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Strauss: Arabella, Four Last Songs / Della Casa, Fischer-Dieskau, Keilberth, VPO
Orfeo · Jun 2005CD$37.99 -
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Reger: Piano Concerto Op 114; Bach/Busoni: Piano Concerto Bwv 1052 / Korstick, Schirmer, Et Al
CPO · Apr 2009CD$18.99 -
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Elgar: Violin Concerto / Znaider, Davis, Dresden Staatskapelle
Sony Masterworks · Jan 2010CD$11.98 -
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Dimler: Clarinet Concertos / Willig, Friedrich, Kurpfälzisches Kammerorchester
CPO · Oct 2021CD$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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Keiser: Fredegunda / Hammer, Munich Neue Hofkapelle
There is a real danger, especially in Handel’s anniversary year, that he and other major composers such as Bach and Telemann eclipse their talented contemporaries completely. Yet the Leipzig Council, for example, cannot have been entirely bone-headed in preferring Fasch and Graupner to Bach for the post of Kantor at the Thomasschule. The story that they thought Bach ‘mediocre’ is, however, based on a misunderstanding.
CPO have also recorded his secular cantatas (CPO999 8562 – ‘a lovely disc’: see review) and his version of the Christmas story is coupled with Graupner’s Magnificat on ‘a splendid festive offering from Carus – albeit short value at forty five minutes’: Carus 83.417 – see review). Keiser was also the first composer to set the Brockes Passion, a text later employed by Fasch (recorded by Naxos on 8.570326 – see review), Telemann and Handel; perhaps Naxos will now record that, too.
There are two recordings of his St Mark Passion: the older Claves recording of his St Mark Passion is available from eMusic, albeit on 50 tracks, which will mean blowing your whole monthly £12 allocation in one go. The single-CD Christophorus recording on original instruments is, in any case, the one to go for, (CHR77143 – Parthenia Vocal and Parthenia Baroque/Christian Brembeck); it’s also available from classicsonline as a very acceptable 320k download. Bach certainly possessed a copy of this work and there are points of similarity with his St Matthew and St John settings, including the traditional tune of O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden – compare Keiser’s setting of Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden (track 5) with Bach’s. I’m sure that I shall be listening to it on future occasions.
Like those other two operas, Fredegunda (March, 1715) was composed for the Hamburg Oper am Gänsemarkt, or Goose-market Opera, where it was extremely popular, four years after Crœsus. The libretto is by Johann Ulrich von König (1688-1744) after an Italian libretto by Francesco Silvani (c.1660-c.1725). It is sung in German and Italian. The plot concerns the tempestuous relations between the sixth-century Frankish King Chilperich and his mistress Fredegunda; each of them has another lover, making for two sets of love triangles though all, of course, ends happily.
As usual, I set out first to test the claims made in the blurb on the rear insert, that this is ‘an important and entertaining ... opera [which] abounds in melodious, often ravishingly orchestrated, music.’ More crucially, do the performances do justice to the music?
Certainly the music is very attractive – listen to track 28 of CD1 Ricordati, ben mio (‘Remember, o my beloved’) for some of the finest baroque music – though the opera has its moments of longueur and there is no doubt that posterity has been correct in preferring Telemann and Handel. If you have already become familiar with their music, however, Fredegunda is well worth trying.
The opening Sonata goes with a real swing in this performance; there’s no stodginess here, but rather the kind of abandon at the start which I associate with modern Italian performances of baroque music. On the other hand, there’s enough contrast between the sections to avoid the problem of having everything too hurried, which I recently found with Collegium Musicum den Haag’s performance of Telemann’s Ebb und Fluth (L’Europe réunie, ORF SACD3008).
Dora Pavlíková as Fredegunda begins her opening recitative in fiery mood, too: at first she sounds almost too fiery to hit the notes securely, but soon settles down, especially in the aria Du verlachtest die Tränen (‘you mocked my tears’, CD1, track 3). After all, Fredegunda is a fiery character and she is chiding Chilperich for preferring Galsuinde – she opens the recitative by referring to him as Grausamer, ‘awful man’, and ends the ensuing aria by referring to his undoing their relationship mit deiner falschen Hand ‘with your faithless hand’.
