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SaleMayr: Gioas Oratorio / Hauk, Lauren-Brown, Sellier, Frey, Burkhart
Naxos · Sep 2012CD$29.99$14.99 -
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SaleShostakovich: Cello Concerto No. 1, Op. 107 - Britten: Cello
Haenssler Classic · Jan 2012CD$20.99$10.49 -
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Bull: Violin Concertos / Folleso, Ruud, Norwegian Radio Orchestra [Hybrd SACD + Blu-ray Audio]
2L · Apr 2010Blu-Ray with SACD$44.99 -
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Musgrave: Concerto For Orchestra, Clarinet Concerto, Etc / De Peyer, Tuckwell
Lyrita · Jun 2007CD$20.99 -
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Clytus Gottwald: Alma & Gustav Mahler Transcriptionen Fur Chor A Cappella
Carus · Jan 2013CD$20.99 -
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SaleMusic for Organ & Orchestra / Mazzoletti, Carmona, Helvetica Orchestra
Brilliant Classics · Jul 2023CD$16.99$8.49 -
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Beyond - Music by American & Icelandic Composers / Los Angeles Percussion Quartet
Sono Luminus · Jun 2017CD + Blu-Ray$23.99 -
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SaleBeethoven, R. Schumann, Saint-Saëns: Symphonies for Piano Duo vol. 2 / Uys & Schoeman
SOMM Recordings · Apr 2022CD$20.99$15.99 -
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Bruno Walter Conducts Mahler Symphonies 1 & 2 - 1942 Live Performances
Music and Arts Programs of America · Aug 2012CD$32.99 -
Reicha: Quintets for Winds & String Quartet / Consortium Classicum, Gulke, Wuppertal Symphony
MDG · Sep 2020CD$65.99
Gouvy: Oedipe a Colone
GOUVY Oedipe à Colone • Joachim Fontaine, cond; Christa Ratzenböck ( Antigone ); Joseph Cornwell ( Polynice ); Stephen Roberts ( Thésée ); Vinzenz Haab ( Oedipe ); Kantorei Saarlouis; La Grande Société PO • CPO 7778252 (2 CDs: 93:05 Text and Translation)
Back in 34:3 I reviewed a premiere recording of Louis Théodore Gouvy’s secular oratorio Iphigénie en Tauride , conducted by Joachim Fontaine. While admiring the composer’s “usual fastidious craftsmanship and superior technical command of orchestration and of vocal and instrumental part-writing,” I expressed reservations about “a lack of dramatic contrast and real passion” and added: “The music is too cultivated for its often harrowing subject....Instead, one elegant and decorous set piece follows another, all inhabiting a temperate emotional climate zone that fails either to inflame or chill. There is also a certain stasis and lack of flow from one number to the next.” Having had a similar reaction to another one of the composer’s oratorios, Électre , I speculated that “Gouvy may deliberately have been cultivating a degree of emotional restraint in these works in order to convey a stylized sense of classical antiquity that would have fit 19th-century sensibilities.”
Fontaine now leads the same choral and instrumental forces, though with mostly different vocal soloists, in the premiere recording of yet another oratorio by Gouvy on a mythic Greek subject, Oedipe à Colone . What a difference from Iphigénie ! Here there is no such emotional restraint or stasis; the beautiful and inventive music positively surges with genuine dramatic contrast and intense passion. While still remaining mostly within the melodic and harmonic bounds cultivated by Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Max Bruch, the richness of orchestration reflects Gouvy’s expressed admiration for the masterful orchestration (though not the vocal writing) of Wagner. This is by far the finest oratorio I have heard (and I’ve listened to a fair number) from the half-century interval between Mendelssohn’s Elijah and Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius . At its premiere in Leipzig on December 6, 1881, it enjoyed a tremendous success—indeed, to such a degree that Gouvy told his sister that it was the happiest day of his entire life. While it received further performances during his lifetime, upon his death it immediately fell into the same neglect that all his works have, until recently, so unjustly suffered.
The libretto of Oedipe has a somewhat complex lineage. As with Iphigénie , Gouvy once again did not write or commission an original libretto, but instead borrowed and adapted an existing one penned by the 18th-century librettist Nicolas-François Guillard (1752–1814). In this case, the original tragedy of Sophocles was first adapted by the great 17th-century tragedian Pierre Corneille (1606–1684). Guillard then turned it into a libretto for a tragédie lyrique by the composer Antonio Sacchini (1730–1786), premiered in 1785 at the royal court in Versailles.
The action of the plot, divided in the oratorio into three parts, is subsequent to that of the better-known Oedipus Rex . Oedipe (the French name for Oedipus), having blinded himself after learning that he had unwittingly fulfilled the prophecy that he would kill his father and marry his mother, was exiled from Thebes with the consent of his sons Etéocle (Eteokles) and Polynice (Polyneikis), to wander as an exile with his daughter Antigone as his guide. In Part 1, the citizens of Colonus offer sacrifices to Poseidon in thanksgiving for the safe return of their king, Thésée (Theseus), who brings with him Polynice. The latter, having lost out in a power struggle with Etéocle for the throne of Thebes and being now also an exile, is filled with shame and remorse for having spurned his father. He has gathered a band of armed supporters and hopes to launch an attack to regain the Theban throne. The two men kneel before the altar to discern the will of the gods and implore their favor, but are answered first by ominous silence and then by a thunderstorm that extinguishes the altar’s sacred flame and terrifies the people.
In Part 2, Oedipe and Antigone approach Colonus, which the gods have prophesied is where the blind refugee shall at last find rest. Oedipe longs for death, while Antigone pleads for him to live. The exiled king experiences a terrifying vision of being pursued by the Eumenides, and curses Polynice for betraying him, before Antigone brings him back to his senses. The two of them unknowingly trespass on the sacred precincts of the temple; Thésée confronts and denounces them for sacrilege. Antigone begs for mercy and reveals the identities of herself and her father. The people react with horror and demand that the accursed pair be driven away, but Thésée angrily opposes the mob and, taking pity on the duo instead, offers them refuge.
In Part 3, Antigone and Polynice are reunited. Antigone brings her brother to their father so that Polynice can confess his guilt to Oedipe, beg forgiveness, and seek support for his scheme to dethrone Etéocle, offering to restore his father to the throne instead by way of atonement. Oedipe, however, rejects him and curses both of his sons, whereupon Polynice flees in horror. Oedipe then declares to all that the hour of his death has come, as he will descend to a secret burial place at the banks of the river Acheron. Antigone begs to be allowed to join him, but is commanded to live instead. Thésée leads Oedipe away as the people implore the mercy of the gods for the exile’s final moments.
In reviewing Iphigénie , while I was a bit cool toward the work itself, I thought it received a fine performance from a very good, though not great, quartet of soloists. Here, to my considerable frustration, the situation is reversed: I am unabashedly enthusiastic for the music, but have reservations about the solo quartet. Easily its best member is the one holdover from the recording of Iphigénie , Vinzenz Haab, whose soft-grained, mellow bass-baritone makes a most sympathetic figure of Oedipe, even if it lacks the granitic timbre needed to make the most of the passages of imprecation. While all of the other singers are sensitive interpreters who capture all the varied dimensions of their roles, they all have problems with control of vocal production. Baritone Stephen Roberts as Thésée has a persistent unevenness to his vibrato that verges on a full-scale wobble; tenor Joseph Cornwall as Polynice has an attractive voice that repeatedly becomes unsteady when he attempts to push and swell a note for intensified expression; soprano Christa Ratzenböck lacks vocal sheen and turns both harsh and squally to some degree in her upper register. None of them is so defective as to be unlistenable, but compared to their predecessors in the recording of Iphigénie they are collectively a disappointing step downward. By way of compensation conductor Joachim Fontaine, who I previously said “has a conscientious command of the score, though I can imagine podium maestros who would give the work considerably more punch,” here delivers a first-rate interpretation that combines and balances elegant lyricism and dramatic urgency in equal measure. As before the orchestra and chorus are excellent, and CPO once again provides its trademark excellent recorded sound, detailed booklet notes, and a trilingual French-English-German libretto. Despite my reservations about some of the soloists, this recording is enthusiastically recommended, especially as another version is unlikely to appear any time soon.
