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Charles Ives: Hallowe'en, Quarter-Tone Pieces & More / Seltzer, Sachs, Continuum
Naxos · Mar 2005CD$19.99 -
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Stabat - Part, MacMillan & Vasks / Ross, Dmitri Ensemble, Clair College Choir Cambridge
HARMONIA MUNDI · Mar 2020CD$18.49 -
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Mozart: 45 Symphonies / Adam Fischer, Danish National Chamber Orchestra
Dacapo Classical · Jan 2014CD$53.99 -
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Patrick Dheur plays Patrick Dheur / Orchestre Royal de Chambre de Wallonie
Stradivarius · Feb 2024CD$18.99 -
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Zieritz: Japanese Songs; Le Violon de la Mort etc. / Brenner, Robert-Schumann-Philharmonie
Haenssler Classic · Jan 2024CD$20.99 -
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Concertos of Josef Guretzky / Richter, Gaborjani, The Harmonious Society of Tickle-Fiddle Gentlemen
Chandos · Jan 2017CD$21.99 -
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Elgar: Violin Sonata - Vaughan Williams: The Lark Ascending & Violin Sonata / Pike, Roscoe
Chandos · Aug 2020CD$21.99
Brahms & Contemporaries, Vol. 3
Charles Ives: Hallowe'en, Quarter-Tone Pieces & More / Seltzer, Sachs, Continuum
Hallowe’en (about 1914) ‘is but a take-off of a Halloween party and bonfire - the elfishness of the little boys throwing wood on the fire, etc. etc...’ To illustrate the growing bonfire, the strings enter progressively, in different keys, with oddly-placed accents. The ending is a take-off of ‘a regular coda from a proper opera, heard down the street from the bandstand’. From the technical point of view, Ives considered Hallowe’en one of his best compositions.
The vocal selections convey something of the wealth of his 175-odd songs, for which Ives wrote many of the texts. Joel Sachs and Cheryl Seltzer direct performances in this thrilling chamber program, also including Five Take-Offs, Three Quarter-tone Pieces, and Sunrise.
REVIEW:
The opening song-group, very well sung, begins lyrically with The Housatonic at Stockbridge, but at its climax the piano accompaniment goes wild; the following Soliloquy explodes similarly, and the dissonant, untamed accompaniment continues its conflict to underline On the Antipodes. Sunrise (Ives’s final song) initially brings relative peace and an Elysian violin solo but still has an agitated climax. In the brief Remembrance (of the composer’s father), the cello enters too, to create a simple eulogy in which the violin persists. In Aeschylus and Sophocles the wildness erupts into frenzy at the words ‘Accursed be the race’, but the anger subsides for the final ‘Farewell’, and the last word is with the cello.
The first of the instrumental pieces, The Gong on the Hook and Ladder, pictures the annual parade of the neighbourhood Fire Company. Hallowe’en is a busy, dissonant Scherzo (the strings playing in different keys), suggesting the growing flames of the bonfire, with children running round it. In Re Con Moto et al. brings the most ferocious dissonance of all ‘to stretch ear muscles’, as Ives suggested. The piano pieces, Five Take-offs (implying improvisatory freedom, but in fact highly organized), were published as recently as 1991, and would make a stimulating centrepiece for any modern piano recital. The untamed, feral Jumping Frog has an underlying boldly controlled cantus firmus. Then, astonishingly, Song without (Good) Words is quite beautiful—very romantic, but with wrong notes—and Scene Episode begins in much the same mood of emotional serenity, which is not quite sustained. Bad Resolutions and Good WAN! Opens with a hymn but once more, characteristically, the peace is boldly interrupted.
The Three Quarter-Tone Pieces are aurally the most fascinating of all, more remarkably so as they are very listenable. Originally written in 1924 for a double keyboard microtonal piano, they are now usually played as a simultaneous piano duo, using two pianos, tuned a microtone apart. They really do ‘tweak the ear muscles’, the first bell-like, the second in wild ragtime, and the third boldly fantasizing on America ’tis of thee or God save the Queen (according to your nationality).
