Search results: Search results
828 results
Products
-
-
-
SaleHaydn: Symphonies No 57, 67, 68 / McGegan, Philharmonia Baroque
Philharmonia Baroque Productions · Sep 2015CD$19.99$9.99 -
-
-
Ariosti: Stockholm Sonatas Vol 3 / Georgi, Harris, Yamahiro Brinkmann, Kirkby
BIS · Dec 2008CD$21.99 -
-
-
Pasquini: Sonatas For Two Organs / Luca Scandali, Hadrien Jourdan
Brilliant Classics · Jun 2013CD$13.99 -
-
-
-
-
-
-
Weinberg: Symphony No 6, Rhapsody On Moldavian Themes / Lande, St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra
Naxos · Apr 2012CD$19.99 -
-
-
Barriere & De Bury: Sonates et suites pour le clavecin / Quintavalle
Brilliant Classics · Apr 2017CD$17.99 -
-
-
SaleBeethoven: Symphonies Nos. 4 & 7 / Mcgegan, Philharmonia Baroque
Philharmonia Baroque Productions · Jul 2015CD$19.99$9.99 -
-
-
-
-
Spanish Classics - Manuel Blasco De Nebra: Complete Keyboard Sonatas Vol 1 / Pedro Casals
Naxos · Aug 2009CD$19.99 -
-
-
-
-
Human Misery, Human Love - Beethoven: Symphony No 9 / Nagano, Montreal Symphony
Sony Masterworks · Apr 2012CD$11.98 -
-
-
-
Zani: Sonate a Violino e Basso / Rognoni, Ensemble L'Aura Soave
The ‘Sonate 12 a Violino e Basso intitolate "Pensieri armonici" Opus. 5’ clearly belongs to Andrea Zani's second post-Vivaldian style. Without a dedication, these sonatas are still stylistically tied to the baroque style, but there are hints of the gallant style in them, above all because of the frequent use of appoggiaturas and in the cantabile themes and their development. Each of them having three movements, in the initial and final Allegros the violin, the indisputable protagonist, giving vent, shows off with captivating virtuosity, supported by a precise and well constructed bass. The Adagios are superb, placed as a contrast between the two extreme quick movements where the cantabile nature of the writing for the violin is full of "melos" making these pages quite enjoyable. The quality of the composition of these sonatas makes one consider the unjust oblivion into which the musical work of Zani has fallen. It was previously so respected and is now practically unknown. Violinist Andrea Rognoni and the ensemble L’Aura Soave breathe new life into this forgotten work.
Haydn: Symphonies No 57, 67, 68 / McGegan, Philharmonia Baroque
This doesn’t mean that the music lacks anything in the way of interest. No. 67 is one of Haydn’s most original creations, with a slow movement that features a delicious coda played by the strings “col legno” (with the back of the bow), a trio of the minuet for two muted solo violins–one of them retuned–and a finale with a central “development” that starts as a string trio in an adagio tempo. It’s an amazing piece, and this performance relishes every striking detail.
Symphony No. 57 starts with a surprisingly unsettling slow introduction whose eerie grace notes return, purged of their unease, in the fleet main theme of the finale. No. 68 places the minuet second because the slow movement is probably the longest that Haydn ever wrote. It lasts more than twelve minutes in this performance (fourteen under Harnoncourt), but it’s so full of variety that the time passes without a thought. The finale is a “variation” rondo whose episodes constitute a veritable concerto for orchestra.
In short, each symphony has something special and characteristic to offer, and each gives McGegan and his ensemble an opportunity to display their individual and corporate musicianship and virtuosity. The strings play with precision and warmth. McGegan clearly knows when to sound “authentic,” and when to let his players sing. The solo winds and horns are excellent, ensemble balances invariably what they ought to be to let each work communicate vividly. The live sonics, a touch close and maybe very slightly edgy, actually suit the boldness and panache of the music. Haydn lovers rejoice.
-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Rubbra: String Quartets No 1, 3, 4 / Maggini Quartet
Rubbra should have been a "natural" for the quartet medium: a gifted contrapuntist and a composer of great seriousness, even nobility, this would seem to be just his cup of tea. However, as with the symphonies, Rubbra's ability to construct his first movements and adagios effectively (and often quite beautifully here) is compromised by his helplessness with finales. His feeling for music was rhetorical rather than dramatic, and in Quartets Nos. 1 and 3 the last movements (of three) disappoint, with the former's being too short and the latter's too light. In the Fourth quartet, which has only two movements, Rubbra wisely says "the heck with it" and places the adagio last.
The Maggini Quartet has made many excellent recordings of the English quartet repertoire for Naxos, and this one is no exception. They bring plenty of expressive intensity to those heartfelt adagios, and phrase Rubbra's intertwining contrapuntal lines with winning clarity, while avoiding excessive density. The engineering is also very good: unobtrusive and natural. This music is well worth getting to know, even if Rubbra's relentless earnestness sometimes seems to overwhelm his inspiration.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Ariosti: Stockholm Sonatas Vol 3 / Georgi, Harris, Yamahiro Brinkmann, Kirkby
ARIOSTI “Stockholm” Sonatas: No. 15 in f; No. 16 in G; No. 17 in B?; No. 18 in d; No. 19 in a; No. 20 in g; No. 21 in a. Pur alfin gentil viola 1 • Thomas Georgi (vda); Lucas Harris (lt, gtr); Mime Yamahiro Brinkmann (vdg); Emma Kirkby (sop) 1 (period instruments) • BIS 1675 (63:57 Text and Translation)
Attilio Malachia Ariosti (1666–1729) led an amazingly varied life, one that could only have played out amid the opulence of the Baroque era. He started out as an altar boy in Bologna and later took monastic vows, possibly also entering the priesthood. All along he assiduously pursued his musical studies, eventually assuming the post of organist at the basilica of Santa Maria dei Servi. There he attracted the attention of the Duke of Mantua, for whom he began composing operas. Ariosti’s first opera, Tirsi (1697), was such a success that the Duke was encouraged to lend him out to the Berlin court, whose ruler was Sophie Charlotte of Hanover, Electress of Brandenburg and sister of the future George I of England. Ariosti quickly became Sophie’s favorite court musician (Bononcini was employed at the court as well), and became friends with the great Gottfried Leibniz. After Sophie died in 1705, Ariosti declared his (reluctant) desire to return to his monastery, by way of Vienna. The Vienna sojourn at the court of Joseph I stretched to seven years, where he composed operas, oratorios, and cantatas. After Joseph’s widow, Wilhelmina, kicked him out of Vienna (for his ostentatious, non-ecclesiastical behavior) in 1711, Ariosti found employment at the court of the Duke of Anjou (the future Louis XV), in Munich, Württemberg, Durlach, Baden, Lorraine, and at the court of the Duke of Orléans. In 1716 Ariosti sailed for England, where his opera Almahide had been staged in 1708, albeit with two-thirds of the numbers replaced by arias of Bononcini. Ariosti’s first appearance on the London stage was on July 12, 1716, when he played his “New Symphony … upon a New Instrument call’d Viola D’Amour,” between the acts of a Handel opera. Subsequently, the Royal Academy was to commission several operas, but Ariosti was still preoccupied with his diplomatic intrigues and had trouble meeting the deadlines; only one of the operas, Caio Marzio Coriolana (1723), was an unmitigated success, thanks in part to the participation of Cuzzoni and Senesino.
Exactly 21 viola d’amore sonatas survive from the pen of Ariosti; 15 of them owe their existence to Ariosti’s contemporary Swedish musician Johan Helmich Roman, who copied them down while on a visit to London. These survive in manuscript form in a Swedish library, hence the designation. The concluding cantata, Pur alfin gentil viola , is a valedictory work that survives in manuscript in a Darmstadt library. Written in an idiom reminiscent of Handel, the sonatas are remarkable for their brevity. Most movements are less than two minutes; only two of the Adagios are more than three. The structure is usually simple bipartite: AABB, or even ABa (the lower case indicating a brief restatement of the opening theme). The suites typically consist of four movements, in the traditional slow-fast-slow-fast grouping of the Italian sonata da chiesa.
