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Tchaikovsky: The Queen Of Spades (Ballet Version) / Lacombe, Orchestre Des Grands Ballets Canadiens De Montreal
Analekta · Aug 2008CD$20.99 -
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Rzewski: The People United Will Never Be Defeated & Four Hands / Oppens, Lowenthal
Cedille · Sep 2015CD$19.99 -
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Rautavaara: Rubaiyat, Balada, Canto V & 4 Songs from Rasputin / Storgårds, Helsinki Philharmonic
Ondine · May 2016CD$18.99 -
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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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Ullmann: Der Kaiser von Atlantis / Agudin, Orchestre Musique des Lumieres
IBS Classical · Sep 2018CD$17.99 -
Beethoven: Symphonies No 5 And 8 / Herreweghe, Et Al
BEETHOVEN Symphonies: No. 5; No. 8 • Philippe Herreweghe, cond; Royal Flemish P • PENTATONE 5186 316 (Multichannel hybrid SACD: 54:16)
This disc represents Volume 2 of a set of the complete Beethoven symphonies currently in progress (the first volume, on the Talent label, included Symphonies 4 and 7 and was reviewed by Colin Anderson in 29:2). In a clumsily translated note Herreweghe refers to “nature” trumpets and “Baroque kettle drums with modern tuning”; these would appear to be the only concessions to period practice—by all accounts, the Royal Flemish orchestra employs modern instruments. This series would appear, then, to be comparable to the latest set conducted by Roger Norrington, with the orchestra of the Stuttgart Radio, on Hänssler.
Unlike Norrington, Herreweghe is unhampered by a tendency toward extreme tempos or self-conscious gestures. Though the tempos of the Fifth Symphony are analogous in swiftness to those of Benjamin Zander on his splendid Telarc recording, there is no sense of the kind of schizoid recklessness that marred Norrington’s Fifth, in which a furious first-movement exposition followed a more sensibly paced opening motto. What we hear instead is a superbly performed and exciting rendering of Beethoven’s war-horse. Orchestral execution is everything one could wish for, with crisp phrasing and spirited ensemble. The conducting illuminates the genius of the conception without in any way calling attention to itself.
In the slow movement, Herreweghe expertly conveys the sense of forward momentum without scrimping on the lyrical richness of Beethoven’s melodic invention. There is no sense of bombast in the triumphant finale, just a very satisfying feeling of rightness—for Beethoven’s creation and for this recreation of it. Herreweghe includes the first movement exposition repeat but follows Beethoven’s revision and eliminates the one in the Scherzo. The sound is resonant yet precise, antiphonal violins aiding in the natural balance. The listener’s perspective is intimate but not airless, allowing for atmosphere and impact. One interesting anomaly: the oboe extends the cadenza in the first movement recapitulation, replacing the one Beethoven wrote, but I found this to be an interesting and idiomatic gesture.
Herreweghe injects a muscular element, propelled by the timpani, into the Eighth Symphony, invigorating what has sometimes in the past been simply a lighthearted romp; there is lightness here, too, but the overall feeling is of vitality. Norrington, by contrast, tends to lurch through the first movement, so that whatever humor there is seems heavy-handed. The sound production he received possesses less resonant fullness than that on the PentaTone disc; strings, for one example, often sound thin and scrappy on the Hänssler CD.
The elegant little Allegretto, under Herreweghe’s hands, verges on the slightly pompous, while the third movement minuet becomes, for all intents and purposes, a scherzo, full of badly placed accents and miscues—all of which, in the words of annotator Tom Janssesns, “indicated that the Classical symphony now truly belonged to the past.” We are then propelled into the finale and its sprightly touches that clearly point to the future, and especially to Mendelssohn. Herreweghe and his Belgian colleagues dispatch the piece with panache.
This is a delightful and highly entertaining disc containing two fine performances of music that never sounds tired or routine. I look forward to the next installment with keen anticipation.
FANFARE: Christopher Abbot
Jean-Marie Leclair: Violin Concertos, Vol. 1 - Op. 7, Nos. 1
Tchaikovsky: The Queen Of Spades (Ballet Version) / Lacombe, Orchestre Des Grands Ballets Canadiens De Montreal
The balletic action unfolds in seven sections. Part 1 (18:37), the longest, sets the mood with the Countess’s aria, “Je crains de lui parler de nuit,” a melody Tchaikovsky borrowed from Grétry for period flavor. Motives associated with Gherman’s troubled character then lead to events occurring in the Private Gaming Club, with the music of Tomsky and his comrades entertaining themselves with the mysterious legend of the “Three Cards,” as the scene concludes with the return of the Grétry melody. Without having seen the ballet, the impression is clearly conveyed that the Old Countess is the drama’s principal character.
