Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

"The quality of the 10 orchestral pieces assembled on the three-CD Supraphon set of Kalabis reissues has to be heard to be believed, the more so since the music itself is rarely encountered in the concert hall, outside the Czech Republic, at least. But these three discs have more than their fair share of masterworks. If I were coming to Kalabis’s music with innocent ears, it would take only the opening of the Second Symphony of 1959–61 to convince me that I was listening to a major symphonist. The opening Andante moderato generates a sense of powerful foreboding which is released with terrific force in the Allegro molto e drammatico that follows in what one is beginning to recognize as one of Kalabis’s typical manically striding marches. The brooding slow movement, an Andante marked molto quieto (the work was composed at the height of the Cold War) again builds up the tension, dispersed this time in a gloriously long-legged fugue which gradually expands into a gloriously dignified Finale. The First Violin Concerto (1958–59) lies somewhere between Martin? and Shostakovich, perhaps closer to the latter, and is hardly inferior to either, with a bristlingly energetic opening movement, a dark and troubled slow movement (marked angoscioso ) with spiky and assertive central section, and a buoyant but sober Finale. The first disc closes with the 13-minute Symphonic Variations for Large Orchestra (1964). If the Dvorak Symphonic Variations were more often performed, I would recommend resting that score for an occasional hearing of Kalabis’s tightly argued and absolutely unsentimental score—but even the Dvorak rarely gets a look-in these days, so I fear there’s little hope of hearing the Kalabis live, more’s the pity.



The second disc opens with the Concerto for Large Orchestra, commissioned by Karel An?erl for the Czech Philharmonic and composed in 1965–66, which begins with one of Kalabis’s fiercest dissonances, but it’s one of those dense agglomerates which suggests resolution and, sure enough, an arching violin line emerges and purifies the air and, almost before we know it, we’re off on another of Kalabis’s white-knuckle allegro s; Kalabis described the middle movement as a “tragic meditation”; and the freewheeling Finale has something of the ferocious energy of the last movement of Karl Amadeus Hartmann’s Sixth Symphony, though Kalabis pauses for air rather more often. In contrast to the four-movement Second, the Third Symphony is in three movements, another of Kabalis’s galloping allegro s bookended by two uneasy essays, predominantly but not always slow and, as ever, with Kalabis, powered even at moderate tempos by the sense that there’s energy in plenty waiting to be given its head. Volume 2 ends with Kalabis’s Trumpet Concerto of 1973. R?ži?ková, who provides the booklet notes for the set, explains that, exceptionally, Kalabis was allowed to accompany her on a tour of France that year and, in a little town in Provence, he was given a statuette of the town crier, whose adventures the music depicts (hence the title, “Le Tambour de Villevieille”). Cast in two movements and 18 minutes long, it moves as easily as the other works here from knockabout vigor to anxious inaction. The drums that are occasionally heard in the first movement are, briefly, more prominent in the second and sound as if they are about to set up a tattoo but the music then sets off in a different direction. I find this work slightly less personal than the other pieces on offer here, but Kalabis’s craftsmanship is as evident here as elsewhere, and there aren’t so many good trumpet concertos in the world that trumpeters can afford to ignore this one.


Kalabis’s Harpsichord Concerto, composed in 1974–75 (no prizes for guessing who the dedicatee and first performer was), has something of the buoyancy of the Poulenc Concert champêtre and the angularity of neo-Classical Stravinsky—but far more of a sense of onward drive than either composer; indeed, it’s in the driving rhythms of the Finale that Kalabis comes closest to Martin? though, unsettlingly, it then subsides into anguished silence. R?ži?ková complained to her husband, only half-joking, that “You have let me die”; but the times in which it was written, he responded, did not permit another ending. Martin? was tangentially involved in the birth of the work, as R?ži?ková relates in her notes. She was performing the Martin? Concerto in Switzerland and the conductor asked if by chance she had heard of a Czech composer called Viktor Kalabis; much laughter ensued, and a commission soon after that. But don’t expect some maudlin love-letter: Kalabis obviously wanted to show the world what she could do, and the solo part is a demanding one; the piece is almost half-an-hour in length, too, which must make it one of the world’s longer harpsichord concertos. The second work on the third, all-concerto, disc is the Second Violin Concerto of 1977–78, performed by the much-missed Josef Suk, with whom R?ži?ková formed a duo in 1963, so it is good to see him represented here and find him in stellar form. Just over a quarter-hour in length, it’s in a single movement, as are the 22-minute Concerto for Piano and Winds (1985) and the 12-and-a-half-minute Concertino for Bassoon and Winds (1983)—the most explicitly Stravinskian works in this collection. All three are tightly argued, the first two earnest and generally grave in manner, with the Concertino exploiting the capacity of the bassoon to suggest boisterous and slightly preposterous good humor, though there are also a number of passages of almost hieratic starkness.