The viola d’amore is one of those colorful “accessory” instruments so popular with Baroque composers. Played under the chin like the violin, it has six or seven sympathetic strings running under the fingerboard that are responsible for the instrument’s characteristic silvery sound. Like the oboe d’amore and the voice flute, the viola d’amore was newly invented; it came into use during the second half of the 17th century, but never became a permanent member of the orchestra. Bach, Telemann, Vivaldi, and Quantz wrote sparingly for the viola d’amore, but it dropped out of sight during the Romantic era. Surprisingly, the instrument has persisted until the present day; composers as diverse as Strauss, Janá?ek, Hindemith, Martin, and Villa-Lobos have been attracted to its gentle, ethereal sound.
Thomas Georgi is an American who performed with the Queensland Symphony Orchestra of Australia for many years, and since 1989 has been a member of the Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra of Toronto. After joining that group he began to champion the viola d’amore, and has recorded two previous volumes of Ariosti for BIS. Apparently those CDs were never received by Fanfare for review. Georgi is joined by two excellent instrumentalists, lutenist Lucas Harris and gambist Mimi Yamahiro Brinkmann, and the renowned English soprano Dame Emma Kirkby. The performances are models of their kind, with colorful, expressive playing from Georgi, and first-rate contributions from the two continuo players. I applaud the decision to employ archlute (theorbo) and guitar as continuo instruments; a harpsichord would have overwhelmed the delicate sound of the viola d’amore. Of particular interest is the cantata—it demonstrates that Dame Emma’s voice is as beautiful and controlled as ever, even after nearly 40 years before the public.
When the pressures and madness of modern life press in, I can think of nothing better than to retreat into the delicate sound world of Ariosti for rejuvenation. Highly recommended.
FANFARE: Christopher Brodersen
Swedish Romantic Violin Concertos - Berwald, Aulin, Et Al
Written early in the century, Franz Berwald's youthful concerto is an eccentric work that stretches the classical tradition. Fragmented melodies and military figures in the outer movements frame a very brief Adagio. Jumping to the end of the century, Wilhelm Stenhammar and Tor Aulin composed under the influence of Bruch, Brahms and Schumann. Stenhammar's Romances are predominantly lyrical, allowing young soloist Tobias Ringborg's attractive singing tone to shine. Aulin's Concerto no 3 is dramatic and impassioned; with many striking unaccompanied passages and austere dialogues between violin and orchestra. Despite the obvious influences, this work has an originality of rhetoric and style that make it the real discovery here.
Pasquini: Sonatas For Two Organs / Luca Scandali, Hadrien Jourdan
Keyboard music in Italy in the 1600s was to undergo a radical change, with an introduction to Rationalism and simplicity; Pasquini himself is known to have been particularly enamoured with the works of Palestrina and Frescobaldi. Aside from his skills as a performer and composer, Pasquini was also an immensely gifted teacher. Each of the sonatas for two basso continuo instruments bears the hallmarks of the partimento teaching technique, which involves a kind of dialogue between teacher and student. The sonatas include the fashionable styles of keyboard music of the time, such as the Allegro da concerto, Adagio, Fugue, Corrente and Gavotte.
The recording boasts two multi-award-winning organists. The first, Luca Scandali, was educated at the Conservatory 'G. Rossini' of Pesaro in his native Italy and has performed in festivals all over Europe. He is currently Professor of Organ and Composition for Organ at the Conservatory 'F. Morlacchi' of Perugia. The second, Swiss organist, Hadrien Jourdan, studied at the Conservatory of Geneva and regularly participates in festivals and recordings throughout Europe.
Other information:
- Recorded in 2012.
- Bernardo Pasquini (1637-1710) was an Italian composer of opera and church music. A renowned virtuoso keyboard player in his day, he was one of the most important Italian composers for harpsichord and organ between Frescobaldi and Scarlatti.
- Pasquini's sonatas for two organs offer delightful dialogues between the two instruments (sometimes acting as teacher and pupil) in fashionable forms such as Allegro da Concerto and various dance forms.
- Two excellent organists enjoy their interplay on two historical organs from the 18th century.
- Organs: Pietro Nacchini, 1757; Gaetano Callido, 1785.
- Harpsichord: copy after Ignazio Mucciardi, 1789, by Giulio Fratini & Pierpaolo Pallotti, 2012.
- Contains liner notes on the works and biographies of the artists.
Mahler: Symphony No. 7 / Bloch, Lille National Orchestra
Alexandre Bloch, who has been Music Director of the Orchestre National de Lille since 2016, has chosen to devote a whole season of concerts to Mahler’s symphonies. The Seventh (1904-05) is the most rarely recorded of the cycle – unjustly, because this work later nicknamed ‘Song of the Night’ testifies as clearly as its companions to the metaphysical grandiloquence that haunted Mahler during its gestation. From the gloomy Adagio of the first movement to the thundering Rondo that concludes the work, Alexandre Bloch and his orchestra lead us from the anguish of twilight to the ecstasies of dawn.
Bruckner: Symphony No. 6 / Dausgaard, Bergen Philharmonic
Anton Bruckner wrote his Symphony No. 6 over a period of two years, completing it in September 1881. And for once with this composer, the word ‘completing’ can be used without qualification: known for his habit of reworking and revising his works, Bruckner for once seems to have been satisfied with the result of his efforts. That doesn’t mean that the Sixth has enjoyed a smoother passage to the concert stage than other Bruckner symphonies, however. The only performance in Bruckner’s lifetime was a partial one, of the two middle movements, and when Gustav Mahler conducted the first ‘full’ performance in 1899, he made a number of substantial cuts and other amendments. In fact, the true premiere of the Sixth as Bruckner wrote it had to wait until 1935, almost 40 years after the composer’s death. And the work is still something of a Cinderella in the Bruckner catalogue, with far fewer outings in concert halls or on disc than for instance the Fourth or the Seventh. Bruckner called the Sixth his ‘boldest’ symphony – with a duration of ‘only’ some 55 minutes it is at any rate one of the shorter, but possibly the composer was thinking of the remarkably expansive Adagio or the ambiguous Scherzo, or of the way the so-called ‘Bruckner rhythm’ (different combinations of a duplet and a triplet) pervades the work. The present release is the first in a Bruckner ‘mini-series’ from Thomas Dausgaard and the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra, appearing together on disc for the first time.
New Colombian Music for Saxophone Quartet
American Classics - Rorem: Piano Concerto No 2, Etc

Better late than never, these Rorem premieres are irresistible
How remarkable that two such delectable concertos should be receiving their world premieres on disc. Unapologetically romantic and accessible, those qualities may well have mitigated against acceptance among the industry’s fashion-mongers. The Second Piano Concerto (1951) was written for Julius Katchen (also the dedicatee of Rorem’s attractive Second Piano Sonata) and was given its first performance by that superb pianist in 1954. Since then it has lain dormant until its present revival by Simon Mulligan whose brilliance, ideally matched by José Serebrier, is worthy of Katchen himself. Here, the ghosts of Ravel, Françaix, Gershwin, Stravinsky and, most of all, Poulenc, jostle for attention. Yet Rorem’s idiom is as personal as it is chic. The final pages of the central “Quiet and Sad” movement, where the piano weaves intricate tracery round the orchestral theme, may owe much to the Adagio assai from Ravel’s G major Concerto but it maintains its own character. The finale, “Real Fast”, is an irresistible tour de force played up to the hilt by Mulligan.
In the Cello Concerto Rorem happily eschews a conventional form, giving programmatic subtitles to each section. These range from “Curtain Raise” to “Adrift”, offering Wen-Sinn Yang a rich opportunity, whether playing primus inter pares or revelling in Rorem’s alternating nostalgia and effervescence. Finely recorded, it’s a clear winner for the Naxos American Classics series.