Part 2 is misleadingly called “A Park in Leningrad” (for reasons known to its creators, the ballet represents the Soviet era of 1938). This is a lyric episode embracing Pauline’s aria and her duet with Lisa, reasonably true to Tchaikovsky’s music, with a discreet accordion part added to the orchestration. The lengthy part 3 (“Soirée au ballet”) combines the opera’s Mozartian pastoral music and the love themes from the Lisa/Gherman scene. The combination may sound incongruous on paper, but it is no doubt effective choreographically, culminating with an exciting “Pas de deux.” Part 4 (“At the Countess’s Home”) is a skillfully condensed free musical elaboration of the turbulent scene involving, again, the Grétry aria, Gherman breaking the solitude of the frightened Countess, her sudden death, and Lisa’s shocked reaction.
Part 5, called “The Funeral,” opens with Gherman in the barracks, with trumpet sounds in the distance. The ghost of the Countess makes her appearance and reveals the secret of the “Three Cards.” Part 6 (“At the Bridge”) nicely condenses Lisa’s desperate third-act aria with the subsequent intense duet with Gherman and Lisa’s suicide. The concluding part 7 takes us back to the Private Gaming Club, with its busy Prokofiev-style gambling atmosphere. We hear expressions of Gherman’s despair, interwoven reflections of the love music, suggestions of the tragic end, as the “Grétry motive” provides a pianissimo underpainting to Gherman’s dying moments.
Lovers of this opera should know that Prince Yeletsky does not appear in this ballet—nor is he present in the Pushkin novel. Accordingly, there is no reference here of the Prince’s gorgeous aria, which, however justified, is a pity. Still, the ballet is put together with great skill and is undeniably pleasing to the eye and ear. The musical presentation is fine, but the recorded sound, with its lack of depth and immediacy, is somewhat colorless.
FANFARE: George Jellinek
HERE COMES THE SUN
Mozart: Flute Quartets / Galway, Tokyo String Quartet
The first two quartets, K285 and K285a were written in 1776/7 for the Dutch nobleman Dejean. The playing here is full of Mozartian grace and sensuous melodiousness. At the beginning of the possibly inauthentic C major Quartet, K285b, Galway achieves a delightful liquid quality. The later Quartet, K298 is more substantial and draws playing of haunting intensity from Galway and the Tokyo. The slow tempo of this Quartet's second movement is slower than in the Bennett/Grumiaux version on Philips whose performance has a much more jaunty feel to it. Galway's disc is rounded off with his own arrangement of the Oboe Quartet, K370, whose sumptuous slow movement and elegant finale make this an attractive added bonus. One minor reservation: it is useful to have individual variations separately tracked (K285b.2 and K298.1) but, in the earlier Quartet, there is an annoying click on my disc as the tracks change.
The principal difference between the Galway/ Tokyo and the Bennett/Grumiaux versions reflects the recordings and the circumstances surrounding them. Galway's choice of slower tempos might well have been conditioned, at least in part, by the spacious church acoustic in which it was recorded. The Bennett/Grumiaux was recorded in 1969, but the digital transfer is excellent. These are both fine discs, so choice will be determined by personal taste.'