All in all, this makes a fine, characteristic anthology, splendidly realized...In many of the pieces Ives’s habit of including a phrase or two of deliberate banality amid the wildness adds piquancy, well caught in these performances from the New York-based group, Continuum. The instrumental piece Hallowe’en has a bass drum entry that takes you terrifyingly by surprise, helped by the vivid recording. The Take-offs (an expression Ives used as meaning improvisation) are simpler but just as original.
-- Penguin Guide
Sinding: Piano Trios, Opp. 23, 64 & 87
Massonneau: 3 Duos Concertante, Op. 9
Attractive Classical-era duets for violin
and cello in world-premiere recordings
by a young Italian pair of brothers.
Despite his French name, Louis
Massonneau was a German composer,
born in Kassel in 1766 and dying at the
venerable age of 82 in MecklenburgVorpommern in 1848. His father was
chef to the Landgrave Friedrich II of
Hessen-Kassel, and Louis received his
musical training at the hands of the
court musicians in Kassel, soon
becoming a violinist in the court
orchestra. The Landgrave died when
Massonneau was 19, and the orchestra
disbanded, requiring him to seek his
fortune elsewhere. This he did in a
series of posts, as a concertmaster of
court and theatre orchestras in
Göttingen, Frankfurt, Altona, Dessau,
Hamburg and finally Mecklenburg, where he
settled for good and retired in 1837.
Composing all the while, Massonneau left
behind a fairly substantial catalogue. Almost
completely unknown apart from a trio of
oboe quartets, it includes three symphonies,
twelve symphonies and six violin concertos,
doubtless written with his own talents in
mind. These three Duos Concertante probably
date from Massonneau’s time in Altona, when
he came to know the cellist Martin Calmus.
Required to perform duets for the
entertainment of those attending ‘Musical
Academies’, Massonneau doubtless found a
dearth of such repertoire, and wrote it afresh.
Calmus himself must have been an
accomplished cellist, because both parts
demonstrate a virtuosity and experimental
spirit shared with the better-known music of
their contemporary Boccherini. Each duo is cast
in three movements, skilfully varied in form
from the others, in which lyrical expression is
tempered by a touch of irony. Haydnesque
touches of major-minor ambiguity lend
dramatic tension to the first duo, while a more
balletic spirit and Mozartian melodic charm
brings a quasi-operatic character to the second.
No.3 is the most innovative in its rapid
conversational interplay between violin and
cello and unconventional range of timbre.
Demian and Dylan Baraldi have made this
recording with the cooperation of the Edition
Massonneau, and authoritative booklet notes
from the Edition illuminate the composer’s life
and work.
Stabat - Part, MacMillan & Vasks / Ross, Dmitri Ensemble, Clair College Choir Cambridge
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REVIEW:
Recordings of Arvo Pärt’s music continue to flourish, and no one seems to tire of hearing (or performing) Magnificat or The Woman with the Alabaster Box, Nunc dimittis, or Da pacem, Domine–all of which are included here and stand among the most frequently represented on disc (a couple of dozen instances for Magnificat). Yet, it’s no surprise as to why these works are so popular, their uniquely appealing qualities–of sound, of melody, of harmonic architecture and movement–effecting a sense of timelessness that confers on them a remarkable immunity from wear.
Pärt and his music also benefit from the fact that most of the recordings offer excellent performances, and this one is no exception. In fact, these are among the very best in the catalog: these young, exceptionally well-trained, expert choral musicians, recorded primarily in the special ambiance, tempered by stone, glass, and light, of Ely Cathedral’s Lady Chapel, leave nothing to be desired in their expression of Pärt’s unique, sensuous realizations of sound and silence. This was the venue for so many of the acclaimed recordings by John Rutter and his Cambridge Singers–and, guess who happens to be producer, engineer, and editor of this project: yes, none other than Rutter himself, and the sonic excellence on display here is the result of someone in command who knows the strengths and foibles of that large acoustic space (stand here, place the microphone there). And so, we need not worry at all about the recorded sound of the singing.