Tomi Wendt’s Chilperich comes over as penny plain to Pavlíková’s twopenny coloured Fredegunda – I might have preferred him to be a little more sonorous and her a little less squally, but, again, this is not inappropriate to their roles – Chilperich is something of a wimp at this stage. By the time that we come to Fredegunda’s arias on tracks 20, (Ihr reizende Blicke, ‘your ravishing looks’) and 22, (Schließet euch, ihr holde Kerzen, ‘be extinguished, dearest candles’) Pavlíková is in much more mellifluous voice and Wendt’s Chilperich much firmer-toned. By track 24 (Zur Rache! ‘Revenge!’) both the character and Wendt’s voice have come much more to life.
The first notable aria is Galsuinde’s Lasciami piangere, ‘let me weep’ (CD1, track 7), and Bianca Koch sings it well. I might have preferred her to bring out its beauty a little more lovingly; it is, of course, a lament, but laments don’t have to be entirely squally. Galsuinde has some of the finest music – and the aria Ricordati, ben mio (CD1, tr.28), to which I have already referred as some of the finest baroque music, is sung by Koch in a manner which could hardly be bettered.
Michael Kranebitter as Sigibert, too, sings attractively, if a little too forthrightly: in his recitative Ich kann ja wohl die Zähren nicht verdammen (‘I cannot condemn the tears’, track8) he almost seems to have two different registers, one more attractive than the other. His diction is not exactly ideal: so keen is he to bring out the drama of his words that he sometimes fails to enunciate them perfectly. His aria Ich muß schweigend von dir gehen (‘I must be silent and leave you’, track 16) did not affect me as it should – here, more than anywhere, I felt that he was the weakest link in the cast, though not as disastrously so as Elisabeth Scholl, who is really off-form in Naxos’s recording of Handel’s Semele – don’t just take my word for it in my review; see also Robert Hugill’s review.
Katja Stuber as Bazina also has an attractive voice; in her first scene (track 9), however, she is slightly out-sung by Tomo Matsubara as Hermenegild. His voice has an attractive timbre, though his diction, too, is not perfect – he is not a native German-speaker. His aria Eine stolze Hand zu küssen (tr.11) illustrates both the attractiveness of his voice and his comparative failures of enunciation. If Stuber is a little reticent here, she is certainly in fine and powerful voice by track 30, giving Fredegunda as good as she gets in Du drohest and rasest (You threaten and rave). By this point, too, Kranebitter’s Sigibert has also warmed up somewhat; though I still found him a little too droopy in Ach betrachte doch die Wangen (tr.35 ‘Just look upon her cheeks’), his account of Mich schrecket kein Eifer, ich achte kein Drohen (tr.37, ‘Your overbearing threats do not frighten me’) is just right.
Tobias Haaks as Landerich is perhaps a little too forthright in the recitatives but he sings Ach, ich will viel lieber sterben (tr. 44, ‘Ah, I would much rather die’) in such a way as to make it one of the highlights of the first CD, almost at its close. If, as I suspect, the Chilperich-Fredegunda duet Vieni, o cara, o mio Tesoro (tr.48, ‘Come, my dear, my treasure’) which closes CD1, is meant to outshine Landerich – the few arias in Italian are some of the highlights of the music – it doesn’t succeed here: their singing sounds merely very decent by comparison, though they round off the act and the disc stylishly enough.
Matters are much the same on CD2, which begins quietly with the duet of Galsuinde and Bazina, Sanfte Lüfte (‘Gentle breezes’). There is some intrusive stage noise here – much than on CD1 – and in the ensuing scene. Bazina’s aria Ein Sklav’ ist mehr beglückt (tr.3, ‘a slave has greater fortune’) is a little underpowered. If Kranebitter is the weak link on CD1, he atones somewhat in Sigibert’s duet with Galsuinde (tr.5), though he is still a little too lugubrious and Koch’s Galsuinde still a little shrill.
Pavlíková’s Fredegunda, too, is just a little too shrill for my taste in Vieni a me (tr.7, ‘Come to me’) by contrast with the delicate accompaniment. It may be wishful thinking on my part, but she does seem to tone down the shrillness for the repeat of this aria (tr.11).