-- Gramophone [6/1993]
The RIAS Second Viennese School Project
SCHOENBERG Pierrot Lunaire. 1 Chamber Symphony No. 1. 2 Piano Concerto 3. Fantasy for Violin and Piano 4. The Book of the Hanging Gardens. 5 Psalm 130, De Profundius. 6 3 Piano Pieces, Op. 11 7. 6 Little Piano Pieces, Op. 19 8. 5 Pieces, Op. 23 9. 2 Pieces, Opp. 33a, 33b 10. String Trio, Op. 45 11. Suite in G for String Orchestra: Movements 1, 2, 4 12. BERG Lyric Suite. 13 4 Pieces for Clarinet and Piano, Op. 5 14. 7 Early Songs 15. Schliesse mir die Augen beide 16. WEBERN Passacaglia, Op. 1. 17 5 Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 10 18. 4 Pieces for Violin and Piano, Op. 7 19 & • Suzanne Danco (sop); 5 Magda László (sop); 15 Evelyn Lear (sop); 16 Irmen Burmester (sprechstimme); 1 Hans Bastiaan (vn); 1 André Gertler (vn); 19 Rudolf Kolisch (vn); 4 Erich Röhn (vn); 11 Tibor Varga (vn); 4 Ernst Doberitz (va); 11 Walter Müller (va); 1 Werner Haupt (vc); 1 Arthur Troester (vc); 11 Hans Peter Schmitz (fl); 1 Alfred Bürkner (cl); 1 Heinrich Geuser (cl); 14 Diane Andersen (pn); 19 Klaus Billing (pn); 1,14,20,21 Lothar Broddack (pn); 15 Hans Hilsdorf (pn); 16 Else C. Kraus (pn); 10 Ernst Krenek (pn); 4 Hermann Reutter (pn); 5 Peter Stadlen (pn); 3 Eduard Steuermann (pn); 7-9 Alan Willman (pn); 4 Emil Hammermeister (hrm); 20,21 Végh Quartet; 13 Bastiaan Quartet; 20,21 Günther Arndt, cond; 6 Ferenc Fricsay, cond; 2,12 Bruno Maderna, cond; 18 Arthur Rother, cond; 17 Josef Rufer, cond; 1 Winfried Zillig, cond; 3 RIAS CCh; 6 RIAS SO; 2,3 Berlin RSO; 17,18 Berlin PO 12 • AUDITE 21.412, mono (4 CDs: 299:54 Text and Translation) Live: Berlin 3 2/6/1949; 12 11/28/1949; 4 8/28/1953 (Kolisch)
& J. STRAUSS II 20 Roses from the South (arr. Schoenberg). 21 The Gypsy Baron: Treasure Waltz (arr. Webern)
Having been banned as “degenerate” during the Third Reich, by the end of World War II the experimental work of what is now called the Second Viennese School was, at best, on the fringes of German public perception. The three composers who made up the school as such were dead (Berg in 1935 and Webern in 1945) or self-exiled to the U.S. (Schoenberg). There were few performances of their work in postwar Europe and even fewer commercial recordings. So Hans Heinz Stuckenschmidt, the editor of new music at the RIAS in occupied West Berlin, and Schoenberg’s conductor-colleague Josef Rufer, sought out musicians—many from the composers’ circle of students and friends—to record and broadcast some of the most important works of these three pivotal modernists. This was more than an act of national contrition for Stuckenschmidt and Rufer. They intended to revive the performing traditions that had been developing in Berlin in the 1920s and ’30s, and cultivate a new generation of performers. They hoped, as well, to create more interest in the listening public through greater familiarity.
Audite’s four-disc The RIAS Second Viennese School Project presents a selection of these RIAS performances recorded between 1949 and 1965. The pieces, written between 1906 and 1950, provide an overview of the arc of the school’s development from the quartal harmonies of Schoenberg’s Chamber Symphony No. 1, to the stricter 12-tone serial techniques of works like the Two Piano Pieces, op. 33a & b, to the still dodecaphonic but increasingly personal works like his Piano Concerto and String Trio. While these works are often collectively written off as austere and unapproachable, the reality revealed here is rather different. Though the uninitiated will still find some of the going rough—there are works by these composers that are still cutting-edge these many decades later—this compilation persuasively argues that wholesale dismissal of the oeuvre of these composers is intellectual laziness. Most of the music here is not all that taxing to ears attuned to music of the last century.
Perhaps the problem in perception is one of interpretive tradition. Performers have tended to fall into two camps: those who take a coolly objective approach, and those—most often not of the composers’ close circle—who treat these pieces as they would any romantic work. This is most tellingly illustrated by the inclusion of two performances of the Fantasy for Violin and Piano , op. 47; one by objectivist Schoenberg disciple (and brother-in-law) Rudolf Kolisch and the other by famed Hungarian violinist Tibor Varga. Prewar, Schoenberg reputedly demanded adherence to the letter of the score, and often seemed to enjoy his reputation for inflexibility and aloof intellectualism. But later, the composer praised a recording of Varga’s more spontaneous take on his violin concerto, concluding that, “I wish to be younger to be able to write more music for you.” It is not hard to imagine that this more subjective interpretation of the Fantasy might have similarly earned the composer’s approval. Release annotator Wolfgang Rathert quotes Schoenberg’s concerns regarding Kolisch’s quest for executional perfection, and Schoenberg/Berg scholar Rudolf Stephan, interviewed for the program notes, states that Vargas distinguished himself in this repertoire “because he approached the piece[s] as a musician.” It takes only a measure of heart to reveal the Mahlerian late-romanticism in many of Schoenberg’s scores, and it is perhaps the lack of this heart in many performances that has stood in the way of acceptance. Indeed, this question of effective interpretation of the works of Schoenberg in particular is central to this release, and is explored at some length in Rathert’s illuminating essay and in the interview.