-- Bryce Morrison, Gramophone [12/2007]
Naxos' ongoing series of Ned Rorem orchestral music recordings offers well-deserved recognition to a major American composer. This latest release is no less rewarding than the prior issues. The Second Piano Concerto dates from 1951 and shows the young composer writing with tremendous gusto. A large work (34 minutes) in the traditional three movements, its scoring is both vivid and at times a touch dense and "over the top", while the work's melodic generosity and rhythmic drive are undeniably infectious; its neglect must be counted a major mystery. Conductor José Serebrier's notes make much of the music's "American" qualities, particularly in the finale, but I was much more forcibly struck by Rorem's much-advertised love of French music. Whatever the answer to the "influence" question, this concerto is without doubt a major statement, and it's very impressively performed by Simon Mulligan, Serebrier, and the orchestra, who let the music speak with all of its delicious formal (in the first-movement cadenza) and textural excess.
Rorem's Cello Concerto dates from 2002, and like many of his late orchestra works it abandons traditional form in favor of a series of brief movements given cute names that may or may not have anything significant to do with their musical content. Frankly, I find this habit unnecessarily coy and distracting, but others may simply be intrigued; and if the listener's curiosity, once aroused, leads to giving the music more concentrated attention, then it's all to the good.
The sequence of eight movements is laid out for maximum contrast, and I particularly enjoyed the seventh, a characterful waltz. Indeed, Rorem is such a fine melodist when he wants to be that you have to wonder why he feels the need to venture into more aggressively "modern" territory now and then. Perhaps he's working a little bit too hard at being a "serious" composer. Never mind: this is a fine work, also strongly played by cellist Wen-Sinn Yang. Naxos' engineers have judged the balances very accurately between both soloists and the orchestra, while the occasional opacity at the climaxes of the piano concerto seems more a function of the heavy scoring than a suggestion of technical inadequacy. A fine disc.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Dvorák, Bartok: Cello Concertos / Starker, Slatkin, St Louis
-- Edward Greenfield, Gramophone [3/1992]
Ries: Sonatas for Violin and Piano, Vol. 3 / Grossman, Kagan
Ferdinand Ries grew up in the same musical environment that nurtured Beethoven, both counting Ferdinand’s father Franz as one of their teachers and the two of them becoming the closest of friends. Ries was a gifted and prolific composer in every instrumental genre. His Violin Sonatas are based on the Viennese Classical style established by Mozart but with a freshness and originality that includes movements such as the Adagio of the Sonata, Op. 38, No. 3, one of Ries’s loveliest creations. The Sonatas Op. 38, Nos. 1 & 2 can be heard on the 2nd volume of this edition, which was “unreservedly recommended” by Fanfare magazine. Violinist Eric Grossman is a versatile performer hailed for his flawless technique, superb musicianship, and commitment to a wide range of repertoire. Grossman has performed across the US, Europe, Korea, Japan, and Cuba in recital and as soloist under such conductors as Zubin Mehta, Stanislaw Skrowaczewski, and Michael Gielen.
Weinberg: Symphony No 6, Rhapsody On Moldavian Themes / Lande, St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra
WEINBERG Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes. Symphony No. 6 • Vladimir Lande, cond; Glinka Choral College Boys’ Ch; St. Petersburg St SO • NAXOS 8572779 (61:02)
Mieczysaw Weinberg’s sad and tortured life is described in the liner notes. The fate of his impressive and unjustly neglected music is explained by the fact that he was kept under wraps by his Soviet masters while others were given all the international glory. Naxos’s series of Weinberg releases, which so far includes three CDs of his cello music, is augmented here with this release of his wonderful Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes and innovative Symphony No. 6.
The Rhapsody begins softly, mysteriously, but builds into an impressive musical structure in which the music almost morphs from one section to another rather than sounding forcibly juxtaposed. These Moldavian themes have a certain Sephardic quality about them, a soulful minor-key tendency that influences one’s emotional reaction to the music even in the most energetic passages. Wisely, too, Weinberg does not over-write, so the piece doesn’t overstay its welcome.
The Sixth Symphony, composed in 1963, is a more mature and reflective work. Divided into five movements, it begins quietly, but this initial Adagio sostenuto does not stay quiet for long; rather, it breaks out into louder, yet no less somber, moods in which the brass and winds combine with the strings in a mode that tends toward the minor. Basses (and possibly cellos) sustain quiet chords while a solo flute plays with great anxiety above them; the solo role then passes on to horn and clarinet. A group of winds, including clarinets, plays a mysterious and restless melody above growling basses; another, quieter eruption with horns ensues; then it ebbs into a soft, unresolved dissonance for the finale.
The second movement includes the chorus of boys’ voices, singing a Lev Kvitko poem about a boy who makes a violin from scraps which he then plays to an audience of animals and birds. (Unfortunately, no texts are included, nor does Naxos direct you to a translation on its website.) The music is bitonal and polyrhythmic, in fact producing at times an almost purposefully uneven, galumphing gait. The music for the boys’ chorus is almost a chant, covering perhaps six tones that are played against the ever-changing harmonies of the orchestral background. A solo violin, emulating the boy’s homemade violin, plays plaintively, then the chorus returns while low wind, string, and brass chords play below them.
The third movement, marked Allegro molto, sounds almost hectic in its fast-forward motion, brass and percussion dominating the soundscape in a more mature and advanced sort of Khachaturian style. An almost klezmer-style clarinet solo interacts with glockenspiel and woodblocks, slurred trombones, and tubas. The fourth is described as a subtle reworking of one of Weinberg’s Jewish Songs from 1944, a rather ominous poem by Samuil Galkin in which the place where a home once stood is now a graveyard for murdered children, which will serve in the future as a memorial. The movement begins in a loud and ominous mood, with crashing timpani, but the chorus enters here in a softer, more conciliatory mood. Its song is a little more involved melodically here, written in C Minor and with the boys often singing in their lower range. Even the clarinet is pitched low, and the basses continue to pursue an ominous mood with occasional outbursts by the horns and low trumpets over percussion. Eventually, what sounds like very low, soft trombones underscore the boys’ song, occasionally colored by glockenspiel and oboe. Oddly, Weinberg ends the symphony with yet another slow movement, marked Andantino. It is based on a poem by Mikhail Lukonin in which “children of the present and future, from the Mississippi to the Mekong, are bid sleep in the confidence of a bright and productive tomorrow.” Appropriately, the music itself is like a lullaby, with wistful choral passages sparsely accompanied, first by the winds and then by lower strings. Certain elements heard earlier make tentative reappearances here, then the choir stops singing in order to give way to a solo violin playing a plaintive melody. The ending is a quiet, unresolved dissonance.
This is remarkable music, excellently played and sung by the various forces involved. As usual, Naxos’s over-reverberant sound blurs the clarity of certain instruments, but in the more atmospheric movement of the symphony this works to its advantage. There’s another recording of the Rhapsody available, conducted by Gabriel Chmura with the Polish National Philharmonic on Chandos 10237, which received a good review in these pages from Barry Brenesal, and both the excellent Kiril Kondrashin and Vladimir Fedoseyev have recorded versions of the Sixth Symphony that I haven’t heard, but taken on its own merits, Vladimir Lande’s performance is very fine.
FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley
Haydn: The Complete Piano Sonatas, Vol. 8 / Bavouzet
"Bavouzet’s Haydn is unmatched in its zest and its wit. But it is also substantial, informed and deeply rewarding."
--The New York Times on Bavouzet's Haydn Sonatas cycle, 2022
After leaving the boys’ choir of St. Stephens Cathedral in Vienna, one of the ways the young Haydn found to support himself was as a harpsichord teacher. The three early sonatas featured on this recording were almost certainly intended for his students: short, light pieces with few technical demands. The two larger sonatas, both in the key of E flat major, were written some twenty years later and are far more extensive. Both require significantly greater prowess from the performer, and represent Haydn’s ingenuity and skill to the full. The two additional works included here, whilst single-movement compositions, are substantial pieces. The Adagio ma non troppo would become the slow movement of Piano Trio No. 36 whilst the Variations on ‘Gott erhalte’ is based on the second movement of the ‘Emperor’ Quartet, which is itself a set of variations on an anthem composed by Haydn at the request of an Austrian politician for the 29th birthday of the Emperor, and intended as a patriotic hymn comparable to ‘God Save the King’ in England- and a response against the Marseillaise.