FANFARE: James A. Altena
Michael Finnissy: Piano Works
THIS WAS THEN
Brahms & Joachim: Violin Concertos / Rachel Barton Pine
REVIEW:
This is not only one of the best sounding violin and orchestra recordings ever made, but the entire concept is so smart, so well executed, and so thoughtfully planned that even if it were not so musically stupendous it still would be worthy of your attention. As it is, this is one of those rare productions in which absolutely everything goes right. Consider, for example, the problems attendant upon releasing yet another recording of the Brahms Concerto. You have a small independent label with excellent musical credentials but limited resources, a soloist of great musical gifts (Rachel Barton's previous discs have all been top-notch) but who isn't a "big name", and a work that virtually every other violinist with access to a microphone has recorded, sometimes more than once. Given the fact that on musical evidence Barton's Brahms certainly deserves to be heard, what's a label to do?
First, secure the services of a world-class orchestra under a fine conductor (Carlos Kalmar, music director of the Oregon Symphony and Chicago's Grant Park Festival, fills that bill nicely). Amazing, isn't it, that when major labels are screaming about how they can't afford to record major American orchestras Cedille has found the resources to do just that? Second, instead of simply offering the Brahms, you find an interesting coupling. And let's not kid ourselves: Joseph Joachim's Hungarian Concerto isn't just an "interesting coupling"; it is the Holy Grail of Romantic violin concertos, a work so lengthy (47-plus minutes, about the same as the Elgar concerto), so difficult, yet so deliberately symphonic and, in a sense, anti-virtuoso in conception that it has never once received even a merely adequate recording. Take that coupling, play it to a fare-thee-well (demonstrating once and for all that the work is indeed a brilliant and neglected masterpiece), and then toss in an equally fine Brahms Concerto, all offered at a two-for-one price. If that isn't a recipe for success, then nothing is.
Indeed, Joachim's youthful Hungarian Concerto is so beautiful and full of life, its Gypsy-tinged melodies so entrancing, that only its inordinate difficulty accounts for its rarity. In concert it would be a show-stopper, and Rachel Barton has its full measure. The heavily symphonic first movement requires the soloist to engage in genuine chamber-music dialog with the orchestra, especially the principal winds. Joachim's orchestration must stand with the finest ever achieved in a concerto; there are no dead spots and no balance problems as long as the soloist has the taste and musicianship to know when to cede the spotlight and when to take command.
Take the remarkable cadenza as a typical example: there's no barnstorming sawing and scraping, but instead a densely flowing river of lyricism joined now and then by solo flute and oboe. It's one of the most purely gorgeous passages ever written for the violin, and Barton plays it for all it's worth (and finishes up with some devastating descending chromatic octaves that actually sound like musical notes and not a rusty hinge).
The slow movement features another very attractive principal theme, and when it returns at the movement's conclusion in the cellos, decorated by garlands of ornamentation from the soloist, the result sounds like some lost work of Dvorák at his most melodically characterful. Barton's electrifying attack on the finale, a dazzling "Rondo from hell" with a whiplash perpetual motion principal subject, sets the seal on this remarkable performance. Her double-stops (and there are tons of them: check out from 2:30 into the movement) are as sweetly tuned and richly voiced as her legato is smooth and her sense of rhythm acute. Even after this long work I wouldn't be surprised if you went right back and played the finale over again. It's that much fun.
The word that most succinctly sums up Barton's Brahms is "aristocratic". Among recent recordings, she plays Milstein to Hilary Hahn's Heifetz. The timings are identical to Perlman and Giulini's celebrated performance with this same orchestra, but for my money Barton achieves an even finer balance between poise and virtuosity (and shows far greater dynamic sensitivity, especially in the finale). With opening-movement tempos relaxed but never slack, Barton's warm, round sound allows her to really dig into the music where necessary (witness that famous fanfare-like motive, or Joachim's first-movement cadenza)--but she never emits a raw or unlovely note. The second movement, with a gorgeous oboe solo at the start, is just heavenly, and the finale reveals plenty of high-spirited energy but also numerous delightfully phrased touches in its various episodes. At the very end Barton and conductor Kalmar produce a wind-down coda simply perfect in its timing and wit. She even includes her own eminently musical and enjoyable cadenza on a separate track. Simply jump ahead when the orchestra stops (the balance of the coda is also included, so you don't have to skip backward to get the ending).
As noted above, the sonics are sensational. The opening of the Brahms, with dark-hued strings answered by the winds like a gleam of sun breaking through the clouds, will take your breath away. Although Barton deserves much of the credit for emitting such attractive sounds, it certainly helps that Cedille's engineers capture her shining tone with nary a trace of shrillness, even in the highest positions. Barton herself writes an excellent set of notes (surely indebted to Tovey in discussing the Joachim, but none the worse for that), and to put the icing on the cake she plays a 1742 Guarneri "del Gesu" violin, the "ex-Soldat", selected by Brahms himself for his friend and colleague, violin virtuoso Marie Soldat. Recordings don't get any better than this. Rachel Barton, conductor Carlos Kalmar, and Cedille deserve your enthusiastic support for putting this project together and executing it with such perfectionist zeal and consummate musicianship. There's also a lesson here that the whole industry should take to heart: Where there's a will, there's a way, and it's OK to make fewer recordings, especially if you make great ones. Astounding!
--David Hurwitz
Mayr: Gioas Oratorio / Hauk, Lauren-Brown, Sellier, Frey, Burkhart
MAYR Gioas • Franz Hauk, cond; Andrea Lauren Brown (sop); Robert Sellier (ten); Cornel Frey (ten); Andreas Burkhart (bs); Bavarian St Op Ch; Simon Mayr Ch & Ens • NAXOS 8.572710-11 (2 CDs: 111:22)
Only two issues ago (36:2), I had my first taste of music by Simon Mayr, on a Naxos CD featuring three of the composer’s concertos led, as here, by Franz Hauk, who seems to be somewhat of a Mayr specialist. In that review, I was forced to admit that I was not previously familiar with Mayr, most likely because his main area of endeavor was opera, a field in which I claim no particular expertise. The review concluded by wondering if, as mainly a composer of opera, Mayr was best represented by a disc of his concertos, and with a promise to get back to the reader with an answer once I gained more familiarity with his work.
The wait wasn’t a long one. Here we have Mayr’s Gioas (Joash, King of Judea), designated a “parody oratorio,” so-called because it draws upon Mayr’s opera, I misteri eleusini for its material. I gather that the work bears certain similarities to the composer’s David in the Cave of Engedi , reviewed by Patrick Rucker in 32:4, and Samuele , both previously recorded for Naxos by Hauk. A parody oratorio, as I understand it, involves the practice of adapting popular operatic works to religious texts so they could be performed during Holy Week while his Holiness looked the other way.
Gioas dates from 1823 and is set to a libretto by an unknown author (or one who preferred to remain anonymous) that tells a story of internecine blood-letting over rights to the throne, treachery, and retribution, all of which through self-sacrifice and appeasement of various gods, goddesses, and priests—that’s the religious aspect—culminates in a happy ending. The work is appropriately referred to in the program note as “pseudo-sacred,” or, to call it what it is, a barely disguised excuse to present an unstaged opera in the guise of an oratorio. Mayr was not alone in fashioning such Church-sanctioned entertainments. The tradition persisted, mainly in Italy, through much of the 19th century, with Emilio Cianchi’s Giudetta , composed in 1854, being performed as late as 1912. Knowing this, it’s a bit difficult to follow the intrigues of the plot and to listen to the impassioned arias, the pattering recitatives, and the solemn and celebratory choruses without a smile and a smirk. No matter how much holy water you sprinkle on it, the opera that’s inside this oratorio won’t be exorcised. Considering that Gioas was written in the same year as Rossini’s Semiramide , Mayr’s work sounds rather dated for its time. But having been born in 1763, Mayr was almost 30 years Rossini’s senior. So, perhaps it’s not surprising that Mayr’s style should more closely resemble Mozart’s than it does Rossini’s.
