Bernstein's charisma is effectively demonstrated in a collection of Russian music... [P]redictably energetic...are Glinka's Ruslan and Ludmilla Overture and Glière's Russian Sailors' Dance from The Red Poppy... But the highlights are lyrical, with Bernstein suitably atmospheric in a fine account of Borodin's In the steppes of Central Asia and giving a coolly poised reading of the beautiful Prelude to Khovantschina of Mussorgsky (with glowing orchestration from Rimsky-Korsakov).

-- Gramophone [7/1985]

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...Prokofiev's Scythian Suite, which [Bernstein] does well; I have not heard all the other available recordings but I should imagine that none surpasses this one in brilliance of colour, excitement and virtuosity.


-- Gramophone [10/1969, reviewing the original LP release of the Scythian Suite]

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These very popular examples of colourful Russian music are very well played and recorded in a style to emphasise brightness, thus enabling us to hear clearly some of the inner parts that are sometimes obscured.


-- Gramophone [12/1967, reviewing the original LP release of the Glinka, Mussorgsky, and Ippolitov-Ivanov works]

Charles Neidich’s fastidiously cerebral account of the Clarinet Quintet is exemplary, while the Juilliard’s interpretations of the three string quartets are the stuff of charismatic greatness.

Pathological self-doubt consigned twenty Brahms quartets to oblivion between 1853 and 1873. At forty, still awed by Beethoven (‘you have no idea how it feels,’ he lamented, ‘continually hearing such a giant behind you’), he adjudged his Op. 51 works worthy of publication, though Beethoven’s spectral presence lingered until the completion of his First Symphony and Op. 67 quartet in 1876. Op. 51/1, its turbulent emotions repressed behind austere polyphonic formalism, receives assured playing from the Britten Quartet. Here, and throughout this set, its taut, incisive manner, juxtaposing athleticism, poignancy and physical stress, seems admirable. However, EMI’s recording is closely focused and fails to exploit the ambient potential of St George’s Church, Brandon Hill, Bristol.

The Juilliard Quartet, heard in the acoustically inviting Troy Savings Bank Music Hall in New York, has phenomenal empathy with the Brahmsian idiom; its accounts are more eloquently considered, passionately argued, and are imbued with an opulence which the Brittens never equal. Brahms’s personal maxim ‘Frei, aber einsam’ (‘Free, but solitary’), the dictum of his majestic A minor quartet, assumes lyrically imploring gravity here; first violinist Robert Mann, among the great quartet leaders of the century, has seldom sounded so beguiling.

Charles Neidich’s fastidiously cerebral account of the richest fruit of Brahms’s friendship with Meiningen clarinettist Richard Mühlfeld, the Clarinet Quintet, Op. 115, is exemplary. Neidich sounds aptly conservative beside Richard Stoltzman’s burgeoning RCA Victor performance with the Tokyo Quartet, while the Juilliard’s interpretations of the three string quartets are the stuff of charismatic greatness.

Performance: 5 (out of 5), Sound: 5 (out of 5)

-- Michael Jameson, BBC Music Magazine

A CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL is that rarity when it comes to holiday music: an album driven by more than the common theme of the music. While it does feature a host of seasonal favorites, the show stars remarkable performances, making it a joy any time of year.
The album has been digitally remastered from original recordings made in the late 1960s. The first half of the album features the organ of St. Michael's Church in New York City, played by E. Power Biggs. The majesty of the room can be felt in both the rich organ tones as well as in the chorus' delivery. The second half of the album features the vocals of soprano Phyllis Curtin. In contrast to the all-male vocals of the St. Michael's performances, Curtin gives the album a refreshing female presence. Even when singing with full orchestra, her voice gives intimacy to the music.

"Julian Rachlin has a rapturously wide tonal armoury. From the very opening of the Concerto he demonstrates an imaginative reach; his sound being slender yet nectar-sweet. What is more, Maazel and the Pittsburghers catch the same kindling spirit. There is an alacrity and engagement about their playing that is not always present in the symphonies. Rachlin deserves consideration alongside Spivakovsky (Everest), Oistrakh (BMG-Melodiya) and Mullova (Philips). This is no also-ran and neither is the gentle second serenade."