REVIEW:
Jean-Efflam Bavouzet is back with the latest volume of his magnificent survey of the Haydn keyboard sonatas...For this latest offering he takes works from three critical periods in Haydn’s life. To make ends meet at 17 he taught harpsichord and some of his earliest sonatas were written for his pupils. These include Nos 5, 6 and 7 – all quite charming and uplifting – which are performed with a sense of affection and delight here by Bavouzet.
The Sonata No 51 in E Flat, which Bavouzet uses to break up the early works, falls into the second critical stage of Haydn’s career. The third momentous turn in his life came when he was befriended by Maria Anna von Genzinger, a mother of six and accomplished pianist and singer...[he] dedicated his Sonata No 59 (often called the Genzinger) to Maria Anna, and it has become one of his most performed piano pieces. Bavouzet does it full justice on this disc, giving a magisterial reading of this gem from the Age of the Enlightenment.
This top-notch disc is filled out with the delicious Adagio ma non troppo, an original version of the slow movement of the Piano Trio No 36, and the variations on the Austrian anthem Gott Erhalte.
--Limelight (Steve Moffatt)
Barriere & De Bury: Sonates et suites pour le clavecin / Quintavalle
This set of discs is quite interesting: it brings together two French composers from the first half of the 18th century who are little known. That is to say: Jean-Baptiste Barrière is fairly well known, but almost exclusively as a pioneer of the cello in France. It is remarkable that the two collections which Luca Quintavalle has recorded were published at about the same time, but are stylistically very different.
Barrière was from Bordeaux and worked in Paris in 1730 as Musicien ordinaire de notre Académie Royale de Musique. In 1733 he was granted a privilege to publish sonatas and other instrumental works. He studied for some time in Italy, but there are different opinions on exactly when he was there. It is not that relevant from a musical point of view, because right from the start the Italian influence in his compositions is clearly discernible. His first two books with six sonatas each were printed in Paris in 1733 and 1735 respectively; these were followed in 1739 and 1740 by the third and fourth book. These collections show an increase in technical complexity and the last two books attest to Barrière's full embracing of the Italian style.
In 1739 he also published a book - as Livre V - for the pardessus de viole, the descant viol. It comprises six sonatas, the first five of which were also included in the book of harpsichord music which was published in the same year. These are not merely transcriptions but reworkings for a completely different instrument, including additional ornamentation, elaboration and idiomatic runs. These sonatas follow the Corellian trio sonata model: they comprise four movements in the order slow - fast - slow - fast. Barrière added a sixth sonata in three movements: andante - largetto (sic) - aria amoroso.
Their Italian character not only comes to the fore in the use of the form of the sonata. In fact, Barrière was the first French composer to write sonatas for keyboard. A further Italian trait is that the movements have exclusively Italian titles: adagio, allegro, andante, grave, largo, aria. The only dance included here is a sarabanda in the Sonata No. 2 in D. However, the most important token of Italian influence is the music itself. There are Neapolitan influences, but also references to the music of Vivaldi and Domenico Scarlatti. Some movements are quite dramatic; one of the most notable examples is the adagio which opens the Sonata No. 4 in G.
Barrière's harpsichord sonatas have little to do with tradition. Only one part of the Sonates et pièces can be connected to the French harpsichord school. The six pièces are character pieces as we know them from the oeuvre of, for instance, François Couperin. However, stylistically they are much closer to such pieces by the likes of Forqueray and especially his contemporary Joseph Nicolas Pancrace Royer (1705 - 1755). In the preface to his Premier Livre de pièces pour clavecin of 1746 Royer stated that "[the] pieces are open to great variety, passing from the tender to the lively, from the simple to the tumultuous, often successively within the same piece". That is the case with Barrière's character pieces as well; some indeed can be counted among the 'tumultuous', such as La Casamajor.
It is remarkable that the harpsichord pieces of the younger Bernard de Bury are more conservative than Barrière's. Much more than in the pieces by the latter we notice François Couperin's influence. His Premier livre de pièces de clavecin which dates from around 1736 includes several pieces whose titles are identical or almost identical with titles in the four harpsichord books of Couperin.
Bury came from a musical family; his father was ordinaire de la musique du roi. He spent his entire life and career in Versailles. He took several positions at the court; as maître de chapelle he succeeded his teacher Colin de Blamont, to whom he dedicated his harpsichord book. In 1785 he was ennobled by Louis XVI, five months before his death. In addition to his harpsichord works he composed music for the stage which found a positive reception.
Despite some Italian traits in his harpsichord music - just like in Couperin's ordres - his keyboard music is very French. The book comprises four suites of different lengths which include almost exclusively character pieces. The only exception is the loure in the 3e Suite in G. The chaconne which closes the 4e Suite in E and the entire collection, is one of the most telling tokens of this book's being part of the French tradition: hardly an opera was written without a chaconne and virtually every suite for keyboard or for an instrumental ensemble included a chaconne. There is no watershed between dances and character pieces: several of the latter were written in the form of a dance, or perhaps we should say that dances were given titles to indicate an extra-musical meaning. In the 1e Suite in A, for instance, we find a sarabande with the title Les Regrets. A form which Bury frequently uses is the rondeau, which was becoming increasingly popular in France around the mid-18th century.
Bury's harpsichord works have been recorded before, but are hardly known; they also seldom appear on programmes of recitals. As far as I know only a couple of pieces from Barrière's collection are available on disc; this is probably the first complete recording. I find that rather surprising, considering their quality and their historical importance. That makes this set a significant addition to the discography. This repertoire is served very well by Luca Quintavalle who delivers energetic and stylish performances. The brilliance of Barrières pieces and the different features of Bury's harpsichord works is convincingly conveyed. He plays a splendid instrument: a copy of a harpsichord by Pierre Donzelague of 1711. The miking is just right: it reveals enough details without losing the overall picture.
There is just one issue I need to mention. There is too little space between the pieces: the first movement of a sonata or a suite follows the last movement of the previous work almost attacca. That is an unlucky negligence on the side of the production team.
Considering the importance of the repertoire and the quality of music and interpretation this production deserves the label of Recording of the Month.
– MusicWeb International (Johan van Veen)
Airs And Graces / Parnassus Avenue
London in the early 1700s offered a dazzling mix of virtually every European musical style. This bustling environment attracted both students of music (such as the young Swedish composer Roman) and established musicians, eager to make their mark- Handel and Geminiani being two of the brightest shining stars. But new influences did not only come from across the Channel. The recent union between England and Scotland led to an increased cultural exchange, and English audiences were entranced by the rhythms and colours of the traditional tunes of Scotland. Various collections, such as the settings by the recorder virtuoso Francesco Barsanti, were published and even handel could not resist a few turns at the hornpipe in his Water Music. This state of affairs is reflected in the present mix of four baroque sonatas, by composers associated with London in various ways, and nine Scottish tunes in arrangements based on the Barsanti settings. This imaginative programme is characteristic of the approach adopted by Parnassus Avenue, an ensemble which is constantly challenging 'baroque standards': according to Parnassus Avenue there is no 'early' music, just a never-ending 'now'. In lending a John Stanley Adagio the same melancholy expressivity as the mournful Waly waly, and applying the same virtuosity to the hypnotic Clout the Cauldron as to a Handel Allegro, Dan Laurin and his colleagues also demonstrate that there are no genres, only one seamless musical whole. Corelli & Co., the group's previous CD on BIS, was hailed as 'a truly inspirational disc for anyone who regards the baroque original as a starting point for individual expression' in Early Music Review. Chances are that many will receive just as much inspiration from this new disc.
Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 4 & 7 / Mcgegan, Philharmonia Baroque
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
Mendelssohn-Hensel: Piano Sonatas / Heather Schmidt
Heather Schmidt's Mendelssohn-Hensel recital presents a well-contrasted selection of works in large and small forms. My Schumann comment applies to the swirling and intense C minor Allegro molto that opens this disc. If Brahms had rewritten a Felix Mendelssohn Song Without Words in the manner of his own late-period Klavierstücke, he'd come up with Fanny's G minor Notturno, while the D minor Allegro molto agitato's Bachian demeanor and gothic octaves (effortlessly executed by Schmidt, incidentally) suggest Busoni in embryonic form.
The three-movement C minor sonata oozes melodic inspiration in every bar, especially in the slow movement's moving introspection and modulations that give Schubert a run for his money. Although Schmidt plays this movement as a true Andante con moto and with little rubato, would a slower, freer approach make a stronger expressive impact? On the other hand, she fully comprehends the four-movement G minor sonata's inherent power and passion, and delivers more dynamically charged renditions of the Allegro molto agitato and Adagio movements than the equally fluid yet more restrained Beatrice Rauchs on BIS.
Schmidt matches Rauchs' delicacy in the gorgeous Scherzo at nearly twice the basic tempo--a good call. However, Rauchs' supple, forward-moving Presto finale scores over Schmidt's slower, slightly square-toed approach. All told, this is a valuable addition to the Mendelssohn-Hensel piano discography.
--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com
----------------------------------------
MENDELSSOHN-HENSEL Piano Sonatas: in c; in g. Allegro molto in c; Notturno in g; Lied in E?; Adagio in E?; Andante con moto in E; Sonata o Capriccio; Allegro molto agitato in d; Schluss • Heather Schmidt (pn) • NAXOS 8.570825 (67:25)
Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel composed some 500 works, mostly piano miniatures and songs. She wrote one orchestral overture, a few larger-scale choral works, and a handful of chamber compositions, her masterpiece being the lovely Piano Trio in D Minor, op. 11, which deserves to be a repertoire staple. Most of her output remains unpublished—her op. 1 appeared in print only in 1846, just a year before her untimely death—which, on the evidence presented here, is a great shame. True, her works are not on the same compositional plane as those of her renowned brother Felix, being rather foursquare in formal design; but then the social circumstances of her time did not allow her to cultivate her muse to the same degree. For her, music had to remain an avocation, subordinated to what her father wrote to her in 1828, a year before her marriage: “your real calling, the only calling of a young woman—I mean the state of a housewife.”
This disc presents works falling into two distinct periods. The juvenile pieces from 1823–24 are the C-Minor Sonata, Sonata o Capriccio, Allegro molto agitato , and Schluss ; the remainder, from her maturity, were composed between 1838 and 1846. Stylistically, they resemble those of her sibling so closely that he even published a few of her pieces under his name. For example, the Allegro molto in C Minor, the Allegro molto agitato in D Minor, and the finale of the C-Minor Sonata all immediately recall the volatile opening Allegro of Felix’s Piano Concerto No. 1. That said, she was no mere imitator; these are solidly crafted compositions with their own voice, particularly in their gift of winning melody. In general, Fanny uses a longer, more continuously flowing melodic line, and is more overtly emotional, more given to passionate outburst, more inclined to explore introspection and melancholy. The weaknesses are overly regular metrical phrasing, over-reliance on alternating runs of triplets and of eighth (or 16th) notes for contrast, and unadventurous harmonic progressions. Although the turbulent G-Minor Sonata is the major work here, the Adagio and the Andante con moto , both in E?, deserve special mention as particularly lovely brief essays.
This is the only available recording of the C-Minor Sonata and some (not all) of the shorter pieces. Peter J. Rabinowitz ( Fanfare 21:4) highly praised the BIS issue of the G-Minor Sonata and accompanying miniatures with Béatrice Rauchs, while noting that “she sometimes plays down the music’s dramatic and expressive potential.” The identical observation applies here. Heather Schmidt is a thoroughly accomplished pianist, who plays with lovely tone, fluent technique (an absolutely pearling legato), and expressive insight and sensitivity. My only reservation is that—dare I say it?—the playing is a bit too feminine; even more could be gotten out of these pieces with the occasional application of a more masculine assertiveness in accent and phrasing, a willingness to punctuate the seamless flow and delicacy with something a bit more rough-hewn. But that is a very minor caveat; this music and this performance, at half the cost of the BIS issue, both deserve to reach a much wider audience. The recorded sound is clear, warm, but not too resonant. Recommended to all lovers of early-Romantic piano repertoire.
FANFARE: James A. Altena
Spanish Classics - Manuel Blasco De Nebra: Complete Keyboard Sonatas Vol 1 / Pedro Casals
BLASCO DE NEBRA Keyboard Sonatas: Nos. 1– 5; 107–112; in d; in G • Pedro Casals (pn) • NAXOS 8.572068 (76:16)
This is the first of a projected set of three CDs devoted to the extant piano sonatas of Manuel Blasco de Nebra (1750–1784) by pianist and musicologist Pedro Casals. During his short life, Blasco de Nebra is said to have composed some 170 works, though we don’t know in what form nor for what media he wrote. According to Casals’s interesting and informative notes, only 26 keyboard sonatas and six pastorellas are known to survive. Six of the sonatas were apparently published as op. 1, a copy of which is in the Library of Congress. The remainder are known from manuscripts from the Monastery of Montserrat (Catalonia), Encarnación Monastery of Osuna (near Seville), and the Santa Clara Convent (Seville.) Blasco de Nebra was born and died in Seville and, except for two years in Madrid, where his uncle, the zarzuela composer José de Nebra had connections at court, his entire life was spent in the Andalusian city. It may be straddling the fence to call these pieces “keyboard sonatas”: the prominence of Alberti bass figuration alone would seem to argue in favor of the piano. It’s worth noting that one of the more prominent Iberian piano makers, Francisco Pérez Mirabal, flourished in Seville contemporaneously with Blasco de Nebra. Two of Mirabal’s pianos survive. He, like other Iberian makers, had the advantage of basing their instruments on the imported Florentine pianos of Cristofori and Ferrini, unlike Silbermann in Germany, who was forced to experiment on the basis of simplistic published diagrams of the Cristofori action. In any case, it’s obvious from the persuasive performances by Casals (albeit on the modern piano) that Blasco de Nebra’s sonatas are well crafted, often quite beautiful, and never less than effective.
Without being derivative, these pieces bring to mind the Catalan composer, Antonio Soler. Certainly the sonatas of Soler’s master, Domenico Scarlatti, seem a constant point of reference. This recording presents Blasco de Nebra’s sonatas chronologically. The earliest (Nos. 107–112, deriving from the Osuna Encarnación and Santa Clara manuscripts) are cast in single-movement, binary form, like Scarlatti’s. The latest recorded here (Nos. 1–5, from the Montserrat Abbey manuscript) preface each Allegro movement with an extended Adagio. Most of the sonatas unfold in two-part textures; their inventive motivic structure is often triadic and highly ornamented. Blasco de Nebra was active among several organists who played at the cathedral in Seville. It’s not surprising that, in the couple of sonatas that seem to effectively employ tone-painting, church bells are evoked: festal peals in Sonata No. 111, for instance, and in the Adagio of Sonata No 2, somber chimes. Casals brings a rhythmic vitality and crisp touch to his performances, appropriately achieving his varied affects with scarcely any pedal. Given his decision to present the sonatas in the order written, it will be interesting to observe Blasco de Nebra’s stylistic evolution in future releases.
The piano sound (in this case an instrument that could have used a touch-up during the recording) leaves something to be desired, possibly due to overly close microphone placement and a less than resonant space. But the playing is so good and the music so interesting that one quickly forgets the less-than-optimal technical aspects of the recording. Casals’s performances, authoritative and imbued with a love of the music, will no doubt attract greater attention to this little-known but obviously gifted composer. Recommended.