Wendt’s Childerich is in much better voice than he was on the earlier part of CD1. His aria threatening to react with slaughter of his foes, Con le stragi (tr.13) goes with quite a bang, as does Haaks in Landerich’s Da voi fieri guerrieri (tr.15, ‘Your beauteous eyes, proud warriors’). Both these Italian arias are among the high points of the opera, and both receive good performances.
Fredegunda’s invocation of Hecate (tr.17) is another high spot and here Pavlíková is in almost ideal voice despite some unusually intrusive stage noise. Yet she is able to achieve real tenderness a few moments after this outburst in Ach, nenne mich doch nur noch einmal Königin (tr.19, ‘Oh, let me just once more be called the queen’).
Matsubara really manages to convey Hermenegild’s indecision (tr.21, Ach nein, ich kann nicht entscheiden, ‘Ah. No, I cannot decide’) and does so with fewer problems of diction than before. Paradoxically, Kranebitter’s diction in Su’l mio crine (tr.23, ‘I shall be crowned with love’) is less than ideal.
Wendt, in Childerich’s aria bidding fortune do its worst, Weich immerhin zurück (tr.25) is affective, though not entirely tonally secure. Koch is equally affective and in better voice in Felice moriró (tr.30 ‘I shall die happy’). The whole opera is rounded off by a suitably jubilant performance of the short fifth act.
This, then, is not a ‘Sunday-best’ cast but it is a good, often very good, workaday one. It’s certainly good enough for me to predict that I shall return to it – and I shall follow with interest the careers of these singers, mostly still in their twenties.
Christoph Hammer’s direction is secure; his own solo keyboard performances have clearly prepared him well to lead the Munich Neue Hofkapelle. Though founded in 1992 to specialise in historically informed performances, their playing offers baroque music without any of the excesses which sometimes spoiled period performances in earlier days and still sometimes intrude where one least expects it – on Jordi Savall’s rather strident, but still enjoyable, version of Biber’s Missa Bruxellensis (AV9808) for example. Some of the accompaniment here is really sensitive, as in the case of Fredegunda’s aria Vieni a me (‘Come to me’, CD2, tr.7).
Apart from some very minimal stage noise and applause at the end of each CD, there is little to indicate that the recording was made live. That it was so helps in part to explain why some of the singers are a little slow off the mark at the beginning – in a studio performance, of course, there could have been retakes to round off some of the slightly rough edges. The recording itself is neutral in the best sense of the word.
The libretto, mostly in German but with sections in Italian, is available online as a pdf document but in portrait A4 – how do you get that into the CD case? – and there is no English translation, which is a problem, since even those with a decent knowledge of German may find the sometimes archaic diction hard to follow. It would be much better to offer the libretto as a download in landscape mode at a size capable of being cut, folded and inserted into the case – Naxos, please learn from Chandos, Gimell and Linn, who offer texts and notes in this manner with their downloads. Actually, it is possible to cut and paste the text into a Word document and print this in the correct format, but it is a nuisance to have to do so.
I would gladly have forfeited the booklet’s four-and-a-half pages of illustrations of the parent production, from the Bayerischer Theaterakademie August Everding, in favour of the libretto. These illustrations make me grateful to have received this recording on CD rather than DVD, since they show the production to have been the kind of up-dated version which I almost inevitably find annoying – featuring, in this case, a baby carriage and, apparently, the use of a taser.
-- Brian Wilson, MusicWeb International
WINTERREISE
Strauss: Arabella, Four Last Songs / Della Casa, Fischer-Dieskau, Keilberth, VPO
Lisa Della Casa and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau - this was an ideally cast Arabella with a dream couple in the leading roles. For years this production was a model for Munich and Vienna. It can now be heard for the first time in its original version, with the incomparable Strauss sound of the Vienna Philharmonic under Joseph Keilberth - the sensation of the 1958 Salzburg Festival.
Verdi: Rigoletto
Hasse: Didone Abbandonata / Hofstetter, Hofkapelle Munchen
One of the outstanding composers of his day, Johann Adolph Hasse was seen as possessing "the same qualities of true genius, taste and judgment" as his librettist Pietro Metastasio. Didone abbandonata represents the once hugely popular 18th century genre of opera seria, exploring the same tragic story as Purcell's earlier Dido and Aeneas while expanding the heroine's conflicts between regal duties, love, and helplessness in the face of desertion.