The music is delightful, often touching, and artfully crafted for the voice. It’s no wonder that Mayr was so celebrated for his operas. The four soloists are all very convincing in their roles and well matched vocally. Add to that enlivened playing from Hauk’s instrumental forces, and you have a winning performance. Unfortunately, Naxos has not provided a text or translation, but the album note gives a pretty good synopsis of the mishmash that calls itself a plot. If you can pretend while listening to Mayr’s Gioas that it’s not just an opera masquerading as a sacred oratorio, you will find much in the work and in this recording of it to enjoy.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
Shostakovich: Cello Concerto No. 1, Op. 107 - Britten: Cello
MORRICONE CONDUCTS MORRICONE
Bull: Violin Concertos / Folleso, Ruud, Norwegian Radio Orchestra [Hybrd SACD + Blu-ray Audio]
BULL Sæterjentens Søndag . Violin Concerto in A. Concerto Fantastico in e. I Ensomme Stunde. La Verbena de San Juan. Et Sæterbesøg • Annar Follesø (vn); Ole Kristian Ruud, cond; Norwegian RO • 2L 67 (Blu-ray audio: 69:21)
& SACD
Tall, preternaturally handsome Ole Bull captured the fancy of concertgoers in Europe, and in the United States as well. In fact, at a time when classical artists like Henri Vieuxtemps had trouble making inroads in the American hinterland (supposedly after an initially disappointing reception, he composed his first set of variations on Yankee Doodle ), Bull made immediate connections with his program of atmospheric, sentimental, and technically dazzling pieces that he had composed himself—and always with his audiences in mind. Nevertheless, as had Paganini, whom he idolized, before him, he proved himself able to win the admiration of first-rank composers. The opening work on this program, Sæterjentens Søndag (The Herd Girl’s Sunday Morning), represents just such a simple song, one that must (and seems calculated to) have drawn an admiring tear from his listeners. Annar Follesø gives an appropriately sensitive and atmospheric account of it (with the accompaniment arranged for orchestra by Johan Svendsen), along with Ole Kristian Ruud and the Norwegian Radio Orchestra. The two concertos, recently discovered, represent the more virtuosic side of Bull’s personality. The first, in A Major, opens with a long and symphonically conceived tutti, with some of the quieter passages sensitively orchestrated. The soloist enters with a showy cadenza that must have been in part just what Bull’s audiences wanted—and even expected. The writing for violin sounds like a (derivative?) mix of Paganini’s pyrotechnical wizardry and De Bériot’s suave tunefulness. Still, many listeners may doubt that Bull has integrated his thematic materials as successfully (or at least consistently) into the passagework as did his contemporaries the Henris (Vieuxtemps and Wieniawski). But Follesø displays the natural virtuosic flair to play some of these seemingly aimless passages without retaining his tongue in his cheek, as well as an affinity for the concerto’s genial ethnic harmonic and melodic atmosphere. The brief slow movement also opens with an extended orchestral passage; but the soloist claims the limelight upon his entry in an affecting passage on the G string. The Rondo pastorale that brings the concerto to a close features thematic fireworks in double-stops, and while some of the later material grows almost maudlin, Bull always manages to hold his listeners’ interest.
The nominally programmatic Concerto fantastico (with movements representing night, dawn, and day) also begins with a long tutti and features even more flamboyant passagework, which Follesø plays with aplomb. As in Bull’s Concerto in A Major, the streamers seem to be stretched pretty thinly over their underlying framework. Once again, though, Follesø (and Ruud and the orchestra) play their roles without sounding smugly superior to the program. The slow movement, built on a simple, heartfelt tune, sounds affecting in the same way as did the other concerto’s corresponding movement. The finale, a short but intoxicating romp with lyrical pauses for breath, seems even more shrewdly calculated for effect than does the other concerto’s finale. Once again, Follesø provides a rollicking, technically dazzling account. I Ensomme Stunde (La Melancolie), here arranged by Johan Halvorsen and Wolfgang Plagge, offers Grieg-like fare like that in Sæterjentens Søndag . The more extended fantasy, La Verbena de San Juan , however, with its percussion-rich orchestration, sounds like a sort of Norwegian counterpart to Sarasate’s ethnic concoctions, although it seems to go a step further in local color. According to the notes, Bull wrote it for Queen Isabella of Spain upon the occasion of a tour in 1846. The queen, again according to the notes, enjoyed Bull’s music—and perhaps other attentions. According to the notes, Bull incorporated Sebastian Yradier’s Jota Aragonesa out of gratitude to that composer; audiences should recognize it. They should also recognize Sarasate’s whistling harmonics (also familiar from Paganini). And Bull, as did Sarasate, incorporated left-hand pizzicatos liberally in his works. Follesø is equal to the challenges both these techniques pose.
Et Sæterbesøg includes references to folk fiddling with drones that I’ve always associated with the Hardanger fiddle or at least its style. The notes relate that, coupled with the words to Sæterjentens Søndag, it’s become a part of Norway’s cultural heritage. For those inclined, as many have been, to dismiss Bull as a sort of musical charlatan, the lyrical outpouring in the song’s middle should invite at least a second look. Arve Tellefsen played a program of Bull’s music for violin and orchestra with Andrew Karsten and the Bergen Symphony Orchestra in 1988 (Norsk Kulturraå ds Klassikerserie 50008), including two works on Follesø’s, Et Sæterbesøg, I Ensomme Stunde , and the Adagio sostenuto from the Concerto fantastico . Tellefsen’s version of Et Sæterbesøg takes advantage of bells to enhance the mountain atmosphere, and his “Hardanger” sounds twangier, even if he doesn’t draw as deeply affecting a cantabile from its lyrical passages (or those of I Ensomme Stunde— though Tellefsen’s version of the concerto’s slow movement throbs with a warmer expressivity despite his edgier tone production).
The Blu-ray version (audio only), to which I listened (although I used the CD version of Follesø’s program in making the comparison with Tellefsen’s program), provides extraordinarily sharp definition, hardly losing clarity in the midst of a somewhat reverberant setting. Whether or not this medium will offer relief to listeners fatigued by the roughness of even the best CDs, in particular in recordings of violin tone, it represents an improvement over CDs, as did DVD-Audio, among formats dependent on high-storage media (the sound: 24 bit and at least 192 kHz, with a choice of 5.1 DTS HD, 7.1 DTS HD, or 2.0 LPCM). Notes in the highest registers hiss and spit, yet with a relaxing smoothness and stimulating three-dimensional (a metaphor only) projection. The entire program, in this rich smorgasbord of formats, should appeal to lovers of the violin and perhaps to general listeners as well. As did Paganini and figures like Sinatra and Presley, Ole Bull represented a cultural phenomenon that should interest at least historians. His success in his own time demonstrates that, at least to the extent that his effect didn’t depend on his personality, genuine musicality underlay his work. It’s apparent in this collection. Recommended on that account, as well.
FANFARE: Robert Maxham
Musgrave: Concerto For Orchestra, Clarinet Concerto, Etc / De Peyer, Tuckwell
Born in Scotland but now resident in the United States, Musgrave’s career and output have always matched breadth with a rather single-minded determination to work as she has wanted to, and not as fad or fashion might have suggested. An example would be her adherence to the dramatic qualities of her music in their conscious rejection of tonality while at the same time avoiding the formality of serialism. Thus the concerto as a genre proved a suitable vehicle for the resultant exploration of structure with gusto. Particularly since, for Musgrave, her music’s performers are more actors than conveyors of a pre-existing score. That’s very evident in the orchestral pieces here.
The Concerto for Orchestra is a work full of tension, tonal and temporal. Indeed, it explores the notion of instruments ‘in revolt’ against the conductor. There is a certain liberality of interpretation (freedom to repeat, with rubato) which is designed to strain the very fabric of the music. For this to be effective the playing has to be impeccable; every note has to be heard; every attack and decay controlled; every timbre distinct. And so it is on this landmark recording by another provincial orchestra (the Scottish National Orchestra) than that to which the work was dedicated (the CBSO). The playing is crisp, vibrant, rounded, tuneful; yet it fully conveys the apparent waywardness of line which is in fact the very essence of the concerto. The supremacy of the clarinet before, throughout and after the stunning tutti and crescendi is key to the work and emerges with great effect here. Exemplary.
Musgrave’s Clarinet Concerto has the distinction of requiring the soloist to promenade through the orchestra. It’s a logical progression after the Concerto for Orchestra - again exploring aural space. Musgrave was (and has remained) fascinated by the way sounds group in space as well as time and ways in which (orchestral) soloists can wrest the lead from the conventional director of events, the conductor. Once again there are extremes of volume and texture. Once again, the forces of - this time - the LSO are more than up to the task, playing with a certainty and conviction that carry the work as far, surely, as Musgrave intended it to go: these were the days before sounds were savoured exclusively for their own sake with emphasis on massed percussion or aleatoric devices. Notable (as was the case with the Concerto for Orchestra) is a major part for harp; there is also a prominent accordion part.
The Horn Concerto also builds upon Musgrave’s concept of ‘Space music’: in this piece members of the horn section themselves move around the hall. There are also ‘prepared’ instruments – a piano with screws, a book and a metal bar; and a harp with paper threaded through some of its strings. This is not a frenetic or self-conscious work; rather a virtuosic and lyrical concerto, although the extent to which the leading role of the horn soloist is established yet undermined confers an iconoclastic quality on the piece. As de Peyer’s in the Clarinet Concerto, Tuckwell’s (the work’s dedicatee) articulation and phrasing in this concerto are outstanding.