The performances throughout make the case for the music as convincingly as you could ask. The recordings were made between 1968 and 1991 and have come up well. A few slips from the soloist in the Trumpet Concerto suggested it might be a live recording, a suspicion confirmed by the subsequent applause; a cough and the occasional noise serve the same function in the Bassoon Concertino.


Altogether, this is an excellent survey of some of the major works of one of the major voices of recent times. Taken together with the MSR box (if you do not know the Fourth Symphony, you should not let yourself live in ignorance of it much longer), it should help Kalabis’s name before a Western public, even if it’s largely the small part of it that buys recordings. Bit by bit, one hopes, some of Kalabis’s oeuvre might begin to appear in concert, where audiences will cheer it to the rafters. In the meantime, I urge you to acquire this box and do some hollering at home."


FANFARE: Martin Anderson

How winning these chamber works are when played so stylishly and when the authentic textures are so transparent.

I will start this month with some instrumental music by C. P. E. Bach, expertly presented by members of Les Adieux and the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis on Deutsche Harmonia Mundi's Baroque Esprit label. First comes a set of 12 Little Pieces for two flutes, two violins and continuo, H600, and how winning they are when played so stylishly and when the authentic textures (varying in instrumentation from piece to piece) are so transparent. The following Hamburg Sonata for flute and continuo in G, H564, needs to be approached separately, for there is an awkward pitch change as it opens. A charming three-movement Duo for flute and violin (1-1598) follows, then there are two somewhat more substantial Trio Sonatas, H567 and H571 - the highlight of the programme. Both have touchingly melancholic Adagios to offset their sprightly Allegro outer movements. The collection ends most appropriately with the miniature cantata Phyllis and Thirsis (Rosmarie Hofmann and the excellent Nigel Rogers, respectively), as this features obbligatos for a pair of flutes. This division of the two vocal roles here is more convincing than in Bach's original scheme, where the soprano was expected to take both parts, more particularly as Nigel Rogers is here at his freshest and most appealing. A most rewarding programme, immaculately recorded.

-- Ivan March, Gramophone [8/1996]

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

Okay, you're not going to find the insane intensity of Rostropovich/Vishnevskaya/Reshetin in Ormandy's Fourteenth symphony, but as you might expect, this Western premiere recording is really well played, and surprisingly well sung. Simon Estes has a rich, dark bass sound, and Phyllis Curtin is, in her own way, practically as intense as Vishnevskaya. Ormandy's conducting could be more volatile, particularly in the quicker songs, but he was always an excellent interpreter of this composer, and it's good to see this disc reappearing in Japanese RCA's Ormandy edition. The Britten pieces are also surprisingly effective given their late date in Ormandy's career. Again, the "Storm" could be a bit wilder, but the Passacaglia is terrific. Sonically this really is pretty good for its 1970s RCA vintage. Available from Arkivmusic.com, on-demand.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

V 1: MEXICAN SYMPHONIC FIESTA

Tracks:
1. LEONHARDT, GUSTAV - ECHO FANTASIA IN A MINOR
2. LEONHARDT, GUSTAV - DA PACEM, DOMINE, IN DEEBUS NOSTRIS
3. LEONHARDT, GUSTAV - HEXACHORD FANTASIA
4. LEONHARDT, GUSTAV - FANTASIA MINOR
5. LEONHARDT, GUSTAV - ONS IS GHEBOREN EEN KINDEKIJN
6. LEONHARDT, GUSTAV - TOCCATA IN A MINOR

This recording, explain the liner notes, attempts to give the listener an authentic version of what the 13th-century listener heard in a church when this anonymous play was performed, and it succeeds with panache. The combination of Gregorian chant, declamations, and vocal solos, accompanied by lute and instrumental solos, is performed by the Mittelalter-Ensemble der Schola Cantorum Basiliensis with great fervor.
What is especially unexpected and exciting to the listener is that the songs are punctuated by exclamations, cries, and laughter. For example, "Lazarus, amicus noster dormit" starts out with a solo melody on a shawm (or a similar wind instrument), which is then picked up vocally in a repetitive, almost magical fashion, with an echo-laden crescendo. The overlay of sound is mysterious and very evocative. After a soft baritone solo, the melody is recapitulated. Then there is a sudden shriek--it is quite dramatic--and the number finishes. At this point it would have been wonderful to have a libretto of sorts to be able to follow the words closely.
This artistic reconstruction of the Carmina Burana makes more serious chant music available to the listener.