Schoenberg’s students Berg and Webern are represented as well, though by less than an hour of the former and barely 20 minutes of the latter. Berg’s works have always presented fewer problems to listeners. He has been accepted where Schoenberg has not in part because he wears his romantic inclinations on his sleeve and is never as unbending in his application of serial techniques. Webern was a keener serialist than even his mentor after 1925, but he is represented here by works that predate his adoption of Schoenberg’s more radical innovations.
So, is this then the ideal place for the serious listener wishing to come to terms with the Second Viennese School to begin? Certainly, as a broad sampling in several genres of historical performances of the composers’ compositions, this is quite attractive. The vocal works in particular are represented by outstanding performances. Suzanne Danco’s 1955 recording of Schoenberg’s The Book of the Hanging Gardens has been equaled only by Jan DeGaetani’s more detailed but less opulent reading. Irmen Burmester narrates a strikingly accurate Pierrot lunaire —more so than Schoenberg’s 1940 Columbia recording—which, led by Rufer, is alive to all the paradoxes of the work—art high and low—and the vivid imagery of the text. Evelyn Lear gives flawless performances of Berg’s contrasting settings of Theodor Storm’s Schliesse Mir die Augen Beide , while Hungarian soprano Magda László offers the same composer’s 7 Early Songs with less technical perfection but enormous sensitivity and beauty. The RIAS Chamber Chorus sings a fearless account of the harrowing and technically daunting De Profundis, op. 50b, though later performances—Accentus on Naïve comes to mind—have found more beauty in the severity.
Highlighting the fine chamber work performances included are a warmhearted and ultimately haunting performance of Berg’s Lyric Suite by the Vegh Quartet and an aptly neurotic performance of Schoenberg’s heart-attack-inspired String Trio, op. 45 by Erich Röhn and two other veterans of Furtwängler’s Berlin Philharmonic. Hungarian violinist André Gertler finds real warmth in Webern’s 4 Pieces for Violin and Piano, op.7, and Heinrich Geuser plays the 4 Pieces for Clarinet and Piano with uncommon tenderness. The two Strauss transcriptions are as charmingly done as those of the Boston Chamber Players (DG): high praise indeed.
I am less convinced, however, that Eduard Steuermann is an ideal guide for the piano works (but see contra Fanfare 34:4) though given his scrupulous approach, the playing is irreproachable. Peter Hill (Naxos) brings more color, Viennese grace, and a romantic sensibility, and the charismatic Mitsuko Uchida (Philips) offers a wonderful sense of mystery and atmosphere. Uchida brings similar qualities to the piano concerto, where she and Pierre Boulez find more of Schoenberg’s war-weariness than Peter Stadlen does. Ultimately though, it is the limitations of Stadlen’s 1949 live recording, with recessed orchestra and the insecurity of the RIAS ensemble at that time, which undermines his as a model. Still, other than a loving but wrong-headed performance of three movements of Schoenberg’s Suite for String Orchestra by the usually perceptive Ferenc Fricsay, the orchestral works fare well in this series. Fricsay redeems himself with a strong performance of the Chamber Symphony No. 1. There is, as well, a Webern Passacaglia, op. 1, conducted by Arthur Rother which emphasizes its Brahmsian longing, and a polished gem of a reading of his Five Pieces, op. 10, led by conductor/dodecaphonic composer Bruno Maderna.
All recordings are monaural, though generally clean and transparent with the slight edginess on the top typical of RIAS master-tape releases from this source. Some of the older tapes show signs of deterioration, but they have been repaired expertly. The earliest recordings exhibit the extreme highlighting of the soloists that was common radio practice then, but this is really only to the detriment of the Schoenberg concerto. The supporting material is brilliantly done, with the aforementioned essay and interview, plus notes on the interpreters and recordings, full recording data, and all sung texts. Collectors who already admire these works will certainly want this set for its historical significance. In the end though, I must answer my question regarding the neophyte more equivocally. Those with a musicological bent will certainly find this set fascinating. Those wishing an inexpensive introduction to the music may wish to start with the superb Robert Craft recordings of Schoenberg and Webern on Naxos in modern sound. In the end, though, this is an essential purchase on many levels and, if I haven’t made it clear already, an addition to the discography of the Second Viennese School of immense value.
FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames
Mendelssohn: Organ Sonatas / Jonathan Dimmock
MENDELSSOHN Organ Sonatas, op. 65 • Jonathan Dimmock (org) • LOFT 1112 (77:44)
Felix Mendelssohn, in addition to being one of the most respected composers, conductors, and one of the greatest pianists of his day, was also one of the finest organists and improvisers of his age. At least on two occasions he produced large-scale collections for the instrument: the Three Preludes and Fugues, op. 37, and the Six Organ Sonatas, op. 65. The sonatas come from the last decade of his life, but rather than being a grand forward-looking statement, they are a synthesis of his lifelong interest in Baroque forms and textures (Bach in particular here) and his own personal style, a fusion that can be seen as early as the youthful Characteristic Pieces, op. 7.
As with many organ recitals, the overall success of a performance is dependent on a variety of factors. The mechanical ability of the organist and his or her personal taste in registration are both important keys. (Mendelssohn himself states that “much depends in these sonatas on the right choice of the stops. … I have given only a general indication of the kind of effect intended to be produced, without giving a precise list of the particular stops to be used.”) Another of the important factors is the instrument that is chosen for the recording and the acoustic of the recording space itself. These last two facets do not always come together fruitfully. Oftentimes, even when an attractive-sounding organ is chosen, the space is less than ideal. Other times, the reverse can be said. Happily, when both of these aspects, along with a talented organist, come together, there is the possibility of a great recording, as is the case here.
Jonathan Dimmock, who has held posts everywhere from Westminster Abbey in London to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York, chooses the beautiful-sounding 1787 Holzhey organ in the Kloster Weißenau in Ravensburg, Germany, an organ which, according to him, is virtually unknown. And, if that is true, it is a pity. The organ, while being on the smaller side, has some very attractive features; Dimmock so properly describes its sound as “strong, without being strident, warm, without being muddy, clear, without being self-consciously bright.” These all take place in a stunning acoustical setting. Dimmock, throughout, chooses excellently balanced and nuanced registrations that characterize these sonatas well, from the aggressive opening of the First Sonata to the calm chorale of the Sixth Sonata’s theme. His ease of the difficult pedal passages, along with his free, almost improvisatory way, does much to bring life to these compositions, which in some hands sounds simply mundane.
Though, like many composers, Mendelssohn is remembered for only a handful of works, these lesser-known sonatas provide a well-balanced view of his freedom in formal structures (sonatas that, rather than using sonata-allegro structures, are built more like multimovement suites), elaborate counterpoint, melodic invention, and improvisational skills that were such a part of their composer. Dimmock’s performances are sensitive to many of the details that make this music special: he is lively at times, dramatic when necessary, and equally meditative when called for. Heartily recommended.
FANFARE: Scott Noriega
The Soviet Experience, Vol. 2 / Pacifica Quartet
Sooner or later, most contributors to this journal are bound to receive letters from disgruntled readers and the occasional colleague complaining about what they perceive to be an unfairly negative review, or even an unfairly positive one. But I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever been chided by a colleague as I was by Peter J. Rabinowitz in Fanfare 35:4 for submitting an enthusiastic review that wasn’t enthusiastic enough. In a second-opinion follow-up to my review of Volume 1 of the Pacifica Quartet’s new Shostakovich cycle, Rabinowitz took exception to my “Goldilocks” analogy in which I stated that the Pacifica’s performances struck me as “j-u-s-t right.”
Although I never got to review the Pacifica’s complete Mendelssohn quartets, they showed up on a couple of Want Lists, and in a number of reviews of Mendelssohn quartet recordings by other ensembles, I’ve repeatedly singled out the Pacifica’s version as equaling, if not surpassing, the Emerson’s set. So, as a rejoinder to Rabinowitz, let me just say for the record that I agree with him that the Pacifica’s Shostakovich is not “middle of the road,” and by “j-u-s-t right” I didn’t mean to imply that the ensemble’s performances straddled the fence or clung to the median strip running down the center of the highway. There is no better string quartet on the scene today than the Pacifica. In terms of technical precision and keenness of musical insight, the Pacifica is the true inheritor of the Emerson’s crown and, in warmth of tone and emotional responsiveness, I often find the Pacifica superior to the Emerson.