Reger: Piano Concerto Op 114; Bach/Busoni: Piano Concerto Bwv 1052 / Korstick, Schirmer, Et Al
REGER Piano Concerto. BACH-BUSONI Keyboard Concerto in d, BWV 1052 • Michael Korstick (pn); Ulf Schirmer, cond; Munich RO • cpo 777 373 (63:12)
So many factors go into the making of a successful recording! One would think that great artists, committed to the music, would be primary. The classic recording of Reger’s Piano Concerto is by Rudolf Serkin, a committed Regerite if ever there was one, accompanied by no less than the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy, on a Columbia stereo LP, later a CBS Masterworks Portrait CD. When that recording proved underwhelming, one’s natural reaction was to give up on the music, and later performances supported that decision. Korstick, Schirmer, and Munich do not suggest comparable levels of quality—or at least of fame; yet right from the opening bars the music grabs our attention, holds it, and satisfies on every count.
So, what happened? First off, spectacular recorded sound brings Reger’s Concerto to life as never before. One’s auditory senses, and that means more than just hearing, immediately leap to attention. I envision ears standing up, hairs on the back of the neck rising, like our dog when a deer appears in the yard. Of course, sheer sound is not enough, and the artists whom I so unthinkingly dissed perform at a high level. The orchestral introduction sings with a white-hot passion not previously realized, and the piano’s entrance bursts upon us like a thunderclap. In Fanfare 32:3, Peter Burwasser admired Korstick’s “muscular virtuosity” in Beethoven sonatas, but decried his “lack of grace.” That sounds like a prescription for Reger’s mighty finger buster, and Korstick delivers big time, maintaining golden tone with no apparent strain, which Serkin—one of my favorite artists—was not able to do. But this Concerto is not all bluff and bluster; it has its tender moments, even in the pugnacious opening Allegro moderato (the moderato is an indication of tempo, not of character). Korstick is reasonably convincing in the brief, calm second theme and its reoccurrences. Although Reger’s notorious harmonic progressions keep this music from sounding like Brahms, that master’s impetuous First Concerto is an obvious influence on this movement.
Korstick is less at home with the second movement, Largo con gran espressione; a few passages become just a series of separate notes, rather than one continuous line. But that happens with Serkin, too, suggesting that we should blame the composer. When the inevitable climaxes arrive, Korstick is back in his element, pouring out cascades of tone. Serkin finds an elfin humor in the Allegretto con spirito finale, which Korstick and Schirmer—at a much slower tempo—miss. They seem to be revisiting the spirit of the opening movement, whereas Serkin is exploring another of Reger’s many facets. If the quality of recorded sound were anywhere near equal, one might prefer Serkin/Ormandy in this movement; but it is not, so it may be best to fall into step with the cpo team and wallow in Korstick’s potent pianism. All of this is not enough to bring Reger’s Concerto up to the level of Brahms, or even Rachmaninoff, but it does turn it into a fascinating, absorbing work.
This Bach-Busoni Concerto is the score that the otherwise incomparable Dinu Lipatti (and many other pianist of his era) played, heard in a 1947 live-performance recording with the Concertgebouw under van Beinum ( Fanfare 24:5, p. 277). Busoni’s concept was the exact opposite of today’s period practice: he added color, fistfuls of extra notes, and much ornamentation to the keyboard part (think Horowitz playing Mussorgsky), and he cut freely, particularly in the finale. Korstick’s interest in the Busoni version comes from his studies at Juilliard, where he met Edward Weiss, a Busoni pupil who played the Concerto under Busoni’s baton. The structure and the familiar themes may be Bach, but this is Busoni we are hearing; given Korstick’s qualities (the good and the bad) that may be just as well. Comparison with Lipatti is difficult: that recording was an amateur one, so distorted that one barely notices that he and van Beinum somehow restored Busoni’s cuts. Lipatti plays with more consistent tempos and a semblance of taste—his Adagio is deeply moving—but he is still far from Bach.
This disc is urgently recommended to Reger fanciers. Others will not care, and probably will not be convinced if they do try it.