Gustav Leonhardt has chosen here two works of outstanding originality. From 1696 Fransisco Valls was choirmaster at Barcelona Cathedral, retiring from the post in 1726. His Missa Scala Aretina was composed in 1702 for performance in the Cathedral but became something of a cause celebre further afield on account of a breach of strict harmonic etiquette in the Gloria. Fellow musicians were scandalized by Valls's use of an unprepared dissonance and the composer was eventually obliged to defend himself in his theoretical treatise, Mapa armonico. The Mass is a richly scored piece disposed into four distinct sound bodies or choirs. One of these contains the solo voices (soprano, alto, tenor), two others are larger vocal ensembles of different sizes while the fourth is instrumental, consisting of strings with additional oboes, trumpets and a colourful continuo group including harp. Leonhardt brings a vital sense of occasion to the performance, injecting it with passion and evidently revelling in its rich and varied sonorities. But he is not always sufficiently well supported by the Netherlands Bach Society Choir which turns in rather rough and not always ready singing. But even so there is a spontaneity which makes considerable appeal and one is left with the feeling, by no means unwelcome, that this is foremost a performance and only secondarily a recording.

Biber's F minor Requiem was written exactly a decade earlier than Valls's Mass. It is one of two such surviving works from his pen and here receives its second recording; the earlier one, by Nikolaus Harnoncourt was made in 1967 and has long been unavailable (Telefunken, 3/70). The very flatness of this minor key at once points-up the striking contrast which exists between this melancholy work and its more robust, extrovert Spanish companion on disc. Biber's fervent Requiem falls into five main sections, an Introit and Kyrie, Dies irae, Offer-torium, Sanctus and, lastly Agnus Dei and Communion. The ''Dies irae'' is the most extended of these and allows for several beautifully wrought passages for the soloists (SSATB). But the ''Offertorium'' is hardly less expressive and here Biber makes an additional contrast by casting the movement in C minor; his lean and despairing harmonies are especially arresting in this section conjuring up vivid images of man's frail condition and mortality. Leonhardt is similarly responsive to text and music as he was in the Valls, but Biber occupies stylistic territory closer to home. There is a fluency in the performance of the Requiem which is perhaps less evident in the Missa Scala Aretina, and the singers too, seem more secure.

In short, this is a fascinating disc containing pieces of starkly contrasting outlook. The Valls is full of little, and not so little, harmonic surprises which tease the senses, the Biber a contemplative, profound work of dark and serene beauty. Recorded sound is appropriately spacious and the booklet contains an informative essay with texts and translations.'

-- Nicholas Anderson, Gramophone [8/1993]

Original Booklet with Synopsis and liner notes is included, although there is no libretto.

R E V I E W S

Haydn's last opera, written to inaugurate the reopening of the King's Theatre in the Haymarket in 1791 after a disastrous fire, took as its subject the Orpheus legend, not as it had been adopted by Gluck 30 years earlier, but based on Ovid: Eurydice receives her fatal snakebite while fleeing from Prince Arideo, to whom her father, King Creonte, had affianced her against her will; and there is no happy ending—Orpheus, after his journey to the underworld, loses her for ever, and he is then killed by the Maenads. At least, that is what Haydn would have set had he finished the work; but owing to the crazy rival patronage of George III and the Prince of Wales, the King refused a licence to the theatre manager and went so far as to ban even extracts from the new opera—this from so famous and popular a composer as Haydn! So Haydn stopped work on it, and as no complete libretto exists it is impossible to tell what is actually missing. Large gaps there conspicuously are: principal characters lack arias which would certainly have been their due; there are loose ends in the story, such as what happens after Creonte's call to arms (in a stirring aria) to avenge Arideo's attempted abduction of his daughter; and there is the briefest and most perfunctory treatment of such essential dramatic moments as Orpheus's confrontation with Pluto and of his desperate attempts not to look at Eurydice as he brings her back to earth. Even the main title of the opera remains mystifying, as the only reference to it in the text is when Amor (here called Genio) urges Orpheus to be philosophical about his great loss.

Nevertheless, what remains includes some fine music, as can be heard here. From the outset of the overture Haydn makes much use of broken phrases to express pathos; there is a long love duet at the end of Act 1, a charming folky chorus of little Cupids to begin Act 2; particularly rich are the accompanied recitatives throughout, that by Eurydice as she is bitten by the snake being most moving; the chorus of Furies in Hades is extremely striking, with powerful orchestration; and there is a spectacular bravura aria for Genio, seemingly intended for some leading soprano castrato. On the other hand, it is difficult to understand why Haydn wrote such cheery music for Creonte's aria about life not being worth living without love, and for Orpheus's ''Mi sento languire, morire mi sento''. This live Frankfurt performance is in general very acceptable, though had it been transferred to the studio some details could have been improved: for example, ensemble of the (period) woodwind might have been much better, and there might have been fewer mistakes in the singers' Italian. Marilyn Schmiege makes an appealing Eurydice and copes fairly well, flexibly if not absolutely cleanly, with her first florid aria, in which she likens her laments to those of the nightingale; Christoph Pregardien produces a nice messa di voce at the start of Orpheus's first solo (with harp obbligato) in which he tames the forest's wild beasts threatening his beloved's safety, but the part frequently descends too low for his pleasant light tenor, into a register where he is weak; and Claron McFadden adds to her reputation with some brilliant coloratura, though she is fractionally sharp in places: the chorus, which plays a large part in the action, is excellent.