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

A marvellously convincing performance that in its uninhibited way blows any cobwebs off one's impressions of this romantic masterpiece. Under Bernstein there is never boredom: only freshness and much excitement.

Slick, you may say from our side of the Atlantic, in a tone of old-world smugness, but what a lot there is to be said in a highpowered and quirky romantic symphony for the Bernstein touch and unlimited rehearsal time. After all Bernstein has something of the musical Byron about him, and Liszt himself was hardly a paragon of refinement.

Bernstein's is a marvellously convincing performance that in its uninhibited way blows any cobwebs off one's impressions of this romantic masterpiece. Under Bernstein there is never boredom: only freshness and much excitement. But that said one does have to tackle the inevitable question: how does Bernstein compare with Beecham ? Most of my detailed comparisons reveal exactly the contrast one would expect. In the grand enunciations of Faust's martial theme in the first movement Beecham has more swagger and panache : by comparison Bernstein seems to be driving too hard. In the delicate little passage near the beginning of the second movement where Gretchen counts the petals ("He loves me, he loves me not"), Bernstein sounds perfect until you hear Beecham. Beecham with his daring but controlled rubato conveys so much more the tentativeness, the expectancy of joy, and it is the same through much of that slow movement. The second subject, marked dolce amoroso, is so very tender in Beecham's hands, that Bernstein's idea of amoroso sounds comparatively extrovert afterwards. The latter's account of the Mephistophelian finale opens with more diabolical drive, but Beecham conveys more clearly that the first bars are a mere introduction (he comes closer to observing the instruction ironico) and when the gallumphing scherzando distortions of the Faust themes appear the Beecham panache again triumphs.

All of which suggests a clear preference in Beecham's favour, and there is no doubt that anyone who has grown to love the Beecham performance should remain with him. But Bernstein's freshness and directness have a cumulative effect whatever the detailed comparisons, and the choral ending is more expansive than with Beecham. Particularly if one does not trouble too much about what Bernstein did at a particular bar, it is a hair-raising experience he provides, and the recording, very reverberant but brilliant as well, is recognizably more modern than the Beecham. The coupling too may have an influence on choice, though for my money I find Orpheus more interesting than Les Preludes every time. Although listed I have left the DGG issue out of the comparisons: neither playing nor recording come anywhere near the other two.

One final comparison between Beecham and Bernstein: at the very opening when violas and 'cellos enunciate Faust's mystic theme (ranging over all twelve notes of the scale as Stuckenschmidt has pointed out) Beecham conveys a sense of reverie. This is Faust the philosopher, where Bernstein's reading conveys less of mysticism and magic than a confident magician after the manner of Dukas. But to go to the same theme when it returns after the development: there curiously the contrast is quite different. After the frenzy of the development Beecham somehow fails to relax completely, where Bernstein's extra tautness in the preceding argument allows a deeper sense of calm in the return to the home idea. But then when in the finale that same theme is hinted at, pizzicato over mysterious muted horns, it is Beecham who again shows a clear supremacy. It is a marvellous work whichever version you choose.

-- Edward Greenfield, Gramophone [reviewing the original LP release]

THE CARNEGIE HALL CONCERT • Denis Matsuev (pn) • RCA 88697291462 (78:35) Live: New York 11/2007


SCHUMANN Kinderszenen, op. 15. LISZT Sonata in b. PROKOFIEV Sonata No. 7 in B?, op. 83. LIADOV The Musical Snuff-Box, op. 32. SCRIABIN Etude in d? , op. 8/12. GRIEG In the Hall of the Mountain King (arr. Ginzburg)


He has been called the “next Horowitz,” though I’ll wager that Horowitz never had the strength of Denis Matsuev. Now the fifth album of the formidable virtuoso is available, a live concert from Carnegie Hall no less, evidently recorded in one take. As far as I can tell, this is the entire concert sans one Stravinsky encore.


