and other Ives pieces) all share the same basic form. They start with a dissonant, slow passage scored mostly for strings, then there’s a lively middle section based on popular dance, march, and hymn tunes. This quickly rises to a chaotic climax and then the opening music returns in a brief coda.

Andrew Davis deserves credit for differentiating the first three movements in a way that prevents monotony–a function of flowing tempos and carefully delineated string textures–while still letting Ives’ cacophony sound aptly cacophonous. Only the unnamed chorus at the end of Thanksgiving could have enjoyed greater prominence, but it’s no big deal. For all we know the singers might be members of the orchestra, which is just fine. The tune, “Duke Street” is still used in the New Haven Protestant churches. I know because when I was in high school in New Haven we sang it there, although not at Thanksgiving.

This performance of Three Places in New England is also first rate, with a rambunctious middle movement and a particularly poetic account of The Housatonic at Stockbridge. The Unanswered Question is basically unkillable (although it has been done), although I’m not sure why it’s separated from its companion piece, Central Park in the Dark, by the Three Places. That was gratuitous, but it hardly matters and you can always play the music in any order you choose. This being Ives, it hardly matters. Fine sonics round out a very desirable release.

– ClassicsToday (David Hurwitz)

Classical Music

Recorded in: Mosfilm Studio, Moscow April 1999 Producer(s) Vadim Ivanov Sound Engineer(s) Vladimir Schuster

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

MARTIN? The Epic of Gilgamesh • Ji?i B?lohlávek, cond; Marcela Machotková ( A Woman ); Ji?í Zahradni?ek ( Enkidu/Hunter ); Václav Zitek ( Gilgamesh ); Karel Pr?sa ( Narrator/Hunter’s Father/Spirit of Enkidu ); Otakar Brousek ( Speaker ); Prague SO • SUPRAPHON 3918 (59:50 Text and Translation)


Martin?’s major vocal compositions, operas and oratorios, had a way of confounding expectations. The Epic of Gilgamesh , completed in 1955, was in many ways the exact opposite of a work composed around the same time, Mirandolina . While the latter was a typical Goldoni comedy of situation, the former was a work that considered timeless verities of the human condition: the nature of friendship and death. Recitative sufficed for Mirandolina , but Gilgamesh , with its mix of modally based orchestral themes, long-spanned rhythmic ostinatos, and phrases chanted by a bass soloist on a single note, sounds at times like a Martin? transmutation of Eastern Orthodox sacred services. It is a powerful work, deftly drawing upon three sections from the neo-Assyrian redaction of this sprawling and fragmentary religious cycle. From the expansive vision of creation, youth, and energy in the first section, “Gilgamesh,” it turns with restraint to the pathos of “The Death of Enkidu,” then to the alternately forceful and chill ritualistic summons and questioning of Enkidu’s spirit in “Invocation.”


I know of two currently available versions of The Epic of Gilgamesh . Both have been in circulation before. The one that features Zdenek Kosler leading the forces of the Slovak Philharmonic, now on Naxos 8.555138, originally appeared on Marco Polo back in the early 1990s. The one under review is a reissue from 1976. Of the two, Kosler is faster and, I find, a bit less atmospheric than B?lohlávek. There is sometimes a sense of impatience in Kosler’s reading, especially in the “Invocation” movement, as though he found some of the pages less successful than others. I would agree with this, but only if those pages are rushed. Taken in context as B?lohlávek does, the entire oratorio has an overwhelming effect. He is helped by the Prague SO, which is a fresher sounding, better-blended orchestra than the Slovak Philharmonic.


Among the singers, Ji?í Zahradní?ek’s dry, hard-sounding timbre makes him a less attractive Enkidu than Stefan Margita (Kosler). I have a slight preference for Marcela Machotková over Eva Depoltová (Kosler), given the narrow vibrato and refined dynamics of the former. Depoltová sings well, but with less attention to the words. Milan Karpisek (Kosler) offers a more riveting speaker than Otakar Brousek. Elsewhere, the performers are roughly even. Naxos balances its recording well, chorus supporting the orchestra, soloists a bit in front of both. Supraphon’s analog sound is also quite good, with the orchestra richer, and the speaker unfortunately superimposed upon the proceedings in a fashion that recalls voice-overs. Supraphon’s resonance seems to me more appropriate for this piece than that of Naxos, which dulls the musical edge slightly through too large a hall sound.


In short, the choice is yours. Both versions are good, though I’d give the nod to the more thoughtful B?lohlávek.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal

Classical Music

The performance of summer 2015 was again a huge success for the festival!

Classical Music

Well what d’ya know? The old man’s got some piss and vinegar in him still. I’ve never quite forgiven Haitink for giving an interview in Gramophone magazine over a decade ago decrying the tendency of conductors to remake recordings of the same repertoire over and over, and then hypocritically becoming one of the very worst offenders. Perhaps the reason that this account of the Sixth is so fabulous is because it’s only his second “official” recording of the work (well, third if, as a reader kindly reminded me, you count a live Dresden version released on Profil). Anyway, the point is that it seems that he left it alone, relatively speaking, until he had something new to say.

Mind you, his earliest version, part of his very first Bruckner cycle in Amsterdam, was quite good, if perhaps a touch faceless, but here he retains all of those qualities of freshness and vitality that characterized the previous performance, while adding an extra bit of gravitas to the Adagio, and a trenchancy of rhythm everywhere else that elevates this recording to another level entirely. It’s particularly salutary to hear how Haitink zeros in on the music’s special, rambunctious character within Bruckner’s symphonic output as a whole. That means the first movement’s ostinato rhythm doesn’t just repeat: it really moves. The scherzo’s gossamer lightness floats over the bar lines as Bruckner intended, while the finale benefits from having vividly differentiated thematic material. Too often, the movement comes off as a disappointing, generalized trudge across the finish line.

Indeed, the whole performance acts as a tonic to the modern tendency to conduct Bruckner as an experiment in sluggishness: slow, slower, and as slow as humanly possible. The composer considered this work to be his “boldest” symphony, and Haitink clearly got the message. The Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra plays magnificently, the warmly burnished brass riding a rich cushion of strings–noble, expressive, grand but never crude. It’s the genuine Bruckner sound, while the engineering does the interpretation full justice. A great release.

– ClassicsToday (10/10; David Hurwitz)