-- Lionel Salter, Gramophone [4/1992]

MOZART: SERENADE K 203 MAIER,

Includes work(s) by John Marsh. Ensemble: London Mozart Players. Conductor: Matthias Bamert.

Järvi encourages the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande to give of their very best and, abetted by excellently judged SACD sound, the results are biting, driving, refined and brilliantly exciting. A scintillating and often nightmarish ride.

– Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International

A year on from the opener, this is a very generously filled second volume of Chandos's promising Raff symphony cycle. There are two previous recordings of the composer's eleven highly idiomatic, imaginative symphonies, long unjustly neglected by programmers and critics alike. The Bamberg Symphony Orchestra under Hans Stadlmair, recently released by Tudor in handy boxed set form (review, with further discographical information) is probably the critics' favourite, although it comes neither cheap nor without flaws. The forerunner was an early-Nineties series on Marco Polo with different orchestras, mainly from the Czech Republic and Slovakia, all but one under Urs Schneider: these are currently available from Naxos as mp3 downloads only (9.40248). In 2001 Naxos had the good idea of reissuing the Marco Polo recordings as physical discs under their own brand, but only two appeared (8.555411, 8.555491) and then the label either had a change of heart, or forgot.

Raff's programmatic 'Lenore' Symphony has three further modern recordings. One comes from a local rival to Järvi's ensemble, the Orchestra della Svizzera Italiana, conducted by Nicholas Carthy. A satisfactory, rather than compelling recording, it was brought out by Italian label Dynamic (CDS 283) well over a decade ago, and there has been no sign of any kind of follow-up since. Another version is Yondani Butt's with the Philharmonia Orchestra on ASV (DCA 1000), one performance in a long line by this determinedly uncontroversial conductor of almost clinical neutrality.

Finally there is Matthias Bamert and the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra on Koch Schwann, re-released as 367932, but dogged by poor sound. As for Chandos, despite the fact its audio quality was not as good as the SACD/24-bit/96kHz tags – abetted by one or two prominent reviews – implied, the first release immediately became the new standard for the Second Symphony. This is above all for the fact that Järvi is such a fine all-round conductor and the Suisse Romande a pedigree orchestra with a definite aptitude for Raff-era music. Back at the same Swiss location, that slight lossy edge to the audio is still there on this latest disc, yet the Chandos sound is still much superior to all its predecessors', and despite the imperfections constitutes a further plus-point for Järvi's cycle.

On the other hand, no further incentive should be required when the offering is one of Raff's most memorable works, the tune-packed, masterfully orchestrated Fifth Symphony. He chooses to focus – and then expatiate - on the nervous drama of Gottfried Bürger's famous but second-rate poem 'Lenore', rather than on its cold-blooded religious mania. The story is similar to Dvo?ák's later cantata Svatební Košile, known in English as The Spectre's Bride, which was based on a similar-themed ballad by Karol Jaromír Erben. This is doubly pertinent: Raff shares Dvo?ák's intuitive feel for lyrical drama. In Bürger, the eponymous Lenore is duped and then effectively buried alive for thinking herself in a state of despair neglected by God, but Raff's final-movement 'ride into hell' is jauntily mesmeric and ends with an uplifting chorale – moving, but certainly diverging from the implications of Bürger's chilling poem.

It is worth noting here that Järvi's account is a full ten minutes faster than Stadlmair, Carthy and Schneider. This is interesting enough in itself, but these three were already seven or eight minutes quicker than Bernard Herrmann's pioneering recording with the London Symphony Orchestra in 1970 — (most recently available on Unicorn UKCD 2031, but originally funded by Herrmann himself. Järvi is taking Raff at his word with his astonishingly fast metronome markings, but those who have had their opinions as to how this work should sound coloured by more leisurely approaches will likely need time to get used to these tempos, and those many long in thrall to Herrmann's account may possibly never accept them. The third movement Marsch-Tempo in particular will raise many eyebrows: Raff asks for, and Järvi gives – where no one else seemingly dares - 160 beats per minute, a good 50% more than what would normally be expected from a march. Yet odd as it initially sounds, the speed is still well within the bounds of a military double march.