FANFARE: James H. North
ALFREDO CAMPOLI: THE BEL CANTO VIOLIN
Allegri: Miserere; Britten, Etc / Short, Filsell, Tenebrae
Britten’s Hymn to St. Cecilia is a terrifically inventive piece of music in which the composer shows real flair in his writing for unaccompanied choir, even if Auden’s text seems rather high-flown in its imagery and somewhat verbose. Tenebrae not only rise to its manifold challenges but also surmount them with ease. They are excellent too in Holst’s splendid setting of Psalm 148, receiving marvellous support from Jeremy Filsell at the organ.
But in many ways the best is saved for last. Sir William Harris’s sumptuous setting for double choir of words by Edmund Spenser is, for me, one of the glories of English church music. It moves from the rarefied celestial atmosphere of the quiet opening to the blazing conviction and excitement of the passage at “And those eternall burning Seraphims” – Tenebrae are marvellous here – before the pacific mood returns at the close. The performance of this miniature masterpiece is thrilling in every respect. Indeed, I feel that here Nigel Short and his singers come close to realising the “endlesse perfectnesse” of which Spenser speaks.
This is an outstanding disc, which I have enjoyed greatly. The sheer quality of singing has always impressed me on the previous discs I’ve heard from this choir and, indeed, when I’ve heard them live. This new release is as good as any I’ve heard from them. The engineering is excellent and the disc comes with a good booklet including full texts. Another winner from Tenebrae!
-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International
Allegri: Miserere / The Sixteen
The haunting tones of Allegri's Miserere are unique and instantly recognizable even to those who know little sacred choral music. Palestrina's Missa Papae Marcelli is certainly his best known work. Along with his Stabat Mater it combines exquisite contrapuntal poise with a translucent setting of the words, whereby music and text complement each other to the detriment of neither. The chromaticism and blossoming cadences of Lotti's eight part Crucifixus have made it a work loved by both choirs and listeners.
Kreisler, Strauss & Waxman: Love Music
Following her lyrical and witty complete recording of Mozart’s Keyboard Sonatas, issued by naïve in March 2023, Yeol Eum Son invites Svetlin Roussev to join her in enfolding himself in the enticingly subtle harmonic intricacies of Germanic post- Romanticism.
For their second recital as a duo, the Bulgarian violinist and the Korean pianist follow the course taken by works written over a period of slightly more than half a century by composers or famous performers upon whom Richard Wagner exercised crucial influence. They take on almost every genre – cinema, opera, chamber music, transcription – treating it in the lyrical, large-scale manner of the Bayreuth master. During their unexpected, fascinating journey, Svetlin Roussev and Yeol Eum Son chart a variety of pathways, from Waxman to Strauss.
So many different worlds! To begin, two figures who made their indelible mark on the music written for Hollywood. Of German-Polish origins, in 1946 Franz Waxman (Rebecca, Sunset Boulevard, A Place in the Sun, Prince Valiant) wrote, at Jascha Heifetz’s request, a paraphrase on themes from Wagner’s Tristan et Isolde, actually an adaptation of a section of the score he composed for the film Humoresque (Warner Brothers, 1947). In summary, a manifesto in music of an impossible love – to which, at the end of the disc, an extremely rare transcription one of the better known Wesendonck-Lieder, credited to the great virtuoso Leopold Auer, forms a response.
The programme continues with Erich Wolfgang Korngold, a child prodigy in Vienna during the 1910s. The famed Mariettas Lied – the best-known moment in his opera Die tote Stadt – and the sublime nocturne from his incidental music for Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing (the Scene in the Garden) remain as much moments of lyric intensity as truly cinematographic, deliciously intoxicating love scenes. But lovers also know how to frolic, and if already in Korngold they readily do so, the three more light-hearted pieces by Fritz Kreisler will place them in everyday, commonplace scenarios, where laughing reigns.
The keystone of the programme is unarguably the magnificent Sonata for Violin and Piano that Richard Strauss composed in 1887. He was 23 years old, and still heavily influenced by Schumann and Brahms, even Grieg. Svetlin Roussev and Yeol Eum Son make its case with radiant commitment, sensitive to the spirit stirring in the young Richard, then already in love with the soprano Pauline de Ahna, who would become his wife.
Beyond Wagner, this highly original album above all celebrates that moment of falling in love when, overwhelmed, the heart quivers, to the point of being transformed.