FANFARE: Patrick Rucker
Tyberg: Symphony No 2, Piano Sonata No 2 / Bidini, Falletta, Buffalo
TYBERG Symphony No. 2. Piano Sonata No. 21 • 1Fabio Bidini (pn); JoAnn Falletta, cond; Buffalo PO • NAXOS 8.572822 (74: 47)
I defy the average educated listener not to call out the name of Anton Bruckner within seconds of the start of Marcel Tyberg’s Second Symphony. The cut of the melodies, the rhythms, the sectional construction, and the scoring are utterly characteristic of the Viennese master—who died in 1896, three years after Tyberg was born. Most curious. That impression continues throughout the first movement, and off and on (but mostly on) throughout the entire symphony. Indeed, the thing that is least Brucknerian about Tyberg’s symphony, which was composed in 1927, is that it is barely 42 minutes long. (To be fair, there’s a bit of Korngold as the symphony reaches its conclusion.) In other words, Tyberg concludes his movements just when Bruckner would have been getting his second wind. I am astonished that Bruckner’s name does not come up once in the entirety of Edward Yadzinski’s booklet note. Perhaps he thought mentioning it would have been the epitome of obviousness. I’m not really suggesting that Tyberg’s Second is on a par with Bruckner’s symphonies—at times it sounds a little awkwardly put together, and too terse—but it is a fascinating, fascinating near miss, and really very enjoyable, and if this disc doesn’t get wide exposure, at least because Tyberg’s unknown symphony is so doggedly familiar (!), then there is no justice in the world. Falletta and the Buffalo Philharmonic play the heck out of it, by the way, and Naxos’s engineering is lustrous.
The Piano Sonata No. 2 is no less fine. Bruckner wrote no piano sonatas, I believe, but Brahms completed three of them, and there are times when Tyberg’s sturdy, 33-minute sonata sounds as if it is aiming to be “Brahms’s Fourth.” The hyper-masculine opening gesture, for example, and the feminine response that it receives, would hardly be out of place in Brahms. Other influences appear in this sonata, however, including, strangely enough, Szymanowski. Again, call this music derivative if you like, but there’s no escaping that Tyberg’s lack of innovation is not dull but really rather delightful, given the attractiveness of the material. Pianist Bidini makes a very good case for it, playing it with plenty of romantic temperament, and with steely wrists and fingers.
I missed Naxos’s earlier Tyberg release (8.572236) in which his Third Symphony is paired with his Piano Trio. Jerry Dubins and Robert Markow both welcomed it strongly; in fact, it made the latter reviewer’s Want List in 2011. There also was a feature article in Fanfare 34: 2 in which Falletta discussed Tyberg. To make a long story short, Tyberg, who had a Jewish relative several generations back, was a victim of the Nazis and died in 1944. He spent his young years in Vienna, but around the time of the Second Symphony, he relocated to what today is part of Italy. Shortly before his deportation, he entrusted his music manuscripts to a friend, and they were passed on to that friend’s son, who ended up in Buffalo. After spending years trying to interest various conductors in Tyberg’s scores, he finally attracted Falletta’s attention. She recognized the music’s worth, and if a Tyberg revival is in the works, we can thank her, and the efforts of the Marcel Tyberg Musical Legacy Fund of the Foundation for Jewish Philanthropies in Buffalo.
Knowing that I have a tendency to be excitable, I don’t want to overdo my praise for this music or for this release, but glorioski, this is enjoyable stuff.
FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle
-----
Marcel Tyberg’s Second Symphony sounds a bit like Bruckner for people who hate Bruckner. It features thematic material uncannily similar to Tyberg’s Austrian predecessor, only married to a more traditional, pithy approach to form. It lasts just 42 minutes, and so in comparison confirms Bruckner’s own originality, or incompetence, depending on your perspective. There’s nothing here that might make you sit up and say, “Aha, that must be Tyberg,” but it is beautifully scored, well-made music nonetheless. The Adagio is particularly lovely, basically diatonic in harmony, but with tunes that never go exactly where you expect them to. Had Tyberg survived the Second World War and written more in this vein, we might go so far as to call it “personal”.
The Piano Sonata No. 2 dwells squarely in the world of Beethoven and Brahms, but again with remarkable success. It’s a large work in four movements, and even more than in the symphony the centerpiece is an Adagio drawn on a very large scale. The finale, so often the Achilles’ heel in Romantic music, is actually the shortest movement, but full of contrast and quite satisfying, thus revealing that Tyberg’s classical sympathies go beyond mere imitation.
The sonata is very well played by Fabio Bidini, a pianist who takes its challenges in stride and shapes each movement quite effectively. As in the previous release in this series, JoAnn Falletta and the Buffalo Philharmonic take charge of the orchestral component, offering a performance of the symphony full of character and conviction. The Foundation for Jewish Philanthropies in Buffalo sponsored this recording through its Marcel Tyberg Musical Legacy Fund. That such a thing even exists is just one of those facts that makes you feel good about life, as does Tyberg’s music. Go for it.
-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Ashton: Music For Cello And Piano, Vol. 1 / Mizerska, Abbate
Ashton (b. 1859, Durham), is a best-kept secret of British music. He has a generous output of piano music, chamber works and songs. Ashton’s writing for both cello and piano is virtuosic. What strikes the ear is the quality of his melodic inspiration – the lyrical immediacy of his tunes suggests Schubert, set in a style of Brahmsian richness. This CD features world premiere recordings.
REVIEW:
Algernon Ashton, (1859–1937) was a British-born composer who was educated in Germany. When his father died in 1863, his mother moved the family to Leipzig where she was befriended by Clara Schumann. Even as a child, Algernon attended the famous Schumann soirees and rubbed shoulders with famous musicians. After finishing his education, he returned to England. He became professor of piano at the Royal Academy of Music in London and spent the rest of his life in England. Ashton was a prolific composer but many of his works were not published and very few have been recorded. His chamber music output includes four sonatas for violin and piano, four for cello and piano, two piano quartets, and two piano quintets. He also wrote symphonies, but they were never published. The opening work on this Toccata disc is his Arioso, a beautiful piece in a contemplative mood. It has some of the colors of Brahms, but none of his rhythmic bite. The Sonata No. 1 in F Major opens with an Allegro Appassionato, an impassioned plea begging the listener to take a mental voyage to Ashton’s lyrical world of drawing rooms with polished grand pianos and crimson velvet drapes where chamber music was as common as video games are today. He develops the second movement, the Larghetto, with consummate skill and clothes it with jewel tones. Only in the Finale, which he asks to be played Allegro Frescamente, does he bring in a truly rhythmic melody. It could be a happy folk dance replete with clapping and stomping on the accented notes. It’s the kind of music that makes you get up and move! Abbate and Mizerska play all of this music joyfully and with great skill.
The Phantasiestücke is an invitation to reverie. Ashton is a master of melody and he begins with a broad sunny tune that might bring back memories of a hike in German or English woodlands. In the second movement, marked Andantino con Gran Espressione, he leads us away from the cares of the everyday world into the nirvana of pure musical concentration where we can spend a few blissful minutes. After we reach our goal, we return to the village for the last movement marked Allegro Scherzando. There we can relax and tap our toes to another of Ashton’s fast and furious folk tunes. The Second Sonata is a bit more dramatic than the First. Its markings, Moderato and Adagio ma non troppo are somewhat deceiving, because this work is constantly increasing in tension as it builds toward its marvelously animated finale. The two fine artists who currently reside and teach in London, the Polish-born Evva Mizerska and the Naples-born Emma Abbate, play all of this music with great finesse. Ashton’s music is a revelation. It deserves a much wider audience than it has had so far. The sound on the disc is clear with each instrument given equal presence. I enjoyed getting to know Ashton’s story and his music and think this disc should have a place in many record libraries.