Järvi's programme is amplified by a selection of overtures from Raff's operas, plus one of his own transcriptions – his only such, in fact - the 'Abends' Rhapsody. One or two of these are take-them-or-leave-them works by comparison with the symphony, though their Rossini-meets-Beethoven idiom is undeniably attractive, and their realisation here by the ever-dependable Swiss Romandes elegantly winning. Best of the four extras is the most substantial, the 'King Alfred' overture. Scored for large orchestra, it is a dramatic tone poem in all but name. The notes describe it as "grandiose in design, comparable in sweep and scope to Wagner's recent overture to Tannhäuser". The Rhapsody itself is a lovely, moodily crepuscular work, over all too quickly.

As for the CD booklet, Chandos continue apace with their shrinking-font policy, their texts tiny islands of ink in blank paper seas, legibility further hampered by the greyish ink. Still, the notes themselves are usually excellent, as indeed those here by Avrohom Leichtling are - detailed, informative, enthusiastic, trilingual. Bürger's poem might usefully have been included, if only to make use of some of that blank space.

– Byzantion, MusicWeb International

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.

A Gramophone Disc of the Month



HOLST The Planets. 1 Beni Mora. Japanese Suite • Andrew Davis, cond; BBC PO; 1 Manchester CCh • CHANDOS CHSA 5086 (SACD: 78:25)


As unlikely as it seems, this appears to be the only SACD of Holst’s orchestral tour de force currently listed on ArkivMusic; another on Chesky, with Dennis Russell Davies conducting the Bruckner Orchestra of Linz, is available on British websites.


Both sonically—in two or five channels—and musically, this is a very impressive Planets . Certain labels have always had a distinctive sound, and this is especially true of Chandos. The sound of this disc is typical of Chandos’s best orchestral recordings: There is more sense of the hall—in this instance Manchester’s Bridgewater Hall—than on most other labels, a feature particularly evident in SACD mode, but the recording still is immediate enough to pack a real wallop. Listen, for example, to the organ pedal in “Saturn,” or the ffff full-organ glissando at the end of “Uranus.” The dynamic range in “Mars” is huge, and the offstage women’s voices in “Neptune” come from some unknown place. The BBC Philharmonic, surely among England’s top orchestras by now, plays superbly; “Mercury” is on the button, “Jupiter” polished rather than ragged as so often heard. The women of the Manchester Chamber Choir sing with pure tone and perfect intonation, again a refreshing change from most versions. Sir Andrew Davis, now a seasoned veteran, gives a reading of which Sir Adrian Boult would have been proud, atmospheric in “Venus,” light in “Mercury,” and monumental in “Saturn.” Put another way, “Mercury” is mercurial, “Saturn” saturnine, “Jupiter” jovial. This Planets would be a high recommendation in stereo; for multichannel listeners it’s a must.


This release is titled Holst: Orchestral Works, Volume 2 ; Volume 1, which turned out to be the final recording by the late Richard Hickox, included four ballet scores from late in Holst’s career. (The reviewer for a well-known British magazine cited the “splendid and fulsome sound” of that disc, perhaps illustrating Shaw’s observation that England and America are two countries separated by a common language.) According to Chandos’s Ralph Couzens, the series was to have culminated in The Planets , but the plan obviously had to be revised. Volume 1 was reviewed in Fanfare 32:6 by Peter J. Rabinowitz, who found some of the scores rather weak; I suspect that, rather than marking any decline in Holst’s creativity, the problem lies in the differences between the music Holst wrote for amateurs (including at least two of the works in Volume 1) and for professionals. The three works in the present volume were not only all written for professionals, but date from around the same time: The Planets was written in 1914–16, the Japanese Suite during the composition of The Planets , and Beni Mora (subtitled “Oriental Suite”) a bit earlier, in 1909–10. Of the two shorter suites, Beni Mora , inspired by a trip to Algeria, is the more interesting. The Japanese Suite was written for a Japanese dancer, who provided Holst with the themes; for once (in contrast to the Second Suite for Military Band and his many choral folk-song settings), the themes seem to limit Holst’s imagination, and the work lacks the vitality of Beni Mora.


The shade of Boult looms large over these performances; his recordings of the two shorter works for Lyrita (SRCD 222) still sound terrific, and are a bit more incisive than Davis’s mostly admirable readings. As for The Planets , of course, Boult was the conductor of the informal first performance in 1918, and his five recordings, particularly the two stereo versions for EMI—dating from 1966 and 1978!—are uniquely authoritative. But Davis’s interpretation is compelling in its own right, and Chandos’s sonics blow away even EMI’s fine sound. This SACD is superb both musically and sonically, and Davis’s grasp of Holst’s idiom bodes well for further volumes in Chandos’s Holst cycle. Highly recommended!


FANFARE: Richard A. Kaplan

Classical Music

The Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra playing under the baton of Richard Hickox, Delius’s palette of colours shines through once again. Hickox was indeed a sensitive and flexible Delian and the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra responded passionately to him from the start: their collaboration began with famous performances of the first ever complete cycle of Vaughan Williams’s symphonies in London.