But while Pärt may be the “draw” (he gets top billing on the disc cover), it’s actually James MacMillan who likely will leave listeners with the more lasting impression–and induce many repeated hearings–with his Miserere, for mixed a cappella choir. Every now and then a modern choral work does a rare thing: it sets the listener on a path and–voilá–takes him or her just where it promises to take them. No set-up for sudden expectation-be-damned surprise. When you get to the end of this 12-minute-plus piece, you feel you’ve been respected, as an intelligent listener, with both knowledge and feeling, one who is aware of both the conventions and perversions of musical style, who loves beauty and truth in the expression, in whatever form, language, or context it may be presented.
In this case, MacMillan exploits his available musical material with free references to Pärtian style and in his inclusion of the famous Miserere of Allegri, quoting directly and indirectly, while creating a wholly original work that sticks to the path, occasionally goes off on its own seemingly diversionary trail, but always comes back, the “diversion” now realized as an integral bridge to the very satisfying conclusion. And, I have to say that rather than hear the zillionth performance of the Allegri–endless, often vocally tedious, difficult to stage–I am happier to hear MacMillan’s canny referential episodes in this extraordinary work. The excellent performance is marred only by one brief passage of faulty intonation from a soloist.
The usual pairing of MacMillan’s Miserere on recordings is, no surprise, with Allegri’s setting–which of course isn’t just his, but also the work of subsequent elaborators. Here, besides the Pärt works, we get a 15-minute piece by Latvian composer Peteris Vasks: Plainscapes, for mixed choir, violin, and cello. While this work is undoubtedly worthy for its craft and effective use of “wordless” vocal techniques, a “tapestry of abstract sound” (as described in the liner notes) to depict a “sonic journey across [Vasks’] native country”, it’s an odd choice for inclusion on this program. The completely different style, the sound-effects, the secular context–it doesn’t fit. It’s a disruption, although a very well-performed one. Fortunately you have the choice to skip it–and even if you don’t, the rest of the music will soon convince you that you did.
– ClassicsToday.com (David Vernier)
KATCHEN: THE BRAHMS RECORDINGS ON DECCA
Martucci, Casella & Clementi: Chamber Trios / Hèsperos Piano Trio
A plunge among the sunken composers of Italian chamber music and the salvaged ones. The program recorded in this album is a ticket for a journey of a century and a half, that is the distance between the composition of the Sonata “con accompagnamento” by Muzio Clementi (1792) and its transformation into the Trio ortodosso by Alfredo Casella (1936). An intermediate stop is represented by the Trio op. 59 by Giuseppe Martucci (1882). The route of this journey retraces a history that is not unimportant or unsurprising: it summarises the significance and vicissitudes of the chamber music produced by Italian composers from the middle of the eighteenth century onwards. In many texts of music history this topic is relegated in a note, or at most is dealt with in a paragraph, not even a chapter: an upgraded echo of the Fascist nationalism and dislike for Puccini that, for ideological reasons rather than for a historical or critical conviction, made themselves useful in raising the issue in the twentieth century. This recording, which presents a performance for piano, violin and cello, is a tiny artistic compensation, and an aesthetic and formal clarification. It leads us to consider and understand the role that Italian composers played also in the specific area of non-theatrical music.