Schubert: Die Schöne Mullerin / Krimmel, Heide
Baritone Konstantin Krimmel, voted ‘Best Newcomer’ of the year at the 2023 Oper! Awards in Germany and a member of the eminent Bavarian State Opera company since 2021, presents his third recording for Alpha. In close partnership with pianist Daniel Heide, he places his artistry and his feeling for words at the service of the lied repertory. This is also an opportunity to discover his vision of the work, an unexpectedly contemporary, socio-psychological analysis: ‘Die schöne Müllerin is a work that romanticises the development of a mental illness, and shows, unfiltered, how a young person can feel without a tempered emotional world. With all its dark sides.’
Elgar: Violin Concerto / Znaider, Davis, Dresden Staatskapelle
This 2010 release coincides with the 100th anniversary of the premiere of Elgar’s Concerto for Violin in B minor. In this performance, Nikolaj Znaider plays the Guarnerius “del Gesu” 1741 violin, which Fritz Kreisler (to whom the concerto was dedicated) played in the concerto’s 1910 premiere in London, with Elgar conducting.
Schumann: Kreisleriana - Phantasie - Carnaval
Dimler: Clarinet Concertos / Willig, Friedrich, Kurpfälzisches Kammerorchester
The famous court orchestra of Prince Elector Carl Theodor of the Palatinate was distinguished by the fact that its musicians were not only certified virtuosos on their instruments but also good composers. Some of these most highly capable musicians basked in the limelight of the international music world, while others stayed in the background without this meaning that they were less-talented musicians. One of them was the horn player and later double bassist Anton Dimler, a member of the Mannheim Court Orchestra who today is known as a composer only to a few specialists even though his works exhibit great quality. This is also true of his clarinet concertos, three of which have been recorded for the first time on the present release. The focus in them is always on the highly virtuosic solo parts, while the orchestral accompaniment exercises a subordinate function. The soloist has the opportunity to display his brilliance with passagework, arpeggios, and shifts of register and makes all the colors of the clarinet shine over its whole tonal gamut.
Schubert: The Fair Maid of the Mill (arr. Andreas N. Tarkman
Kreutzer: La Mort d'Abel
R. KREUTZER La mort d’Abel • Guy Van Waas, cond; Jennifer Borghi ( Eve ); Sébastien Droy ( Abel ); Jean-Sébastien Bou ( Cain ); Pierre-Yves Pruvot ( Adam ); Alain Buet ( Anamalech ); Namur Chamber Ch; Les Agrémens • PALAZZETTO BRU ZANE 1008 (2 CDs: 91:15 Text and Translation)
Rudolphe Kreutzer (1766-1831) is known today almost exclusively as the musician to whom Beethoven dedicated his Violin Sonata No. 9 (though he only learned of the dedication after the work’s publication, and never played it). He seems to have had a knack for flourishing through all the violent vicissitudes of French politics in his day: a favorite of Marie Antoinette, professor of violin at the Conservatoire of Paris from 1795, a member of Napoleon’s chapel orchestra from 1802, chief conductor of the Paris Opéra starting in 1817, and a chevalier of the Légion d’honneur in 1824. As a composer he wrote many violin concertos, exercises, chamber music, and dozens of stage works.
La mort d’Abel was first seen in 1810. It was a three-act opera set to a text by E. T. A. Hoffman. Following a French tradition, devils in it are seen as external forces who target, torment, and damn good people. In this case, Anamalech seemingly enlists the entire hierarchy of hell to plague Cain with nightmares that feed on his typical sibling envy of Abel, leading to the expected outcome. The work was very well received upon its debut, though not restaged until 1825—at which time the Opéra’s directors chose to completely eliminate the second act, set in hell. Perhaps it was a cost-cutting measure, though even Rossini had many abusive terms for the establishment years later when it chose to chop his revived works to pieces. For reasons not elaborated upon by the producers of this album (who elaborate upon so much more; read below), the 1825 version is given, here.
This work is not dependent upon the contemporary broader trends of the Italian operatic or German Singspiel traditions. The nearest analogies at least some listeners will find—Mozart, Beethoven—are actually due to the omnivorous musical mind of the first, learning from many cultures, and to Beethoven’s interest in his French contemporaries. Cherubini (Italian by birth, but as much a naturalized Frenchman by the mid 1780s as another Italian, Lully, had been earlier) in particular he regarded with great admiration; so it isn’t really Mozart or Beethoven Beethovenian one finds in La mort d’Abel , but some aspects of a French tradition that both these composers came to utilize.