Especially in ‘The Walk to the Paradise Garden’ – a highlight here – the collection demonstrates the glittering qualities of Delius’s enchanting musical world, which evokes an atmosphere of serene pleasure in nature.

Highly recommended by the Penguin Guide in 1995, one year its recording.

Written at the height of the era of "Soviet Realism" in the USSR, when composers were being criticized or banned for music deemed "formalistic", Mieczyslaw Weinberg's Symphony No. 3 embraces the dictum of positiveness that called for an avoidance of the cerebral qualities of Western art music and urged the embrace of Russian folk song to be incorporated into symphonic works, the latter actually being a pre-revolutionary tradition held over from Czarist times. Though written to please the cultural commissars and endowed with melodic ideas of immediate appeal and directness, the work also has a darker undercurrent that surfaces from time to time, especially in the more militant and rhythmically driven last movement. This gives the symphony an unusually wide aesthetic range from a light pops concert atmosphere to occasionally stark, serious expression.

Suite No. 4 from the ballet "The Golden Key", a puppet ballet loosely based on Pinocchio is also tuneful and of interest for its somewhat eccentric dances, (a "Cricket" dance consists of little less than a minute of a single, rhythmically odd, continuously repeated hopping motive,) as well as folk-like dances with a rustic quality. If Weinberg in these works had been a Western composer of that era the music would often be considered light pops concert fare with bright, straight-forward tunefulness, not unlike popular movie or TV music, yet at times there is a darker undercurrent that occasionally surfaces. We know from other Weinberg works that he was capable of music of considerable emotional depth. This occasional faint uneasiness might have been sensed in these otherwise tuneful works, for Weinberg himself withdrew his Third Symphony before the premiere to correct "errors" and later edited and revised it and the ballet, though eventually accepted by a Soviet dance company was not staged. Both were performed some ten years later and after Stalin's death. Interesting, eccentric and appealing music that comes from living through a dangerous period.

- Greg La Traille, ArkivMusic.com

-----



WEINBERG Symphony No. 3. The Golden Key: Suite No. 4 • Thord Svedlund, cond; Gothenburg SO • CHANDOS 5089 (49:53)


Mieczyslaw Weinberg found it easier than most composers in the late 1940s and early 1950s to comply with the vague yet dangerously contradictory goals of the Zhdanov Doctrine. He had a naturally lyrical gift, a clear sense of structure, and an ability to write simply, with complete focus. Paying uncomplicated tribute to folk music without a hint of condescension was easy for him, though of course it came easier in smaller forms than larger ones. That was why a plethora of such works as the Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes , the Polish Themes, Serenade for Orchestra , and Fantasy for Cello and Orchestra , along with various concertinos and sonatinas grace Weinberg’s list of compositions at that time. But the Symphony No. 3 was a bid for popularity in a big, mainstream work. It was not to get a chance to grow an audience, unfortunately, as Stalin’s paranoia over Jews (and Poles, Ukrainians, and just about every other group he could imagine) denied Weinberg a performance. It had to await the so-called “cultural thaw” under Krushchev for its debut in 1960. I can find no other currently available recordings of the work.


The Symphony No. 3 is very much of its time and place, as you’d expect. The dissonant elements of the First Symphony, the gritty anguish of the Second, the complexities of counterpoint and the emotional ambiguity of both, are nowhere to be found. The work is formally non-programmatic, but it’s all to easy to hear the “youth” theme (a standard formula in many composers’ Soviet pieces of the period, a naively cheerful melody with a flattened seventh and little else to offer the world) in the first movement and the minor-key, slightly dissonant obstacles it faces as a tribute to the Young Soviet Facing the Tide of Obstruction and Overcoming. To Weinberg’s credit, his youth theme is the most graceful I’ve heard, and his orchestral writing is a delight throughout. The attractive Scherzo includes a Polish mazurka, along with a few fine examples of counterpoint imbedded as folk improvisation, while the Adagio is a threnody displaying Khachaturian’s gift for emotional directness without descending into mawkishness: pathos, not bathos. The finale returns to the battlefield of the opening Allegro, with curious overtones of Shostakovich’s Fifth and Sixth. It ends not with the triumphalism one might expect, but with a grim “soldiering on” attitude that doesn’t quite fit with or summarize everything that’s gone before.


The ballet The Golden Key was finished in 1955, two years after Stalin’s sudden death (and Weinberg’s resultant freedom from prison). The satirical tale of the puppet lovers Burattino and Malvina, who after facing several animal and human antagonists encourage the other puppets to revolt, would seem tailor-made for the composer’s talents, but Weinberg found it surprisingly difficult to gain acceptance for the score. When the Stanislavski and Nemirovich-Danchenko Musical Theater finally accepted it in 1955, it took another seven years before staging The Golden Key —and then, only with a largely reworked scenario. Weinberg, like Prokofiev, knew the value of a good ballet suite, and he wrote four in 1964 that accessed music from the original and the revised versions. This, the fourth suite (presumably others will appear in future releases in this series), is a tuneful delight. My favorites are the dance of the two animal villains, Alice the Fox and Basilio(!) the Cat, a nose-thumbing, heavily accented folk piece; and “The Pursuit,” with its nod at Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet.