Monologue is the earliest (and shortest) piece on this disc; it does experiment with serialism. Again, this is a piece of contrasts and music distinguished by Musgrave’s characteristic ‘tumultuoso’ marking, it still lives in the world of contrasts and the sort of subdued rhetoric which was to interest Musgrave later on in her career when composing vocal and operatic works. Again, beautifully played by Musgrave herself.
Excursions is interesting in that it was written for four hands on one piano also as a teaching piece: one ‘easy part’ for pupils to play with their teachers literally close at hand. In the first four of the eight pieces the easy part is the lower one; in the second four the top one. Miniatures they are – but with a substantial impact. Although they do have descriptive (of car journey) titles, these are only printed in small type at the end of each piece. Inasmuch as the material in Excursions is intended to emphasise learning, composer clearly has much respect for pupil. She is joined by Malcolm Williamson.
This is a disc whose primary interest will certainly be historic: it makes available again music that made waves in the early 70s, but music that has clung to a place in the repertoire – and justly so. Played with conviction and delight by the Scottish National and London Symphony orchestras under Gibson, Del Mar and Musgrave herself, it rightly acts as testament to just how significant and appealing her works were then. Perhaps it will revive interest in them now.
-- Mark Sealey, MusicWeb International
Clytus Gottwald: Alma & Gustav Mahler Transcriptionen Fur Chor A Cappella
MAHLER (transcr. Gottwald) Erinnerung. Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen. Um Mitternacht. Die zwei blauen Augen. Urlicht. Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen. Scheiden und Meiden. Es sungen drei Engel. Im Abendrot. A. MAHLER (transcr. Gottwald) Drei frühe Lieder • Marcus Creed, cond; SWR Vocal Ens Stuttgart • CARUS 83.370 (63:41 Text and Translation)
Once upon a time (1960, to be exact), choral conductor Clytus Gottwald created the Schola Cantorum Stuttgart, a chamber choir whose specialty was music by that era’s most avant-garde composers . . . Ligeti, Ferneyhough, Penderecki, and so on. This ensemble attracted the attention of Pierre Boulez, and it was Boulez who inspired Gottwald to transcribe Ravel’s song Soupir for the ensemble. The results were so effective that Gottwald continued transcribing other works for his ensemble, including music—some of it not even vocal—by Gustav Mahler and his wife Alma. Those transcriptions have outlasted Schola Cantorum Stuttgart. The ensemble disbanded in 1990, but within the past few years, several of Gottwald’s transcriptions have been recorded by the French ensemble Accentus (for the Naïve label), and English conductor Marcus Creed has taken them up for Carus with one of his ensembles, the SWR Vokalensemble Stuttgart. (It doesn’t hurt that the printing arm of Carus publishes three of these selections.) Almost none of them have been recorded before, the exceptions being Die zwei blauen Augen, Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen , and Scheiden und Meiden. Im Abendrot is a transcription of the Adagietto from Mahler’s Symphony No. 5. Accentus has recorded a different transcription, believe it or not, of that same music, prepared by Gérard Pesson. Gottwald’s transcription uses the same Eichendorff text that Strauss used in his Four Last Songs.
This disc reveals the SWR Vokalensemble Stuttgart to be spiritual descendents of Gottwald’s ensemble. In the 1970s, there was no practical reason why Mahler’s music needed to be treated this way. It is my impression that Gottwald did it because it presented him with an interesting intellectual puzzle, and as a challenge for Schola Cantorum Stuttgart. These “auxiliary” transcriptions (to use Gottwald’s word, from the interview printed in Carus’s booklet) present the music in a striking and different light, and help to make Mahler’s music a little strange again, which is not a bad thing in a world in which we risk being overexposed to Mahler. (Imagine saying that 60 years ago!) These transcriptions are not likely to appear on the next program of your local amateur choir. They are, in fact, intimidatingly complex and difficult. For example, the transcriptions of Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen and Im Abendrot require a 16-part ensemble. Overall, these transcriptions are punishing exercises in breath and pitch control, in the modulation and matching of vocal colors, and in the precise blending of sound. What is needed, really, is a team of vocal gymnasts who can approach the music as if with one mind.
Fortunately, it is unlikely that any performers will stumble blindly into this repertoire, and the recorded performances I’ve heard are uniformly excellent, but not identical. One can hear Gottwald’s Schola Cantorum Stuttgart perform Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen in a giant doorstop of a CD set (no longer in print) from Cadenza/Bayer. Gottwald is significantly faster than Creed, to good effect, and solo voices come out of the texture more prominently than they do for Creed. Gottwald’s ensemble is more closely microphoned, and the effect is almost claustrophobic. Creed’s ensemble, while a bit more impersonal, may come a hair closer to technical perfection. Accentus (directed by Laurence Equilbey) adopts almost exactly the same tempo as Gottwald, but the ensemble’s sound is less warm than either Gottwald’s or Creed’s. Given the song’s text, I find Accentus too edgy, but still mightily impressive.
The only caveat I have about the present disc—also about the other two I’ve mentioned—is that these transcriptions are so intense that emotional and intellectual fatigue is a risk for listeners. Several tracks into Creed’s disc I asked myself, “Why are they singing so loudly?,” but then I realized it wasn’t the volume as much it was the laser-like concentration of the transcriptions and the performances. Beautiful stuff, this, but it is far from relaxing!
FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle
American Classics - Converse: The Mystic Trumpeter, Etc

Here's a trivia question for you: What musical work begins with an evocation of sunrise over Detroit? Answer: Frederick Shepherd Converse's Flivver Ten Million, a humorous answer to Honegger's Pacific 231 as portrayed through the adventures of a Ford automobile. After the dawn sequence, the factory gets to work and out comes our hero, the ten millionth Ford, and he sets out on his journeys. There's a sexy love scene (making out with a Chevy?) and a wild joy ride that culminates in a collision, and after a moment of introspection (and, we suspect, some time in the repair shop) Flivver takes off again, good as new. Along the way, Converse calls on a host of special effects: taxi horns, anvils, wind machine, ratchets. It's all over in 12 riotous minutes and JoAnn Falletta leads a clearly energized Buffalo Philharmonic in a knockout performance that alone is worth the price of the disc.
This isn't the time or place to go into the question of how "great" a composer Converse was, but there's no question that he had tremendous talent and a great gift for orchestral narrative. The Mystic Trumpeter (of Whitman fame) takes a few minutes to get going, but once it does, watch out! The battle music gives Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet a good run for its money. And speaking of Tchaikovsky, check out the last few minutes of Endymion's Narrative, where Converse screws up the tension of his lyrical, principal theme in a manner that the great Russian would have been proud to call his own. Okay, so this may not be the most original or thought-provoking music in the world, but who in his right mind would sneer at a few more Tchaikovsky-style tone poems that are just about as good as the originals? And make no mistake; Converse's musical style did evolve over time. Flivver Ten Million, composed in 1927, shows significant advances in harmony, rhythm, and orchestration (albeit in a humorous vein) when compared to the other two works, both of which date from the first decade of the 20th century.
Throughout these works, Converse demonstrates an impressive command of the long melodic line, a keen dramatic sense, and a sure feeling for form. Better still, Falletta and the orchestra play marvelously, holding absolutely nothing back and taking those very fully scored climaxes from one peak of excitement to the next. And yet there's sensitivity aplenty, whether in the delicate harp-accompanied interludes in Endymion's Narrative or the gentle trumpet fanfares that open The Mystic Trumpeter. I can hardly imagine these pieces better played or conducted, and Naxos has contrived to produce a bold, vivid recording with terrific top-to-bottom transparency of texture and an aptly vast dynamic range. Certainly, this stands among the finest entries in Naxos' American music series to date, and markedly improves on the only available competition: the Louisville Orchestra's decent but less-than-spectacular versions of Endymion and Flivver. Let's hope Naxos pauses for a moment before moving on, to further mine this particularly fruitful lode. Remember, Converse also wrote five symphonies... [8/10/2002]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Music for Organ & Orchestra / Mazzoletti, Carmona, Helvetica Orchestra
When we think of a concerto for solo instrument and orchestra, the organ is certainly not the first instrument that comes to mind. And yet, the symphonic organ is perfectly adapted to the role of soloist, being capable of duelling as well as duetting with the orchestra. The Concerto for organ, strings, horns and timpani Op. 100 by Marco Enrico Bossi, for example, is one of the most important and successful pieces in the entire repertoire, and yet it does not enjoy the recognition it deserves among the wider public. Structured in three movements of genuine expressive power, this is music that is both majestic and intimate, able to touch the hearts of listeners and performers alike – a work on which this great composer really lavished his extraordinary creativity.