Mozart: 45 Symphonies / Adam Fischer, Danish National Chamber Orchestra
MOZART Symphonies Nos. 1, 4–31, 33–36, 39–41. Symphonies, K 19a, 42a, 45a–b, 73l–n, 73q, 111b • Ádám Fischer, cond; Danish Natl CO • DACAPO 8.201201 (12 CDs: 716:42)
I mentioned in my review of a single disc from this series, which included symphonies Nos. 28–30 (Fanfare 34:4), that I didn’t think that Ádám Fischer’s performances captured “Mozart’s drama as well as they capture his elegance,” but added the caveat that it’s difficult to gauge an entire series of symphonies by one CD. Alas, in later reviewing the disc including symphonies Nos. 31, 33, and 34, I had the opposite feeling, that Fischer was making a “race to the finish line” and playing the symphonies too quickly. Now, as it so happened, I reviewed those two discs about two years apart, and so did not have the first still on hand to compare to the second, or to think about the differences in approach. But now I have the full set of 45 symphonies to review, and my feelings have changed. Now I am inclined to agree with Patrick Rucker, who gave a rave review to the single disc of symphonies Nos. 15–18 in Fanfare 31:1 (a disc reviewed, I believe, before I joined the magazine staff), stating that he was “grasping for superlatives.”
The difference? Listening to the entire series in chronological sequence. By doing so, I noted that, despite an overall theatrical approach to these symphonies (in the liner notes, Fischer admits that he tends to think of orchestral music “operatically,” i.e., finding a dramatic theme or thread in the music that he then tries to bring out), he does make distinctions between the earlier and the later symphonies. Reducing his approach to a few basics, he plays the earlier symphonies with equal drama and electricity but with far fewer changes in dynamics and fewer rubato touches. In addition, I was able to download the scores of four of the symphonies—two of the most famous late works (40 and 41) and two early symphonies (Nos. 5 and 15, chosen pretty much at random)—and although these are not up-to-date, verified, Urtext scores like the ones Fischer worked from, they do include dynamics markings. And, as any number of conductors of the past have mentioned, they do not tell you what to do between the forte here and the piano four or six bars later (or vice versa). You are expected to follow your own good taste in approaching them.
Perhaps another deciding factor for me was in hearing Philippe Herreweghe’s more dynamic performances of symphonies Nos. 39 and 41 and, believe it or not, Bruno Walter’s historic performances of symphonies Nos. 39–41. Despite Walter’s slower tempos (and richer string sound), he actually elicited much more nuance and detail from those symphonies than did Jaap ter Linden, whose set I gave a good review to and suggested at the time that it was a fine historically-informed set of the Mozart symphonies. But, to be honest, what really sold me on Fischer’s approach were his performances of the early, lesser-known, oft-neglected, and unnumbered symphonies. Each and every one of them sounded as if it was just bursting with excitement, yet not too much that it overpowered the music on the printed page.
Moreover, what struck me in the single disc of symphonies 31, 33 and 34 as too fast now, suddenly, made sense in context. And, for the several Toscanini-bashers out there, I found it almost comical to note that Fischer takes the Finale of the “Jupiter” Symphony at virtually the same tempo that they consider “too fast.” The difference, of course, is that musicians of the 1940s and 50s weren’t used to playing Mozart this swiftly, and so they tended to sound pressed, whereas Fischer’s Danish National Chamber Orchestra skips through the music deftly and nimbly, like snow rabbits dashing across the landscape. It’s the comfort level of the executants that makes the difference, then, not the “wrong” tempo.
A good example of Fischer’s approach is CD 3, where he presents no less that four symphonies in a row that are all in the key of D Major (K 73l, m, n, and q). It would have been very easy for him, and the orchestra, to simply slip into an all-purpose style for these works, which of course would make them sound pretty much the same, yet he continually varies his approach from work to work. I do, however, caution the listener to approach this set one CD at a time. That is what I did, listening on consecutive nights to only one CD per evening, and it worked out pretty well. You get a better feel for the magnitude of Fischer’s achievement that way, and you are being fairer to both him and the Danish orchestra, whose players helped prod him on to take chances with the music and do things differently from the norm. After all, this was a seven-year project for them. These symphonies did not just get all rehearsed and recorded within a year or two.