-- Fanfare
Human Misery, Human Love - Beethoven: Symphony No 9 / Nagano, Montreal Symphony
BEETHOVEN Symphony No. 9 • Kent Nagano, cond; Yann Martel (narr); Erin Wall (sop); Mihoko Fujimura (mez); Simon O’Neill (ten); Mikhail Petrenko (bs); Tafelmusik CCh; Montreal SO & Ch • SONY 88691919442 (66:56) Live: Montreal 9/2011
This is the fourth installment in the Beethoven symphony cycle currently in progress from Kent Nagano and the Montreal Symphony. What distinguishes this cycle from others is the attempt to place Beethoven’s music in a broader context. In the present case, the disc is titled Human Misery—Human Love , and the performance includes a short text by writer Yann Martel, spoken by the author in English (before the performance of the symphony) and in French (afterward).
In Fanfare 32:6, I reviewed an earlier installment, Ideals of the French Revolution , which included a text by Paul Griffiths read to music by Beethoven, and performances of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and incidental music for Egmont . While I found the performances of Beethoven worthy, the Griffiths pastiche was more problematic and ultimately unsatisfactory.
After an 11-second burst from the opening of the finale of the symphony, Martel’s narrative titled Where Have You Gone, My Revolutionary Friend? is heard, apparently recorded in a studio. The friend referred to is a sort of Everyman, who has gone astray after such promising beginnings. The question, I suppose, echoes the revolutionary nature of Beethoven’s music, but I’m skeptical of the relevance of this short poetic envoi to either Schiller or the symphony (but then I’m not an admirer of Martel’s work). The narrative is brief; alternatively, the track is easily skipped.
Luckily, the performance of the symphony itself is a strong one. The first movement opens with edgy strings using little vibrato; the audio production offers admirable clarity and sonic punch within a spacious acoustic, a tribute to the new venue (the Maison Symphonique de Montréal) that was inaugurated with this performance. Urgency is communicated through a moderately brisk tempo, which is sustained throughout the movement; the contrasting lyrical theme is poignantly hopeful. The same sense of urgency carries over into the Scherzo, with its infectious rhythms and buoyant enthusiasm (and its repeats intact). The timpani are impressively thunderous but never overly prominent. The Trio ripples along fluently, a lighthearted little melody amid the bustle of the Scherzo.
The initial ( adagio ) tempo of the third movement is not slow, but the feeling of calm and hope that suffuses it is amply transmitted. The pure string tone helps to reinforce the lack of overly emphatic or indulgent emotionalism, and the simple declaration of faith at the end provides an effective coda. The opening of the finale is more diffuse energy than startling interruption, though the cellos and basses are stern enough in their didactic recitation. Bass Mikhail Petrenko has the lighter timbre of a baritone, and sings with lyric sensitivity, accompanied by the nimble orchestra. The vocal quartet blends well and is situated in front of the choruses, bringing a coherence and balance to the sung text (aided by the relatively modest-sized choral contingent). The sprightly alla Marcia allows tenor Simon O’Neill to hold forth with jaunty panache (an echo of his Wagner roles). “Seid umschlungen, Millionen!” is properly devotional, while the double fugue is more maestoso than energico , but is effective nonetheless. The presto is exciting, and the purely instrumental coda is prestissimo indeed.
I can understand the thinking behind the decision to provide an extramusical context for Nagano’s performances of the symphonies: There are so many choices in the Beethoven symphony discography that any innovation might just elicit interest in this particular cycle. I hope, though, that if these symphony recordings are collected into a set, the extraneous and unnecessary distractions will be discarded so that the symphonies (and various companion pieces) can be left to themselves.
FANFARE: Christopher Abbot
Cyprien Katsaris Archives, Vol. 8: Schubert
LISZT Hungarian Rhapsodies: Nos. 2, 3, 5, 7. Elegies: Nos. 1, 2. Liebestraum No. 3. Klavierstücke: Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Trauervorspiel und Trauermarsch. Unstern! Nuages gris. La Lugubre gondola Nos. 1, 2. R.W.—Venezia. Am Grabe Richard Wagners. Piano Sonata in b. Piano Concerto No. 2 1 • Cyprien Katsaris (pn); 1 Arild Remmereit (cond); 1 Deutches SO Berlin • PIANO 21 014-N (2 CDs: 137:51)
SCHUBERT Klavierstücke, D 946: Nos. 1, 2. Ländler, D 366: Nos. 1 (2 versions); 2–5, 10, 13. Ländler, D 790: Nos. 3, 4, 7, 8, 11. Deutsche Tänze, D 420: Nos. 1, 3, 4. Piano Sonata in B?, D 960. SCHUBERT-LISZT Ständchen. Der Müller und der Bach. Ave Maria & • Cyprien Katsaris (pn) • PIANO 21 P21 042A (2 CDs: 103:27) Live: 7/3/93
& KATSARIS Improvisation on Themes of Tchaikovsky and Wagner. BACH Concerto in d, BWV 974: Adagio
“When I heard that recording, I was afraid to play the piece again—I will not play it again”: That’s how the mature Cyprien Katsaris, in an interview with me last year, described his reaction on rehearing this scorching live performance of the Liszt Sonata, taped when he was a youngster of 22 (see Fanfare 34:5). At the time, I wondered just how hyperbolic he was being. Now that I’ve had a chance to hear the performance—which concludes his two-CD Liszt sampler—I can easily understand why he feels that way. Granted, by the stopwatch (always unreliable, but especially so in a long work with dozens of tempo changes), this 29-minute reading is fairly centrist in overall timing. But it certainly doesn’t feel centrist. Rather, the overall effect is vertiginous—passages of almost terrifying impetus made even more ferocious by the extremity with which Katsaris plays many of the slower passages (try, for instance, the way he puts on the brakes as he approaches his arrival at measure 532, or the way he stretches the fermata before the Grandioso theme at measure 600). Yet for all the brinksmanship, for all the improvisatory bravura, there’s never a sense of approximation. Katsaris’s somewhat dry tone keeps the textures clear and his unerring control of articulation and accent keeps them active, with the result that the music consistently sounds both detailed and eventful. And in part because he has such a good sense of the music’s emotional architecture (including a sure understanding of the dramatic purpose of the recitatives), the music has a consistent sense of direction. This reading may not have the intellectual acuity of Steven Hough’s or the volcanic integrity of Ernst Levy’s or the depth of Richter’s many recordings. But for sheer adrenaline, the young Katsaris is a match for Simon Barere, and for sheer imagination, he’s got him beat.
The performance is doubly effective because it comes at the end of a recital that generally offers a rather different vision of both Liszt and Katsaris. Granted, once past the deceptively pensive opening, the high-speed performance of the Second Concerto is similarly searing—especially in the brilliant cascades in the final pages. Here, too, Katsaris ups the emotional ante with his careful articulation, which gives an unusually detailed profile to the musical gestures. And here too he manages to heighten things further with his extreme contrast (try the luxury of the Allegro moderato ). Granted, too, no one is likely to accuse him of underplaying the second Hungarian Rhapsody. But most of the rest of the performances—as befits the repertoire—are notable less for their razzle-dazzle than for their acute understanding of Liszt’s subtler rhetoric.
Thus, it’s not simply that Katsaris captures (even heightens) the strangeness of the radical late scores. More than that, the recording stands out because he manages to do so without turning the music abstract or damping its remaining romantic tendencies. Thus, he fully conveys the obsessive qualities of La Lugubre Gondola I —but he does so without losing the music’s sense of motion. Similarly, there’s no attempt to normalize La Lugubre Gondola II —but there’s no loss of the passionate desperation at its core. Listen to the marvelous tonal effects (including the artful pedaling) in Am Grabe or to the tremendous control of dynamics in the opening pages of the Trauervorspiel or to the disorienting contradictions of the Second Elegy (gloriously passionate, utterly bereft): Rarely has so strong a case been made for the emotional (as opposed to the experimental) qualities of these scores.
One caveat: As Patrick Rucker rightly pointed out in his knowledgeable review in Fanfare 35:4 (less enthusiastic than mine), this is not a collection for textual purists. The most startling deviation from the written score comes at the end of Trauervorspiel und Trauermarsch . Not only does Katsaris add a sonic halo to Liszt’s stark original, but he also throws in a striking effect: Just as the final sustained wash of sound seems to be dying away, it suddenly builds a crescendo. Can a piano really crescendo on a sustained sound? It certainly sounds as if there has been some electronic intervention, but in a series of e-mails Katsaris told me that it was a purely acoustical phenomenon created by the pedals. In any case, while it’s not quite what Liszt wrote, it does (at least to my ears) fit the mood of the music.