Hymne by Joseph Jongen is a real rarity. The organ has less of a ‘solo’ role than in the Bossi and Poulenc works; rather, it blends into the warm textures of the orchestra as an integral part of the sonic conversational flow so typical of Jongen’s impressionist idiom. Here too, the composition of the Gland organ and its eminently full, warm and poetic sound are an ideal showcase for the mysterious atmosphere of this work.
Unlike the Bossi and Jongen works, the Concerto for organ, strings and timpani by Francis Poulenc is very well known indeed. Uncharacteristically written in a single movement divided into seven sections, this concerto is surely one of the best-known organ works of the 20th century. In certain sections the sonorous, weighty and deliberately strident organ writing is juxtaposed alongside orchestral textures that are extremely graceful and poetic, almost like a rough country giant trying to attract the attentions of a refined princess. At other moments, the organ imposes itself upon the orchestra, only to come together with it at other times, before proceeding to turn everything upside down once again.
The Many Pupils of Antonin Dvorak
MORRICONE SEGRETO SONGBOOK (1962-1973)
Prokofiev: Piano Sonatas Nos.4, 7 & 9 / Melnikov
With this new volume, Alexandre Melnikov has chosen to delve into three distinct periods of the composer’s career, ranging from the dazzling though seldom-heard No. 4 to the magisterial No. 9.
In between those two, the sonata no. 7 once again evokes the troubled atmosphere characteristic of the three so-called ‘war sonatas’. Sviatoslav Richter claimed to have learned the piece in a mere four days.
-----
REVIEW:
The second instalment of Melnikov’s Prokofiev sonatas covers a kaleidoscope of temperaments. For all its vacillations, something in Melnikov’s choice of colours conveys an overall feeling of austerity and looming danger that is not quite like anyone else’s vision.Few pianists have come this close to Richter in making such a strong case for Nos. 4 & 9.
– Gramophone
Beyond - Music by American & Icelandic Composers / Los Angeles Percussion Quartet
There are more languages spoken in Los Angeles than in any other city in the world. It’s a transitive city. Most residents have come here to contribute to its cultural identity and have ended up calling it “home”. Los Angeles is a city where every industry, creative or otherwise, is fueled by the pursuit of personal creative dreaming. It’s clear then how the Los Angeles Percussion Quartet (LAPQ) created a community of composers and made them all local to the group’s music making and to Los Angeles itself, regardless of each composer’s city of origin.
Is it language that makes someone at home in a given place? If so, the compositional languages of Anna Thorvaldsdottir, Christopher Cerrone, Ellen Reid, Daníel Bjarnasson, and Andrew McIntosh appear as interwoven and complex as Los Angeles itself. Their music similarly courses with chiming repetition, spectral near-silence, and the wearing away of time on objects so barely touched that they appear, in moments, as fragile as paper. These composers from two drastically different continents are brought together by LAPQ, despite their differences in origin, under one banner: friendship. For years LAPQ has been known for its skill in both championing and cataloging works by West Coast composers, with a specific focus on Los Angeles. With Beyond they explore the deep knowing that comes from making work with old friends. And broadly, the project signals a move for the Los Angeles contemporary music scene, a scene burgeoning out with global significance, and overflowing with artists actively seeking to create community. Beyond is a remarkable epic in which space and time are stretched on and on, over and past the horizon.
Bjarnasson’s “Qui Tollis" spans an incredible arc, emerging from the contemplative space of the works around it, brimming with the bashes and tumbles of bass drums, and then seemingly too early, vanishes again into a lull and rhythmic groan. With “Fear-Release,” Reid takes us into a world of metallic voices, as if we’re listening to a rubbed piece of crystal from inside the gem itself. It’s rare that a piece of music seems to truly sonically shine, and Reid’s piece accomplishes this brilliance early and often. Thorvaldsdottir’s “Aura” is the wind, the sand in the wind, and the wind chime hanging from the wood on the old falling-apart porch all at once. It speaks multitudes, and miraculously all upon the quiet edge of audibility.
The expanse of McIntosh’s “I Hold the Lion’s Paw” is that of a twelve-hundred page novel, in which each page has less than a half dozen words. Its sprawl is scrolled out like a web in air, as the quartet communicates effortlessly with one another across a cavern of distance. In one moment they sit still in space, another they rattle endlessly like the earth; they arrive where we are, simply putting musical puzzle pieces together. With “Memory Palace,” Cerrone creates rooms of sound, each drenched in a subtle hue. In the rooms of this ever-expanding house we find ourselves drinking different air, buzzing with pop, hiss, and click, and lingering with a guitarist who could be inside the guitar itself.
REVIEW:
Beyond excels in every sphere: this well-chosen programme brims with fine music and impassioned musicianship, all presented in sound that will delight audiophiles, percussionistas and music lovers everywhere.
-- MusicWeb International
Beethoven, R. Schumann, Saint-Saëns: Symphonies for Piano Duo vol. 2 / Uys & Schoeman
SOMM Recordings is delighted to announce the eagerly-awaited second volume of the Tessa Uys and Ben Schoeman Piano Duo’s ground-breaking series exploring Franz Xaver Scharwenka’s transcriptions of Beethoven Symphonies. A composer of no mean stature in his own right, Scharwenka’s transcriptions were once widely admired, his treatments of Beethoven’s symphonies a high-watermark of the genre. Volume 1 (SOMMCD 0637) met with universal acclaim; Gramophone praising the “mastery” of the performances, BBC Music finding it “utterly beguiling” and MusicWeb International declaring “I was blown away by this magnificent recording”. Volume 2 features the first recording of Scharwenka’s transcription of Beethoven’s iconic Fifth Symphony for piano duet. Claiming a direct connection to Beethoven via his teacher Franz Kullak, who had studied with Beethoven’s pupil Carl Czerny, Scharwenka provides a virtuosic re-imagining of the Fifth’s tremendous scale, organic growth and seething energy. The Variations on a Theme of Beethoven by Saint-Saëns show him, Robert Matthew-Walker says in his informative booklet notes, “at his most brilliant and searching... beautiful, imposing and elegant, as well as humorous”. Robert Schumann’s Andante and Variations in B-flat reveal Romanticism’s quintessential musical poet at his most emotionally acute: “overhung with a pervading sense of intimacy, the music unfolds as a series of reflections upon the Andante theme, refracted in genuine variation styles of tempo, rhythm, tonalities (beautifully implied) and character”.
Review
Hot on the heels of the first volume of this enterprising series comes volume 2, this time including what is perhaps the most famous symphony of all time, Beethoven’s 5th, here given its world premiere recording in the transcription for piano duet by Franz Xavier Scharwenka.
As with the previous volume and the “Eroica” (see my earlier review here), the 5th needs no introduction or apologies and Scharwenka expects both pianists to be virtuosi. The opening chords are surprisingly not written for double octaves as might have been expected; Scharwenka saves those for later on when even more firepower is required. Again, throughout this transcription, multiple solutions are offered to deal with the problem of arranging a work for full orchestra for piano and all is superbly realised by the duo. The opening tempo for the first movement is perhaps a little slower than expected at the start but that is more than made up for later as both pianists flamboyantly navigate the complex writing. Also, as before, the notation is subtly arranged to make it playable on two pianos and this has the added bonus of making some detail clearer than in the orchestral version.
The second movement comes across very well too – all the details are present and presented via the medium of twenty fingers. The contrasts are beautifully pointed out: a sense of calm serenity pervades this music and the pianists respond excellently to the challenge. The rippling accompaniment starting at 2:39 - but also occurring elsewhere - is cleverly written and perfectly judged. There some surprises here too; harmonies are clarified and details that perhaps would normally be lost are brought to the fore. Both pianists make a superb job of this movement and it contains just as much drama as a performance for full orchestra. The fortissimo sections make an excellent contrast to the nervier and quieter moments and the ending of the movement, with its defiant chords, is splendid.