I should also point out the work that went into Symphony No. 15, one of the four I obtained scores of. In the notes, Fischer asserts that if this work had not been by Mozart, who wrote so many symphonies and so many of good quality, it would probably be a much better known work, possibly a repertoire staple. Just reading the score, the music does look promising but certainly not brilliant. The first movement, for instance, is in a quick 3/4 time, featuring a jagged melody with the usual wide-ranging melodic leaps. From the first bar, the dynamics marking is forte, which changes to piano at bar 13, then back to forte at bar 22, piano again at bar 25, forte on the first beat of bar 30 with a sudden fp on the second beat (a half note played by the oboes, trumpets, and first violins, while the second violins play 16ths and the violas, cellos, and basses play eighth notes). It’s all pretty cut-and-dry, you might say, and this is how most conductors play it. Fischer adds a little burst of extra volume at the top of bar 5, when the agitated strings play against long-held notes by oboes and trumpets, and there are all sorts of little gradations of sound in various places, including slight crescendos to emphasize the musical drama. More interestingly, none of this sounds particularly fussy; if you didn’t have the score in front of you, or if you hadn’t heard any number of flat-response historically-informed performances, you’d think that this is simply the way the music goes. Toscanini once said it isn’t the f here or the p there that’s difficult to gauge, but what to do in between. Sadly, Toscanini paid little attention to most of Mozart’s symphonies because, except for the last three, he found most of them boring: “Is always beautiful, but always the same!” In Fischer’s performances, nothing is “always the same.” In the Andante of this Symphony, for instance, there are no dynamics markings at all, yet Fischer plays it at a moderate mp with further gradations down to p or pp and back again. By such means does he create and sustain interest.
The notes also explain the reason why the music sounds so vibrant and alive: His string players all use steel strings, which gives the music a consistently “edgy” quality that reveals, as Fischer put it, Mozart’s “earthily honest side.” The more you think about it, the more this makes sense, since Mozart was strongly influenced by both Haydn and C. P. E. Bach, both of whom exploited an earthy, dramatic quality in their symphonies.
Probably the most difficult aspect of the earlier symphonies to overcome was the monotony of orchestration. Clarinets, horns, and other instruments only begin to appear in Mozart’s symphonies later on; earlier, the composer had to rely on his ingenuity of counter-rhythms and occasional harmonic changes to sustain interest, and unlike Haydn, Mozart almost invariably sought the widest possible popularity for his music (perhaps one of the reasons why Toscanini found it “always the same”). Yet, as the notes also point out, in Mozart’s day no one bothered to listen to music more than three years old as a rule. It was all about what was new, not what had come before. No one gave a hoot back then about “historical performance practice” because they didn’t want it and wouldn’t have listened if you gave it to them.
I still feel that occasional movements, such as the Andantes of the “Paris” Symphony and No. 39, are a shade too fast for my taste, but in the context of Fischer’s overall musical conception what he plays works very well. I can now accept what I hear in those later symphonies because my tolerance was built up through what he did with the numerous early works. In short, I have taken this symphonic journey with Fischer, the only difference being that I did it in 12 nights rather than in seven years.
I have now replaced the Jaap ter Linden set of Mozart symphonies on my shelf with this one. I strongly urge you to give them a listen and see if you don’t agree.
FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley
Torchinsky: Orion
Rorem: Double Concerto, After Reading Shakespeare
What keeps this disc from getting the highest rating is an admittedly personal issue, one that you may not share. After Reading Shakespeare, a suite for solo cello, was also written for Sharon Robinson, and it is very sympathetically performed (listen, for example, to how vividly she characterizes "Titania and Oberon"). Nevertheless, the pairing of an orchestral piece with this most chamber-like of chamber compositions strikes me as unconvincing, coming as it does after the concerto. In his notes Rorem emphasizes the fact that the movement titles of this piece should not be taken literally, the music having preceded some of them. If so, then why use them at all? And why suggest as opening and closing movements such weighty subjects as "Lear" and "Othello and Iago"? They really beg the question of whether or not Rorem's inspiration is up to Shakespeare's, and we don't want to go there, do we? There are times when composers might do better to resist the temptation to offer verbal clues, even if they are perfectly valid ones. Still and all, the music and performances themselves are self-recommending to the composer's many admirers, and on that basis I can recommend this fine new release without further qualification.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Cilea-Longo: Chamber Music
David Wallace: Cliff Edge
Bonelli: Chamber Music
Christopher Gunning: Symphonies Nos. 8 & 9
Hear the Time
Patrick Dheur plays Patrick Dheur / Orchestre Royal de Chambre de Wallonie
The piano music of Patrick Dheur. From the very first hearing, Patrick Dheur’s music is comprehensible and reveals a personal style that attracts the attention of music lovers sensitive to the most diverse expressivities. Composed and ordered on a characteristic melodic sense, it is distinguished by forms stemming from romantic models which are linked to concrete and sometimes pictorial ideas.
The personality of the pianist is in the image of his musical writing. Free from conventions, fashions and trends, he keeps the strength of traditions to adapt to the rapid evolution of ideas and technologies and to the new proposals of modern societies. The requirement of the virtuoso’s technical mastery is inseparable from the interpreter’s responsibility to the composer. In this collection dedicated exclusively to his piano music, we feel this essential conjugation between the man, the artist, the virtuoso and the composer. The fruit of a long experience acquired through his career as a concert performer in a wide variety of repertoires, his music is today of growing interest to the public as well as to numerous soloists and orchestras who find in his style a new destination for their musical development and pleasure.
Patrick Dheur has also composed numerous chamber music works (trio, quartet, quintet, sextet), specific pieces for violin, flute, cello, viola, clarinet as well as Symphonies, Cantatas and Concertos for soloists and string orchestra which are regularly performed and recorded. His conceptions of the art of composition were the subject of a book entitled “Composing with the World. Seven notes to understand each other” which he wrote in 2019, published by Snel.
All of his compositions as well as various recordings are listed on the website http://dheur.org
Zieritz: Japanese Songs; Le Violon de la Mort etc. / Brenner, Robert-Schumann-Philharmonie
This CD - significantly only the second CD dedicated exclusively to von Zieritz - presents a longitudinal section of her oeuvre. It begins with the Japanese Songs, written in 1919, here in the version for soprano and chamber orchestra from the 1980s. The centrepiece is Le Violon de la Mort, composed in 1953 for violin and piano and arranged for violin, piano and orchestra in 1957, as well as the trumpet double concerto of 1975, the final piece and, as it were, a satyr play. Like Hans Bethge's collection Die chinesische Flöte (The Chinese Flute) from 1907, the poetic model of the Japanese Songs belongs to the context of interest in exotic art of the fin de siècle. Gustav Mahler made Bethge's poems the basis for a large symphonic work; Grete von Zieritz took the opposite approach with the Japanese Songs. These are a kaleidoscopic sequence of the briefest miniatures. It would hardly be possible to do otherwise, since the Japanese models are not song texts in the European sense, but poetically condensed sayings that defy conventional song settings. Aphoristic brevity was the order of the day.
Prokofiev: Milestones, Vol. 2
French Elegy
Zhukov: Piano Concerto "Silentium" & Violin Concerto "Angel'
Haydn Edition
Concertos of Josef Guretzky / Richter, Gaborjani, The Harmonious Society of Tickle-Fiddle Gentlemen
The Harmonious Society of Tickle-Fiddle Gentlemen takes its name from the original ensemble that gave London’s first public concerts, from 1678, and which continued to meet well into the middle of the eighteenth century. The members of the group are leading figures on the period instrument scene in the UK and Europe, offering programmes that draw on recent and original research. They have been described on BBC Radio 3 as ‘purveyors of exhilarating and uplifting music.’ The baroque ensemble here commits to record unjustly neglected concertos by Josef Guretzky, rich in Italian-influenced virtuosity and dynamism, yet highly innovative in the contrast of rhythms and forms. The album features the premiere recording of four of Guretzky’s nine cello concertos as well as Guretzky’s only surviving Violin Concerto. They are complemented by a contemporaneous keyboard fugue by another Czech master of the baroque era, Bohuslav Matej Cernohorsky.