The sound varies according to the sources, but it’s generally good, and the studio performances—all of which are new—are a lot better than that. In the Second Concerto, the orchestra provides unusually rich and colorful support.
Schubert demands a rather different approach—and on this recital from 1993, he gets it. These are, on the whole, brightly illuminated performances, dryish in tone and often impulsive (although never rushed) in tempo. Thus, while the sonata is surely one of Schubert’s grander creations, there’s none of Horowitz’s intensity; indeed, Katsaris nearly whispers the third movement, and he offers a generally sunlit account of the finale. Yet for all the clarity, there’s no lack of melodic beauty (listen to the flexible melodic curls of the second of the Klavierstücke ), of timbral sensitivity ( Ständchen is exquisite), or (especially in his collection of Ländler and dances) of succulence and wit. Katsaris’s own fantasy on themes by Tchaikovsky (mainly Swan Lake ) and Wagner ( Tannhäuser , although Lohengrin might have been more fitting) is a delightful first encore—but the eloquent reading of the Bach, with its utter purity and peace, brings the recital to an even higher plane. Not quite as ear-catching as the Liszt recital, perhaps, but well worth owning even so.
FANFARE: Peter J. Rabinowitz
The Romantic Piano Concerto Vol 2 / Michael Ponti
Moscheles' Concerto, Op. 58 is said to be one of his finest works, showing the classical influences of Beethoven, Schubert and Chopin. From the opening of the Allegro moderato one can be forgiven for thinking you are listening to an orchestral score composed by Mendelssohn. However the piano lines have more of a Saint-Saëns ring about them. Bold statements punctuate gently-flowing passages with lightweight orchestral involvement. The Adagio contains recitative-like figures with background tremolos that eventually lead into an Allegro agitato. This movement skips along with a bright theme that is extemporised and builds to a suitable coda and rousing close.
Hiller's compositions are largely forgotten now but in his day his works reached the concert hall. His piano impromptu Zur Gitarre was played by Clara Schumann. His Concerto, Op. 69 contains some lovely melodies and has for too long been neglected, a point the CD notes confirm. Hiller premiered the work as soloist in Amsterdam (1856). It was performed in the presence of royalty nine years later, so we must assume that the work enjoyed a certain degree of popularity. This was one of the first piano concertos to utilise the key of F-sharp Minor and is full of ideas also original for the time. A Moderato movement opens the piece with an energetic main theme (without introduction) and use of alternating octaves - a device copied by d'Albert 28 years later. The emotional Andante espressivo is filled with ravishingly romantic melodies. It has a feeling of Liszt about it. A purposeful Allegro con fuoco closes the concerto.
Henry Litolff was taken as a pupil for the composer Moscheles. The older man declared Litolff so good that a public performance was arranged which he gave at the age of fourteen. Later as a proficient pianist, Litolff undertook concert tours on the continent and wrote his Concerto Sinfonique about 1846. Berlioz monitored his progress and referred to Litolff "as one of our best composers", praising his knowledge, inspiration, mobility of melodic style, and excellence of orchestration. At 39 minutes it is a long concerto and with a four movement structure broke new ground. There is freshness to this composition that gives me the impression of sprightly youthful eagerness. Why this amazing work is not better known I can't guess, but it would be ideal for part of a Proms programme.
An Allegro provides a majestic opening, with accelerating energy and an introduction of two principal ideas. In the Scherzo a Beethovenian hunting scene comes to mind, with echoes of the Ninth. The piano part complements the orchestra-dominated main theme. A peaceful Andante conveys a lyrical mood of relaxing charm, the piano syncopating a flowing horn melody. A bold Furioso moves with urgency before it breaks into a trumpet-led rendering of the Dutch National song "Wein Neerlands". The song weaves in and out of the movement before virtuosity brings the piece to an energetic close.
Carl Reinecke is usually remembered for the cadenzas he wrote to other composers' classic concertos rather than for his own compositions. This is despite the fact that he was a prolific writer of around 300 works. His writing is not as demonstrative as the other composers in this set: there is more of a relaxed feel to this concerto. Reinecke made his debut as a violinist at 11 but toured Europe as a pianist, before turning to the education of others. Reinecke settled in Leipzig where he became professor of piano and composition at the Conservatorium.
In Reinecke's Concerto the Allegro is a good vehicle for virtuosity, but there is practically no partnership with the orchestra. In the Adagio, sincerity of purpose is given with its meandering theme. A bold statement from the strings opens the Finale Allegro and rippling measures maintain momentum throughout the movement.
Mendelssohn's Capriccio brilliant is well known and needs little introduction. Written as a fantasia for piano and orchestra it is constructed on four themes - introductory theme, fortissimo theme, pianissimo theme, and piano theme. It is here played with sensitivity and purpose.
Rheinberger is better known for his organ compositions rather than the writing of orchestral works. He studied under Lachner and became an intimate friend of Schubert, yet his music is often linked with Brahms.
His Concerto deviates in its opening Moderato from the Beethoven pattern by dispensing with the orchestral exposition and replacing it with a short preludial statement; the piano entering with the main idea and acting as a dominant force. An Adagio follows with lyrical delicacy and appealing musical ideas. The orchestra contributes with important thematic and colouristic contributions throughout. A piano solo opens the Allegro energico with a flourishing statement and running into a fast-flowing theme before returning to the heroic idea of the first movement.
This set contains rarely recorded works of the lesser-known composers who provided a valuable contribution to the development of music through the 19th Century. The notes make interesting reading and give useful historical information. Descriptions of the works could have been fuller and more detailed.
Michael Ponti plays with considerable dexterity, and handles both powerful and sensitive passages with considerable skill. The orchestras play competently under knowledgeable conductors.
The analogue recordings of the '70s are clear without the extraneous noise that can show up in CD transfers of this period. They are pleasantly balanced for concerto recording with the piano placed nicely forward on the sound-stage. In the Reinecke concerto, a slight metallic timbre is noticed with the piano. A slight lack of dynamic range causes some detail of the orchestra to be hidden but this is not an obtrusive problem. There is no obvious mismatching in the acoustics or microphone placements between the different venues (not given).
-- Raymond Walker, MusicWeb International
Sibelius: Swanwhite - Complete Incidental Music / Segerstam
Sibelius never made a suite out of The Lizard, and for good reason. It would have been nearly impossible. The score consists of two movements: a three-minute Adagio followed by a twenty-two minute Grave, both scored for strings. There’s very little actual music here: it’s all atmosphere and repetition of brief melodic patterns. It is, in short, background music, probably perfect for its intended use, and pretty good at home too if you need something moody that never forces you to pay attention. And as always with Sibelius’ string writing, Segerstam’s performance is gorgeous. It’s not often recalled that Segerstam was himself a violinist of considerable ability in his youth, and he pays a great deal of attention to the orchestral string sections in all of his recordings, to excellent effect.
A Lonely Ski Trail and The Countess’ Portrait are both poetic recitations for narrator and strings. I truly loathe spoken text over music, but Riho Eklundh has a very pleasant, mellow voice, and I find Swedish fun to listen to because it sounds like it ought to be in English but, obviously, it isn’t and you’re left wondering why what you are hearing makes no sense. For example, the opening line of A Lonely Ski Trail, “Ett ensamt skidspar” (with a little circle thing over the “a” in “skidspar”), sounds just like someone saying in English “And in some cheap sport.” It’s fun. So is this beautifully played and recorded ongoing series more generally.
-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Leif Segerstam directs all this material with unhurried authority, abundant perception and heaps of character. Likewise, his willing Turku colleagues are with him every step of the way. Admirable production values and useful notes, too. A job well done.
- Gramophone Magazine