The Scherzo follows with its weird march like chords and repeated loud interruptions, all of which are again played with aplomb. The crazy scrambling section from about two minutes onwards sounds just perfect and the cunning interjections by the second pianist (I presume) that ultimately derail this trail of music are wittily done. The build up to the cheerful, blazing finale is excellently judged and that final ‘Allegro’ part starts with a bang, with bagfuls of virtuosity from both participants and continues in the same vein. There are lots of powerful tremolandos here, judiciously used and all of which add to the drama. The build up to the quieter section at about five minutes is excellently controlled and sounds absolutely right. The ending where Beethoven applies the brakes to the music before restarting again with renewed vigour is miraculously realised – listen out for the notes originally on the flutes in the last two minutes sounding almost woodwind-like but on a piano. The ending with sustained loud and powerful virtuosity from both performers is just brilliant. This is an awesome performance of a magnificent transcription; comparisons with Liszt’s transcription (S464 no.5) are perhaps inevitable but here Scharwenka has the advantage of using twice as many fingers so the overall effect is somewhat “fuller” than Liszt’s absolutely astounding and craftily realised version. This is another example of such a skilful transcription that you almost forget that the original was for full orchestra. I’ve run out of superlatives here, but suffice it to say that this performance is absolutely top notch and the joyfulness and intelligence of the performers and the committed nature of the playing make it absolutely worth hearing.
I should say that the Beethoven transcription is for piano four hands and played on a rather splendid sounding Fazoli piano whereas the remainder of the disc is played on two Steinway model Ds. There is little difference in the recording level or sounding between the instruments and I am more than happy to listen to either.
In a well-thought-through contrast to the blazing conclusion of the Beethoven transcription, Schumann’s rarely heard variations published as Op.46b follows next on this disc. This work exists in two versions – it was originally written for two pianos, two cellos and a horn but following a suggestion from Mendelssohn, Schumann later revised for just two pianos as heard here. These open quietly with a rather lovely slightly melancholy tune that receives a whole gamut of variation from beautifully quiet and reflective ones (heard at the outset of the piece) to bouncy march like ones (as at 4’50’’) and all points in between. As with the preceding Beethoven, the playing throughout is very intelligent and the two pianists react well to each other’s playing, producing a result full of musicality. The slower variations are deeply affecting and the quasi-funeral march one at about six minutes is especially good; the way it segues into the following faintly sad variation is perfectly handled. Schumann was, as usual, channelling his inner Florestan and Eusebius in the composition of this work but there is perhaps a slight preference for the latter, as overall the work has a dreamy and melancholy mood. Surprisingly, towards the end of the piece, Schumann brings back the opening theme completely unadorned, and uses it to generate a suitably fitting conclusion to this wonderful piece. I have to say that prior to hearing this recording I was only dimly aware of this work but on repeated listening, I have really grown to appreciate its many wonderful turns of phrase and clever writing.
The disc concludes with Saint-Saëns’ epic variations on a theme by Beethoven. As I have said before, this is a work that I have previously had issues with; I have no idea why but it just doesn’t strike me as the composers’ best work and it has always seemed a little laboured. However...I am now much fonder of the piece. The opening is mysterious and only hints at the theme which he uses (from the Trio of the Scherzo from Beethoven’s E flat Op.31 no. 3 Sonata – sometimes nicknamed “The Hunt”) but once the theme emerges, it is subjected to ten contrasted variations including a complex, virtuosic fugue. The opening variation is a scurrying, “catch me if you can” treatment of the theme in scales and is here played very fast, with plenty of wit and character. The following variation is a complete contrast: a rather lovely lyrical treatment of the theme with some clever darker episodes and throughout some nice examples of the pianists bouncing off one another to create a spontaneous atmosphere. Thirdly, a strange inverted version of the theme; again, the Scherzo like character here is abundantly obvious and the playing is excellent. Variation 4 is extremely entertaining: bouncy repeated chords and much interaction between the pianists who again spark well off each other. Variation 5 is again a change of pace and the difference from the previous one is very marked. Here, trills and some very pretty playing join to make a splendid little creation with plenty of harmonic invention and humour. We return to scales for the following variation, with some added arpeggios for good measure. I particularly like the way the ends of phrases are rounded off here – this is a most astute and intelligent performance. I especially enjoyed the mock funeral march that is variation 7; this is just weird in comparison to the other, more conventional variations here - the playing is almost hysterical with grief and matches the mood of this variation perfectly. As the work progresses into variation 8, it becomes more and more difficult to follow the progress of the variations but we have a restatement of the spectral opening that gradually evolves to the complex fugue that is variation 9. This is the core of the work and is perhaps the composer’s reaction to Beethoven’s Eroica variations (Op.35). Here, there are plenty of notes for both performers to negotiate and they do so with the same high level of virtuosity and commitment that they display throughout this disc. This is such a witty take on the theme and to my ears the way that the textures are handled hints at the Scharwenka transcription from earlier in the disc and thus fits in very well here. This variation leads directly into variation 10, the conclusion of the work and featuring the tune neatly divided between the two performers who give a sparkling performance. Right at the very end, the theme emerges almost unadorned as if to remind us how far the music has travelled during the progress of this marvellous work.
As I said for volume 1, this is a magnificent recording; the sound quality is superb, the cover notes are excellent and the playing is exemplary throughout. Full marks to all concerned; I am once again waiting impatiently for the next volume.
--MusicWeb International (Jonathan Welsh)
Jazz Batá 2 / Chucho Valdés
Jazz Batá 2, composer, pianist and bandleader Chucho Valdés' first album for Mack Avenue Records, marks a new peak of creativity for the artist, even as it revisits the small-group concept of his 1972 Cuban album Jazz Batá. That album upon release was originally considered experimental at the time, but the trio project - featuring no drum set and two virtuosi who would subsequently be charter members of Irakere: Carlos del Puerto (bass) and Oscar Valdés (batâ: the sacred, hourglass shaped drums of the Yoruba religion in Cuba) - would now be considered contemporary. Recorded in two and a half days at John Lee's studio in New Jersey, Jazz Batá 2 is both rhythmic and lyrical at once. The six-hand complexity of the batá repertoire - the deep classical music of West Africa - permeates Valdés' piano solos throughout the album. "I applied to my solos the different rhythms of the batá," he says. "The piano is of course a harmonic instrument, but it's percussive too, and you can play percussion with it." Valdés set the batá-driven small-group format aside in the wake of Irakere's explosive popularity in 1973, but he's always wanted to get back to it. Now he's done it with Jazz Batá 2, "with more resources, in every sense," he says, "with a wider panorama."
Schumann: The String Quartets / Engegard Quartet
All three quartets are in four movements, with Schumann striving to write pure music rather than any idea of programmatical music such as he employed in his Spring Symphony of the previous year, the result being beautiful examples of his art. The opening of the A minor Quartet reminds us that whilst he had studied the quartets of his great predecessors, Bach’s ‘48’ was never too far from his side, with its richly contrapuntal first theme a sort of homage to his hero. In the F Major Quartet, the opening slow introduction to the first movement leads into the first main theme that dominates the whole movement and almost pushes the second theme into the background. I particularly like the second movement which is a set of variations based upon the Larghetto from his Albumblätter of 1832. The Quartet in A Major is my favourite of the three and once again begins with a slow introduction, but here the it presents the music that will be developed later into the main theme of the movement. The final two movements are linked in the way that Schumann employs the dotted rhythm from the Adagio molto and develops it in the Allegro molto vivace to underpin the music of the rondo, the only time he uses a rondo as a finale in his chamber music, with its gavotte-like final theme or episode being an apt finale to Schumann’s quartet output.
I have greatly enjoyed the performances of the Engegård Quartet, they have a drive and enthusiasm that is infectious; these are performances that firmly place them near the top in my collection and well ahead of some highly respected and much vaunted performances including the Zehetmair Quartet (472 169-2) and the Melos Quartet (423 670-2) which was the performance through which I got to know the works back in the early 1990s. Their performance is a little brisker than my favourite performance by the Eroica Quartet (HMU 907270), whose period performance wins through for me, but when it comes to a modern version this has quickly become my favourite recording. This is helped by an excellent recorded sound and very good and informative booklet notes.