Kakabadse: Kefi - Choral & Chamber Works
Elgar: Violin Sonata - Vaughan Williams: The Lark Ascending & Violin Sonata / Pike, Roscoe
Following the success of her last album, The Polish Violin, Jennifer Pike now turns to a programme of English music that represents an essential part of her musical make-up. It was the music of Elgar that first drew her to the violin, and The Lark Ascending has featured in her programming - in many versions – throughout her career. Here we have the original version for Violin and Piano from 1914, much less frequently played than the ‘standard’ orchestral version, but fascinating for the new light it shines on such a well-known piece. Writing it against the backdrop of the First World War, Vaughan Williams took both inspiration and the title from a poem by George Meredith. Although his first sketches for a Violin Sonata date from 1887, Elgar’s Violin Sonata is one of the four late masterpieces that Elgar composed in 1918 – 19, at Brinkwells in Sussex in his final creative flush. As with The Lark, this work was composed under the shadow of the Great War. Like Elgar, Vaughan Williams wrote his only Violin Sonata towards the end of his life. Representing a culmination of the development of his compositional style, he weaves fantasy and pastoralism into the strictures of sonata form. Jennifer Pike is joined for this album by one of her regular musical partners, the pianist Martin Roscoe.
Persichetti: String Quartets / Lydian String Quartet
PERSICHETTI String Quartets: Nos. 1–4 • Lydian Str Qrt • CENTAUR 2833 (76:44)
The creative legacy of Vincent Persichetti (1915–1987) comprises a large and extremely varied body of work, much of it still barely known to even the musically sophisticated public. Among his less frequently heard works are his four string quartets, which span the period 1939–1972. Fairly evenly spaced throughout his productive life, they represent most facets of his enormous compositional range. However, not represented by the string quartets is his most ingratiating vein: the lively, diatonic, largely consonant sub-style found in his most popular works, many of those composed during the 1950s for wind ensemble and for piano solo. The aspects of his style represented by these string quartets are found in their most austere manifestations. Therefore, though most are masterful works, not to be overlooked by anyone with a serious interest in this extremely important but currently under-rated composer, they are definitely not the music one would select as an enticement for the general listener.
The String Quartet No. 1 dates from 1939, when Persichetti was still seeking a distinctive creative voice of his own. Many of his works from this period, such as the Piano Sonata No. 2, Sonata for Violin Solo, and the Sonata for Two Pianos, are quite dissonant harmonically and attenuated tonally—especially as viewed within the context of American music at that time—but without a depth of expression commensurate with the severity of the language. For me this is not a winning combination, and I find these pieces, including the String Quartet No. 1, to be among the composer’s less successful efforts. Two of the quartet’s four relatively short movements—the two faster ones—display a mercurial energy that is somewhat engaging. But the other two movements—almost Schoenbergian in their willful angularity—offer little appeal.
The String Quartet No. 2 is probably the easiest to approach, as its materials are largely modal and diatonic, although it is not by any means a romp. Composed in 1944, it may be viewed in the context of such contemporaneous pieces as the Piano Sonata No. 3 and the Symphony No. 3. These compositions are overtly “American-sounding” in their materials, and strongly influenced by devices and principles found in the music of Roy Harris—self-directed (autogenetic) formal designs rather than classical models, and much use of parallelism (organum). In addition to its generally lighter tone, the quartet includes some curious reminiscences from Beethoven, most obviously the Grosse Fuga . (Quotations—from his own works as well as those of others—form one of many cryptic aspects of Persichetti’s creative personality.)