The writing is for the most part very plain. It suited French tastes of the period well enough, given that the les goûts réunis had ended with the triumph of Italian simplicity in melody, and the jettisoning of previously favored contrapuntal and harmonic complexities. (When Kreutzer in later works attempted to move beyond a fairly basic accompaniment, he was accused by his contemporaries of losing his “originality” through “over-complexity.”) The origin of the duet “Unissons-nous pour le render sensible” and the multi-part air “Insensible aux tourments,” to pick just two of many examples, lay in 18th-century opéra-comique , despite the serious tone of the latter piece. Both are primitive, and neither is terribly interesting.
As much can be said for the lengthy passages of accompanied recitative. In Kreutzer’s hands it facilitates the delivery of emotion but doesn’t sustain attention over time, lacking again the more complex elements that made it so interesting under the likes of Lully, Destouches, Campra, Marais, and Rameau. Cherubini among Kreutzer’s contemporaries was able to do this kind of thing much better.
But when Kreutzer is inspired, as in much of the Third Act, he produces something worth hearing. Cain’s “Doux sommeil” is a fine, Janus-faced aria, filled with the seductive warmth of the earlier galant on the one hand, while weaving a memorable, sinuous French melody whose like can be heard in some of the most celebrated arias of Boieldieu, Thomas, Delibes, Massé, Lalo, Gounod, and Massenet. It is the most appealing piece in the score, but there are others: Cain’s raging aria from act I, “Quoi! Toujours ton image,” sustains its energy well, even if successive musical phrases are a patchwork of clichés. The pastoral act I finale for soloists and chorus, “Ô moment plein de charmes,” is a pretty thing with effective vocal exchanges, and some slight but colorful wind writing. And Kreutzer makes simplicity work for him in the act III finale, an angel’s chorus (“Viens dans”). It’s very brief homophonic music that achieves much merely by throwing a single instance of nonfunctional harmony into the mix.
The performers are all above average, though none are without fault. A single one unites most: a widening vibrato that causes loss of focus in some part of the voice, and in Alain Buet’s case, produces a uniform wobble that undercuts his good phrasing and dark bass tone. Jean-Sébastien Bou is the best interpretatively speaking, making an excellent job of it in his extended recitative, “Ou vais-je?” He also sings softly to strong effect. Sébastien Droy can do the latter as well, but has an annoying habit of increasing volume as he rises in range. Pierre-Yves Pruvot is better here than in the title role of Salieri’s Falstaff (Dynamic 405/1-2), more attentive to the meaning of the text, while Jennifer Borghi doesn’t always enunciate as clearly as the others, but sings with an attractive lyric soprano. Guy Van Waas conducts Les Agrémans with spirit and discipline, but I admit the complete lack of vibrato throws me off. This isn’t the Baroque (when vibrato was used, though less regularly), but the early 19th century, and there are plenty of instruction manuals and reviews of the day teaching and citing the regular use of vibrato as a standard tone-coloring device. Its loss makes the instruments sound anemic at times, especially when the violins are exposed.
The jewel box is actually a digest-sized book in French and English. Aside from the original text and transliteration of the opera, you also get a remarkably fine series of essays, including a historical introduction, a piece on the work’s reception by the contemporary press, Fétis’s entry on Kreutzer in his Universal Biography of Musicians , a lengthy examination of oratorio and opéra sacré in 18th- and early 19th-century France, one on the fantastic genre at the Paris Opéra under Napoleon I, and a forward to the 1825 libretto written by E. T. A. Hoffman, in answer to claims that another, far less innovative work years before had been plagiarized for his ideas.
On balance, La mort d’Abel is an uneven work, but at its best, demonstrates why Kreutzer’s operas were so well regarded by his contemporaries. It fails when it tries to be profound, but succeeds whenever it maintains a light, charming tone. And there’s enough of the latter to more than sustain it. Recommended.
FANFARE: Barry Brenesal
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.
Waltzes, Polkas, Marches
Bayreuth 1954
SCHUBERT: PIANO SONATAS D 784 & D 959; ALLEGRETTO
Weihnachten in aller Welt (Christmas around the world)
Senza Parole