Thord Svedlund is in strong form on this release, emphasizing orchestral color, clarity, and internal balance. He doesn’t miss any of the humor in the Third Symphony’s Scherzo or several of the ballet’s dances, but also doesn’t shortchange the emotional appeal of the former’s Adagio and the latter’s Elegy. The Gothenberg musicians play with delicacy and character. This certainly isn’t the most representative disc of Weinberg to come down the musical pike, as more attention is finally paid to this excellent composer, but it may prove to be the one with the greatest overall appeal to general classical listeners. My only reservation is the short timing. At less than 50 minutes, was there nothing else Weinberg composed for orchestra that could have been included?


Regardless, definitely recommended.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal


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This latest CD volume from Chandos makes for another outstanding contribution to their unique survey of Weinberg’s symphonies and pleasure is diffused only slightly by the short playing time.

The playing by the Gothenburgers is exemplary. This is early Weinberg - at least the Third Symphony is. It's a 30-plus minute, four movement, B minor piece written in 1950 and revised in 1959. The first movement sports a tickling forward-pressing motif. This is clothed sweetly, at first, but the atmosphere becomes gradually more determined and warlike-heroic with a sideways glance at Shostakovich's Leningrad. It's extremely exciting and might be thought of as comparable to the first symphonies of Sviridov and Dvarionas among others. It is not as belligerent as these other examples; certainly the sweet oboe pastoral (I 6:20) is far more gentle than anything found in those other works. Something of dancing snowflakes in this but also of warm pine forests. A chill sets in towards the end of the movement. There's a playful sprinting and flittering allegro giocoso and this can be contrasted with a potently sustained and meditative gloom. There’s tenderness in the Adagio (III) which is almost as long as the first movement. The clarinet solos have a plangently woody bubble and the theme seems a byway off the Volga Boatmen’s Song. This ends in a becalmed murmur from the strings. The finale returns to the implacably sturdy fast-pulsed mood of the heroic first movement. This is a splendidly rich recording with a nice throaty roar to the brass.

This revised version of the Symphony was premiered by Aleksandr Gauk conducting the All-Union Radio and TV Symphony Orchestra in Moscow on 23 March 1960.

The Golden Key was a ballet written in 1954-55 to a fairy fable scenario by Aleksey Tolstoy (1882-1945). In this format the music was premiered on 10 June 1962. Two years later Weinberg extracted for suites of which this is the last. The music is full of Petrushkan character, gawky, winningly elegiac (tr. 6 with its oboe singer), impudently Respighian (tr. 7) and ruthlessly driven (The Rat). The final Pursuit movement combines iterative obsessional onrush with an innocence absent from the assaults of the Symphony’s first and final movements

Every part of this production shouts quality. The notes are by David Fanning whose knowledge of the music and the era must be second to none. Svedlund knows the Weinberg works well having already recorded many of them so he is a reliable and inspired guide

If you enjoy Russian music of the mid and first half of the last century then you need to hear this. It's by no means garish poster material and its depth and accessible grip may surprise.

– Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

DANIELPOUR A Child’s Reliquary 1. LUDWIG Concerto for Violin and Cello 1. HAGEN Masquerade 2 • 1 Sarah Hicks, 2 Troy Peters, cond; Jamie Laredo (vn); Sharon Robinson (vc); Vermont SO • BRIDGE 9354 (78:19)


Double concertos for violin and cello are not plentiful. There were examples before Brahms, but none on his level of achievement—from Vivaldi (three of them!), Johann Christian Bach, Leopold Hofmann, Josef Reicha, Carl Stamitz, Antonín Vranicky, and Donizetti. Following Brahms’s example, the next major figure to write such a concerto was Delius (1916). Other significant works for these soloists are Miklos Rózsa’s Sinfonia Concertante (1966) composed for Heifetz and Piatigorsky, and Robert Starer’s concerto of 1968. For some reason, there seems to have been a flurry of double concertos for violin and cello, or compositions featuring them as soloists, written in recent years: by Anatol Vieru (1980), Arvo Pärt (1981), Lou Harrison (1981, with the accompaniment of a Javanese gamelan ensemble), Ezra Laderman (1986), Carl Roskott (1989), Ellen Taffee Zwilich (1991), Stephen Paulus (1994), Ivan Tcherepnin (1995), Ned Rorem (1998), Lalo Schifrin (1999), Richard Danielpour (2006), Gordon Chin (2006), Daron Aric Hagen (2007), and David Ludwig (2008).