– MusicWeb International (Stuart Sillitoe)
Klaus Huber 100
Bruno Walter Conducts Mahler Symphonies 1 & 2 - 1942 Live Performances
MAHLER Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 1 • Bruno Walter, cond; 1 Nadine Conner (sop); 1 Mona Paulee (ms); 1 Westminster Choir; New York P O • MUSIC & ARTS 1264, mono (2 CDs: 132:17 & English only) Live: New York, 1 1/25 and 10/25/1942
Elsewhere in this issue I review a two-CD set of historic Bruckner symphony performances conducted by Bruno Walter. Here we have two more premiere publications of historic broadcasts, drawn from the same private collection recently acquired by Music and Arts, with the promise of still more to come. Their chief point of interest is that they are among the earliest recorded performances by Walter of works by the composer to which, far above and beyond any other conductor, he could claim a unique, profoundly personal connection, as Mahler’s longtime assistant and protégé, who led the world premiere performances of the Ninth Symphony and Das Lied von der Erde . To be more precise, this is the earliest surviving Walter account of the “Resurrection,” whereas the “Titan” is preceded by a 1939 broadcast with the NBC Symphony.
Back in 34:6, in reviewing a 1950 Vienna Philharmonic broadcast of the Mahler Fourth that also made it into my 2011 Want List, I briefly surveyed all of Walter’s surviving performances of that work—12 in all. The First ranks second (got that?) in Walter’s Mahler discography, with nine extant versions, given variously with the NBC Symphony, London Philharmonic, Concertgebouw, Bavarian State Symphony, New York Philharmonic, and Columbia Symphony. As in the similar tables in the Bruckner set review, if a particular performance has appeared more than once on CD, I have cited the best version currently in print (excluding versions included in large multi-CD anthologies); studio recordings are marked with an asterisk.
Date Orchestra CD or LP Issue (if any) Timings
04/08/39 NBC SO Music & Arts CD-1241 11:55 6:09 11: 19 18:04
10/25/42 NYP Music & Arts CD-1264 12:34 6:34 11: 27 18:55
10/16/47 RCO Tahra TAH 504 12:12 6:05 11:26 18:48
11/06/47 LPO Testament SBT 1429 11:47 6:05 10:38 17: 38
02/12/50 NYP Andromeda ANDRCD 9087 12:31 6:16 11:30 18: 50
10/02/50 BSSO Orfeo C 562 021 B 12:03 6:15 11:18 18:17
01/24/54 NYP Movimento Musica 01.106 12:20 6:17 11: 35 18:42
(LP only, Italy)
01/25/54 NYP Sony MHK 63328* 12:33 6:22 11:18 18:17
01/14 /61 CSO Sony SM2K 64447* 13:20 6:50 11:24 20:25
- 02/06/61
Again very much like Walter’s eight surviving performances of the Bruckner Ninth, the timings here indicate a remarkable stability in his interpretive approach among the performances pre-dating his March 1957 heart attack—and in this instance, even the 1961 studio recording differs in little else except the somewhat broader tempi in the outer movements. The sound of the 1939 NBC broadcast is surprisingly decent, a vast improvement on previous issues on other (and much less reputable) labels. For whatever reason, Walter’s 1947 performances in London feature noticeably quicker tempi than those of the same works in other venues. (A positively Toscaninian Beethoven Ninth issued by Music and Arts clocks in at a torrential 61:58, compared to his 1949 studio recording of 65:12, with most of the difference occurring in the first and third movements.) The London performance also unfortunately suffers from the poorest recorded sound (it is afflicted with noticeable tape wow and flutter) and sometimes dicey orchestral playing.
Several of these performances have been reviewed in these pages before, mostly with glowing praise. In 28:1 James H. North termed Walter’s 1947 Concertgebouw outing “magnificent ... a performance for the ages.” Jeffrey J. Lipscomb’s review of the 1950 Munich performance in 29:3 said that it “captures Walter’s artistry at its finest,” and he then placed it on his 2006 Want List. In 34:3 Boyd Pomeroy likewise lauded the 1939 NBC performance as “a reading of thrilling spontaneity, a combustible meeting of Walter’s totally idiomatic Mahler style with the distinctively bright, tightly focused expressive intensity of the NBC orchestra, which responds with total commitment.” He also commented briefly on the two 1947 renditions plus Walter’s two studio recordings, where his evaluations agree with those of his colleagues. The less positive reviews—Peter J. Rabinowitz on the 1950 New York performance in 13:3, and Arthur Lintgen on the 1947 London performance in 32:6—have faulted poor recorded sound rather than the interpretation. Except for finding the sound of the 1950 New York performance far more listenable than did Rabinowitz, I otherwise concur with all of the foregoing reviews and happily refer readers to them.
To their observations I will append a few of my own. The 1947 Concertgebouw and 1950 Munich performances feature a more mellow orchestral timbre than do those of their American counterparts, with Munich having the better recorded sound. However, the 1947 performance features the finest orchestral playing; it has a superior rendition of the treacherous double-bass solo in the third movement, and is the only live performance in which there is not at least one prominently cracked or blown note on the trumpets or horns (though such lapses are few and momentary in the other ones). The live 1954 New York performance cries out to be issued on CD; it has superior sound to the other live American recordings, and the crackling frisson of a live performance that the estimable studio account recorded the following day does not quite replicate. Unlike some critics who discount Walter’s 1960 account as relatively slack and a letdown from his previous versions, I still regard it as virtually nonpareil among studio recordings, even if I do prefer the greater tensile strength of the earlier monaural studio account. Mahler as a hyper-neurotic has been grossly overdone, and Walter’s balancing of what he called the Apollonian and Dionysian sides of the composer is a far more accurate view that reflects his own intimate acquaintance with Mahler’s personality rather than latter-day pseudo-Freudian projections upon it.
Unless and until the live 1954 New York account becomes available on CD, my top recommendations for the Mahler collector who wants a representative performance of the First by Walter would be either the 1947 Concertgebouw or 1950 Munich performance, along with the newly issued super-budget seven-CD set on Sony of all of Walter’s Mahler recordings for Columbia, just reviewed by Christopher Abbott as a “Classical Hall of Fame” entry in 35:6. As for this 1942 performance, while it is naturally a necessary acquisition for Walter collectors such as myself, it is a luxury acquisition for others; it is a typically excellent interpretation, but not sufficiently distinct from other and better-sounding Walter performances. Those desiring to hear Walter’s earlier thoughts on the work would do better to turn to the 1939 NBC outing.
Much the same can be said of the 1942 performance of the “Resurrection” presented here, though in this case there is considerably less competition. This is now the fifth performance by Walter of this work to appear in print, an extraordinarily high number considering the relative rarity of performances of it before the Mahler boom of the 1960s. As before, the following tables provide specific details. For all of the New York Philharmonic performances, Walter used the Westminster Choir; for the Vienna Philharmonic performance he employed the chorus of the Vienna State Opera Concert Society.
Date Orchestra / Soloists CD or LP Issue (if any)
01/25/42 NYP / Conner / Paulee Music & Arts CD-1264
05/15/48 VPO / Cebotari / Anday Archipel ARPCD 0082
12/05/48 NYP / Conner / Watson Bruno Walter Society BWS 1067/8
(LP only, Japan)
02/17/57 NYP / Stader / Forrester Music & Arts CD-1199(1)
02/17-21/58 NYP / Cundari / Forrester Sony SM2K 64447*
Timings for these are as follows:
Date Timings
01/25/42 22:06 9:59 10:18 4:40 32:30
05/15/48 22:28 10:53 10:56 4:38 34:47
12/05/48 22:20 11:24 10:54 5:13 34:35
02/17/57 21:30 10:36 10:44 4:39 33:01
02/17-21/58 21:37 10:35 10:43 4:11 32:26
Christopher Abbott reviewed and praised the deluxe Andante release (most regrettably out of print) of the 1948 Vienna performance in 26:6. (The current Andromeda issue, coupled with the 1950 New York performance of the First, appears to be a clone of the Andante issue, muddied with added bass reverberation.) Boyd Pomeroy (whose recent departure from these pages is a sore loss) waxed enthusiastic over the live 1957 New York performance in 34:5; an earlier issue (also by Music and Arts) was welcomed with equal enthusiasm by Abbott in 31:2, who also discusses the 1958 studio recording in his aforementioned recent Classical Hall of Fame entry in 35:6.