Matsuev has chosen well albeit somewhat dangerously for this debut, though the record proves he is more than up to the challenge. Schumann’s Kinderszenen is not a work that usually opens a program because it has relatively little thunder, lots of contrast, and confounds audience expectations for an initial hearing of a new artist. I am sure the Carnegie audience was expecting thunder and got poetry instead. Matsuev proves himself the gentle giant in this work, reining in any tendencies to turn Schumann into Beethoven, and for the most part rendering the work in an affable and engaging manner.


In fact, the last number of the set, “The Poet Speaks,” dovetails nicely into Liszt’s monumental opus almost as if that composer had taken his cue from Schumann. But not many bars pass when we hear what we came for, and truly this man is capable of some astounding virtuoso pianism that practically redefines the word. I have never heard Liszt’s propulsive and thunderous octaves sound like this before; in fact, I don’t remember hearing such an enormous and singly percussive sound from the instrument since hearing Jorge Bolet play the Tannhäuser overture at Indiana University back in 1973. This is so loud and so powerful that one fears the piano will come crashing down to the ground, and I am not at all convinced that the piano does in fact hold up well. RCA captures the sound of the piano and the hall quite effectively, but the percussive tsunami that Matsuev unleashes here distorts the tonal quality of the instrument; I was almost surprised that he didn’t stop between sections and have a tuner come out on stage. But this is a very good performance, almost eclipsing my favorite, that of Emil Gilels on RCA Living Stereo. Gilels also had this sort of power in his heyday—or at least close—but reveled in his own poetic instincts in the same manner that Matsuev does.


The Prokofiev is not a work one associates with poetry; instead it is a mechanistic beast of the industrial age. Sviatoslav Richter premiered the work in 1943 after having learned it in four days. It does represent a world out of focus, and not only that but actively committed to a certain type of inhuman mania that creeps up every century or so. But for all that, it never ceases to excite and thrill listeners, possibly because in the end it does strike a hopeful note, though after a lot of struggle, something those in the Soviet Union at the time of the Great Patriotic War would certainly understand. Matsuev is on top of this one as well, ferociously committed to its unflagging anti-sentimentality. Though Richter will always have an authority here (Archipel), and Argerich turns in a barn-burner as well (EMI), this one has to be ranked with the very best.


The three encores given are but teasers—one would love to hear some extended Scriabin from this man, this short étude offering but a glimpse of his impetuous way with the music, while the Liadov and Grieg are simply contrasting icings on one cake. RCA catches the vast dynamic range of this artist as well as anyone can, and it’s quite a ride. You won’t fall asleep during this one, that’s a promise.


FANFARE: Steven E. Ritter
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In concert and on disc Mr. Matsuev has mostly specialized in finger-busting virtuoso pieces. But what was most striking about the account of Schumann’s "Kinderszenen" that opened this recital was the delicacy and introversion of his playing. Starting at a hushed volume and a relaxed pace he phrased with a dreamy freedom that had the feeling of spontaneous invention.

A diaphanous account of the "Träumerei" movement threatened to disappear altogether, and the bold silences and aching sustained notes of the concluding "Der Dichter Spricht" had an almost daredevil feel.

...Liszt’s Sonata in B minor...gave him ample opportunity to take it out on the keyboard. Tumultuous passages here were almost overwhelmingly raucous. But his poetic instincts held fast in tender moments, with trills as thrillingly precise as one might ever hope to hear.

...He superbly captured the moody fluctuations of Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 7, from anxiety and brittleness to haunted rumination, and offered a primal performance of the roiling Precipato finale.

Liadov’s "Music Box"; a Scriabin étude (Op. 8, No. 12); "In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Grieg in a flamboyant transcription by Grigory Ginzburg — each greeted with increased passion...When it ended, one fully expected to see smoke curling from his fingertips.

- New York Times
(Review of the Carnegie Hall concert, 11/19/2007)

Track Listing
1. Bugya
2. Mizan Qa'im Wa-nisk
3. Twisya No. 3 Of The Nuba
4. Mizan D-dary
5. Mawwal Al-Istihlal
6. Mawwal On Tab' Al-Hiyaz Al-Kabir
7. Mawwal On Tab' Raml Al-Maya

Ibn Baya Ensemble: Eduardo Paniagua, Luis Delgado, Gloria Lergo, Mohamed El Arabi Serghimi, Omar Metioui.