The 1950s were Persichetti’s most fertile decade, and the period when his own distinctive compositional voice emerged most clearly. The 40-odd pieces from this decade may be readily divided into two sub-categories: those that are highly accessible, often intended to appeal to younger musicians, and those that are quite challenging. String Quartet No. 3, composed in 1959, falls into this latter group, along with the Concerto for Piano Four Hands, Symphony No. 5, Piano Sonata No. 10, and Piano Quintet. (This Third Quartet even makes some explicit reference to the Fifth Symphony.) All five are multisectional works, each integrated into one movement based on a single theme usually introduced at the outset. These works—though often largely atonal and dense with significant substance—achieve a masterful fluidity and lucidity of contrapuntal motivic development that can capture a listener’s interest on first hearing, and sustain it through deeper study and analysis. In fact, these five works are arguably Persichetti’s greatest compositions, although among them, the Quartet No. 3 is probably the most austere and difficult to penetrate, owing to its 12-tone theme, its often-glassy sonorities, and the abstraction of the medium. But it is a brilliant work—one that rewards attentive and repeated listening; it is probably my own favorite among Persichetti’s string quartets.
The Quartet No. 4 dates from 1972, when Persichetti was seeking to embrace a number of the newer compositional devices appearing in the works of younger composers, and integrate them into his vast musical language. These pieces elevate such elements as gesture and texture to the status of musical ideas, subject to their own intensive development, while avoiding discernible tonality except in the most isolated—although often quite structurally significant—moments. This was also a time when Persichetti was preoccupied with his series of Parables , 25 pieces that he defined enigmatically as “non-programmatic musical essays about a single germinal idea. They convey a meaning indirectly by the use of comparison or analogies.” Most of the Parables are short studies written for monophonic instruments, but some are larger works for fuller forces. And some of these bear other designations, their inclusion among the Parables indicated by subtitle. For example, Persichetti’s sole opera, The Sibyl , is subtitled, “Parable XX.” Similarly, the String Quartet No. 4, completed the same year as the frequently played Parable IX for band, is subtitled, “Parable X.” In a sense, this work is a conceptual expansion of the previous quartet, relying less completely on linear contrapuntal development, while embracing texture and gesture as primary elements, as noted above, often exhibiting contrapuntal relationships of their own. Though its rarefied, ethereal sonorities, fragmentary textures, and lack of perceptible tonality may seem somewhat forbidding upon initial acquaintance, Persichetti usually maintains a discernible metrical pulse that functions as an internal anchor, while the ongoing developmental processes remain lucid and coherent.
To its credit, Centaur does not bill this new release as “First Recordings.” Presumably, it is aware that 30 years ago Persichetti’s four string quartets were issued on a two-LP set that featured the New Art String Quartet, then in residence at Arizona State University. This was a beautifully performed and handsomely packaged and annotated set, produced by composer David Cohen (who had been a student of Persichetti) and was available only from Arizona State directly. Unfortunately, that set probably found its way into only a handful of collections—I’ve never met anyone who even knew of it! I’ve often thought that those recordings ought to be reissued on CD, what with the broader means of dissemination available today via the Internet. Perhaps this new Centaur release preempts the need for such a reissue. There is no question but that the Lydian String Quartet plays with considerably more polish, precision, and confidence, and the quality of recording is significantly superior as well. However, in an ideal world, I’d still like to see the Arizona set reissued, simply as another—and quite respectable—take on the music. Perhaps of lesser importance to most listeners, Cohen’s program notes were more astute than are those by the Lydian’s first-violinist Daniel Stepner; and there is an excellent photo of the composer gracing the Arizona jacket, while Centaur offers no photo of Persichetti.
FANFARE: Walter Simmons