The Mahler Second is unique in Walter’s discography in being the only recorded work in his repertoire where his final performances are faster instead of slower than his earlier ones. Here, the 1942 performance is a few seconds behind the 1958 studio recording, and a bit ahead of the 1957 live performance, but all three are a few minutes faster than the two versions from 1948. As Abbott notes, this belies oft-repeated assertions that the post-1957 heart attack recordings led to a slackening of Walter’s interpretations; there is certainly no lack of energy and dynamism in this account. Moreover, this is a notable instance in which advances in remastering technology substantially alter discographic evaluations. The superlative deluxe Andante release of the 1948 Vienna performance transformed it from a dim-sounding mess to a listenable recording of considerable historic interest, even if in the process it revealed additional flaws (more on which anon). Boyd Pomeroy’s preference for the live 1957 performance over the 1958 studio recording was quite justifiable in light of the rather poor remastering that Sony produced of the latter for its “Bruno Walter Edition,” with a dry, constricted bass register. While this has been slightly but noticeably improved in the new boxed set reviewed by Abbott, that too would not be enough to change the assessment. But this evaluation must be radically altered once one hears the DSD (Sony SRCR 2334-5) or Blu-Spec (Sony SICC 20075-6) editions issued by Sony in Japan (the latter at least is already out of print, alas). Suddenly the entire frequency range is opened up to a hitherto unimagined degree, with a bass register that now has depth and warmth, and the choir finally emerging with the presence and impact one sensed it always had but felt was somehow imprisoned behind invisible sonic bars. (Special thanks to Fanfare reader and friend Robert Alps for both the information on these releases and for generous gift copies of them as well. Through him I have also just learned that by the time this review appears in print, Sony in Japan will have released some CDs in a newly upgraded sonic format, Blu-Spec2.)
Of these five performances, the one from Vienna in 1948 ranks a rather distant last place. While much improved by Andante, the recorded sound is still rather dry and boxy, with limited frequencies; the orchestral playing is surprisingly ragged (including a horrible cracked note in the crucial fifth movement trombone solo), and the choir not much better; and Rosette Anday’s wobbly, hollow-voiced attempt at the solo alto part is the kind of thing one hears on parody discs rather than in serious performances. This 1942 performance occupies the next-to-last position. It is very fine on its own terms, and if no other example of Walter’s art in this work survived it would be of immense value, but it is outclassed by all three succeeding performances. As in the 1948 New York performance (more on which shortly), the soloists and choir sing an English translation—revised by Walter himself—rather than the original German. Mona Paulee is a committed soloist, but her voice has more of a mezzo-soprano cast than the dark contralto one truly needed for the part. Nadine Conner, a Walter favorite for soprano vocal assignments who also sang supporting roles at the Met, fulfills her smaller role capably, and the Westminster Choir sings with power and enthusiasm.
In his typically superb program notes—which include fascinating details regarding behind-the-scenes negotiation of the Boston and New York orchestras with various musical figures and how these affected concert programming—Mark W. Kluge opines that this is “an account that is noticeably more rhetorical and dramatic than his later performances.” With this assertion I must respectfully disagree. Both the 1957 live and 1958 studio versions (the latter in its new Japanese remasterings) yield nothing on this score to the 1942, and indeed have more forward drive and energy. However, the real but frustratingly elusive prize is the live 1948 New York performance. It was released only in Japan on an ultra-scarce set of Bruno Walter Society LPs, though cassette and CD copies have circulated among private collectors as well. That is the performance to which Kluge’s observation rightly applies. It simply beggars superlatives—utterly titanic, of a white-hot intensity and level of interpretive inspiration that causes the limitations of a 1948 AM broadcast sound (superior to that from 1942) to fall away and leave one slack-jawed in dumbfounded amazement. In Rose Watson, Walter this time has the true contralto voice needed for the primary solo part; Nadine Conner repeats her fine rendition of her supporting role; both the Westminster Choir and New York Philharmonic play and sing as if their very lives depended on it, leaving their previous efforts trailing in the dust; and the audience roars and whistles its ecstatic approval at the close.
Music and Arts has done its usual superlative job with remastering and tape-to-disc transfer (by Aaron Z. Snyder and Eric Jacobs, respectively). These are both excellent performances that are necessary acquisitions for the committed Walterian such as myself. Anyone else who has the money and inclination to acquire them also will certainly get his money’s worth. The one major caveat is the existence of superior alternatives. Thus, an urgent personal plea to the good folks at M&A: how about issuing a two-CD set coupling the 1954 performance of the First and the 1948 one of the Second? That would be a must acquisition for every lover of Mahler and for collectors of historic recordings alike.
FANFARE: James A. Altena
BING BING BING (BLUE NOTE CLASSIC VINYL SERIES)
Bach: Mass In B Minor - 1733 Version / Pichon, Ensemble Pygmalion
The disc title is a bit misleading to the uninitiated—is this a newly discovered Bach Mass setting? No; it is instead the original version of the Kyrie and Gloria movements for the Mass in B Minor. The work is referred to in the booklet notes as a “fifth Missa Brevis” setting, but is on a far grander scale than those of the four Lutheran Masses, BWV 233-236. Frustrated by his continual difficulties with the Leipzig town council, Bach wrote the work to apply for a position as court composer in Dresden to Augustus III, the newly crowned Elector of Saxony and King of Poland. While the actual position went to Johann Adolf Hasse (already well established there), in 1736 Bach was belatedly granted an emeritus title, the prestige of which gave him greater leverage in his dealings with the Leipzig authorities. Upon compiling the entire B-Minor Mass in 1749, Bach made numerous minor revisions to the original versions of these movements. The rationales for this recording are thus twofold: to make available to the public this earlier version and to complete a set of “Missa Brevis” settings.
In 32:4 and 34:4 George Chien gave enthusiastic reviews to the recordings of the Lutheran Masses by the forces of Pygmalion, a combined period instrument-choral ensemble based in Paris, whose conductor Raphaël Pichon sang in ensembles under the direction of Ton Koopman and Jordi Savall. In the first of those reviews, he complained that “Unfortunately, the notes for this disc have a lot to say about Breugel the Elder’s painting The Fall of the Rebel Angels (which is not reproduced), but precious little about Pichon and/or Pygmalion.” That fault has been modestly rectified here, but unfortunately in the wrong direction. Here the digipak provides color reproductions of the subject painting for this release, the 1445 Creation and Expulsion from Paradise of Giovanni di Paolo di Grazia (1403–c.1482), including more detailed close-ups of two sections, to accompany a four-page essay devoted to it; but apart from a complete list of the instrumentalists and choral members, once again not a word is provided about the ensemble and its conductor.
Even more frustratingly, Pichon provides over eight pages of notes in which he discusses in detail the history of this Missa, the determination from historical evidence of the size of forces to employ for his recording, numerous details about interpretive decisions with respect to tempos, phrasing, articulation, etc., which is all to the good. However, he has next to nothing to say about the matter of single greatest import, which is the primary raison d’etre for this project: the actual differences between this version and that of 1749. Instead, airily referring to information provided by recently published critical editions, he only says: “They show a number of differences compared to the version that is commonly played today, and thus give rise to minor variants....For the first time, the different versions of the Mass in B Minor have been identified and compared, thus giving us a better understanding of the genesis and history of the work. The original aria for bass voice, horn, and two bassoons, ‘Quoniam tu solus sanctus,’ in particular, reveals many differences in the vocal parts.” Somebody ought to smack him upside the head!
Fortunately, as suggested by the more informative aspects of Pichon’s notes, far greater thought has been devoted to the performance than to the booklet contents, and overall it is quite a fine version. Be warned that this is the period-instrument approach with a vengeance. Both the strings and choral voices have a rigorously “straight” tone and total absence of vibrato to the maximum degree; the horn part is performed solely by overblowing rather than using any hand stopping in the bell in order to alter pitches; the timpani is played with the explosive aggressiveness of a howitzer; tempos in the faster sections are brisk indeed (the closing “Cum sancto Spiritu” is a mad dash to the finish line); and so on. However, Pichon makes a very satisfying unity of what in lesser hands would degenerate into an exercise in hidebound pedantry. I am particularly taken with the exquisitely delicate use of the theorbo in accompaniment passages, such as for the alto-tenor duet “Domine Deus,” which dances with airy lightness. Of the soloists—who do sing with vibrato!—the two sopranos, male alto, and tenor are excellent; the bass has a somewhat diffuse and unfocused vocal emission, but not to a degree that is a serious detriment. The chorus and instrumentalists are first-rate, as fine as those of any other top-tier period-performance group; the recorded sound is up close and has a welcome degree of resonance that takes the edge off the astringency of this ensemble’s sonic palette. Quite needlessly, the brief Latin text (with English and French translations) is spread out over three pages.
All things considered, this disc is something of a curiosity, primarily of interest to the Bach completist. However, if you have the curiosity and the funds to investigate it, and are partial to this type of interpretive approach, the rewards are considerable, and so I commend it to your attention accordingly. It will be interesting to see where Pichon and Pygmalion choose to go from here.
FANFARE: James A. Altena