It would be hard to find a disc with a more integrated theme than this one. Beyond the obvious scoring of the three works for solo violin and cello with orchestra ( Triple Doubles is the title of the disc), they were all written for the soloists who play them here (a married couple at that), all were composed within the past few years, all are about the same length (just shy of half an hour), and all have programmatic implications relating to love, loss, and lament. Most importantly, I am pleased to say, they are all winners.


Richard Danielpour’s concerto, titled A Child’s Reliquary , is undoubtedly one of his finest works, comparable in its sustained interest and passionate intensity to his Cello Concerto and Anima Mundi . It is one of the most gorgeously orchestrated works I have encountered in the past quarter century. The music features long-arching melodic lines of poignant beauty and a harmonic language that is Danielpour’s own, yet born of deeply ingrained romantic impulses. Originally written for piano trio in 1999 and orchestrated in 2006, A Child’s Reliquary was inspired by the death of conductor Carl St. Clair’s son. Danielpour calls it “not unlike a musical shrine, with the outer first and third movements evoking public and private aspects of mourning, while the middle movement represents a flashback or snapshot of somewhat happier times.” That second-movement flashback is as joyful, snappy, and rollicking as anything Bernstein gave us.


I had never heard of composer David Ludwig before, but on the basis of his Double Concerto, I am going to be on the lookout for more of his music. Ludwig orchestrates with the skill and sophistication of a Ravel, and generates the power and thrills of a John Williams adventure film score. At times the barbaric splendor of Bloch’s Schelomo or Walton’s Belshazzar’s Feast comes to mind. The opening grabs you immediately—dark, ominous chords for the low brass set against throbbing drums. The soloists enter to manic figuration. Offsetting all this drama is a second subject of haunting beauty—yearning, infinitely lyrical, gently rocking. The central Adagio is deeply soulful, while the third movement is a madcap dance set to irregular rhythms. The music is thoroughly engaging on its own but takes on deeper layers of meaning when heard in tandem with the program notes. Each movement is about a different kind of love. Want a teaser? The first depicts “one of the most intense evenings in all mythology,” writes Ludwig, “the night before Odysseus leaves the goddess Calypso.” Ludwig depicts the scene in music supercharged with electrical energy and raw emotion.


Daron Aric Hagen’s Masquerade takes as its point of departure the commedia dell’arte . In the upbeat, jaunty opening movement, the soloists “take on the roles of musical lovers [whose] courtship is told by two harmonically and melodically elusive contrasting themes,” according to the composer’s notes. Bright sonorities and crystal-clear textures of neoclassical Stravinsky meet Korngoldian romanticism. The second movement is a “lament for lost love,” its sense of benumbed grief not unlike that of “The Entombment” from Hindemith’s Mathis der Maler symphony. The third movement brings achingly beautiful romanticism and lush orchestration to the fore as the former lovers “are reunited at the bedside of a mutual friend [and] they reconnect, no longer as lovers but as old friends and soul mates.” The finale brings a satisfying sense of cyclic closure as the two “relive the open-hearted joy in singing of their childhoods before parting forever.”


I listened to Masquerade before reading Hagen’s notes, and what I imagined previously was not far off from what the composer intended, so vividly drawn and cogently developed are his musical arguments. The soloists are almost always integrated into the orchestral fabric, which is kaleidoscopic in its variety and colors. This, like the other two works, is as much about the orchestra as it is about the soloists.


How long the Vermont Symphony Orchestra, now in its 77th year, has been fully professional I cannot say, but it has certainly reached that level on the basis of this, its first commercial recording. The orchestra has a full-bodied, unforced sound, captured in a vivid, embracing acoustic that perfectly balances brilliance and warmth. Percussion is prominent in all three scores, and they impress with the weight and depth of sound, not just the volume. Guest artists these days include a gallery of stars like Leon Fleisher, Lang Lang, André Watts, Midori, Tony Bennett, and Arlo Guthrie. Its home is in Burlington’s Flynn Center, but it plays all over the state (80 percent of its concerts are given elsewhere). For its 50th anniversary season in 1985–86, it performed in every one of the state’s 281 cities and towns.


Soloists Jamie Laredo and Sharon Robinson are obviously deeply committed to these works. They toss off the wildly virtuosic passages with raw energy and draw richly sustained tones from their instruments in the lyrical, elegiac passages. Robinson is at her absolute expressive peak in the slow movement of the Ludwig concerto, with sumptuous tone to boot. Violin-and-cello duos need look no further for another solo work besides the Brahms concerto to make their mark. The only real difficulty is in deciding which of these three magnificent works to choose. This release is definitely headed for my year-end Want List.


FANFARE: Robert Markow