That said, there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that once the Pacifica has completed its Shostakovich cycle it will be among the top two or three to have, those others being the aforesaid Emerson and what some consider to be the definitive Fitzwilliam. With this release of Volume 2, the Pacifica has now crossed the ocean more than halfway. Eight of the 15 quartets have now been committed to disc—Nos. 5–8 in Volume 1, and now Nos. 1–4 here. And as in the previous volume, the MO is to include another roughly contemporaneous string quartet by another Russian composer. In Volume 1 it was Miaskovsky; here it’s Prokofiev.
Shostakovich’s quartets span a period of 36 years; the first was written in 1938, the last in 1974. The four quartets heard here are the composer’s earliest, though in the overall chronology of his works, you could say that he got a relatively late start in the quartet-writing business. He’d already written his first five symphonies by 1937, before his first quartet was even a twinkle in his ear.
As he is quoted in Shostakovich: A Life Remembered , it was the composer’s intention to write 24 quartets following a cyclic progression of major and minor keys. Unlike Bach, however, who proceeded through the keys by semitone, or Chopin, who in his 24 preludes proceeded via the Circle of Fifths, Shostakovich adopted a unique scheme of his own. He proceeds—at least in the 15 quartets he managed to write—more or less by submediants (by sixths). The first six quartets, all in major, follow the pattern. C, A, F, D, B?, G—A being a sixth above C, F being a sixth above A, and so on. But then something goes askew with the plan. No. 7 should have been in E?, but instead Shostakovich throws a monkeywrench into the works by giving us a quartet in F?-Minor. No. 8 returns to the pattern with C Minor, which would have been the submediant of No. 7 if No. 7 had followed the plan and been in E?. Another deviation comes with No. 10, which is also in the “wrong” key from what it should be, but the pattern resumes once again with No. 11.
In a fascinating analysis of the quartets (quartets.de/index.html), one Ian Strachan explains that “the insertion of F?-Minor and the effective rotation of E? sharp major [ sic ] and C minor were done so that quartet number nine would be written in E?-Major and quartet number 16 in B Major. By doing so Shostakovich would ensure that his initials (DSCH) were used as the keys in quartets whose number are a perfect square (D Major: quartet number four or 2 squared; S, in the German notation or E?-Major in the English: quartet number nine or 3 squared; C Major: quartet number one or 1 squared; and H or B Major in the English notation as quartet number 16, or 4 squared). So it seems that Shostakovich, a tonal composer who delighted in keeping detailed numerical records of football scores, indulged in numerical as well as musical ciphers.”
In a way, I suppose, this tends to reinforce something I’ve said before about Shostakovich’s quartets, not that they’re all alike, but that there’s a prevailing sense of continuity in the musical discourse that makes them seem like one cogent and coherent conversation from beginning to end, which, of course, could be advanced as an argument for listening to them in order. Still, the above bit of clever mathematical manipulation presumes the existence of a 16th which was never written, as well as the continuation of the pattern all the way through to a nonexistent final 24th quartet. You’ve got to love stuff like this; it can be so earnest in its pursuit of the Delphic. Or, as the oracle once said, “Pi are square, cake are round.”
Nonetheless, I would urge you to visit the website because it goes way beyond the tortured math I’ve touched on here. It also provides a detailed history, description, and analysis of every single quartet.
The First Quartet, for the most part, is a bouncy, one might almost say joyful, thing. The coruscating harmonies, rhythmic ostinatos, and pervasive gloom we often associate with Shostakovich’s music are saved for the later quartets.
The austerity and menace begin to creep in as early as the Second Quartet. The Soviet victory over Hitler’s army was near in the early fall of 1944 when Shostakovich composed the work, practically in the same breath as his famous E-Minor Piano Trio, but he wasn’t in a celebratory mood. There’s a Russianness or East European Jewishness to the melodic and harmonic material, which often sounds like it’s derived from folk songs and klezmer dances soured and bent out of shape by Shostakovich’s parodying techniques.
Superficially, the Third Quartet (1946) bears some resemblance to the First Quartet in its opening swagger and jaunty Haydnesque character, but it’s a cheerfulness colored by disappointment and disillusion. The piece was written on the eve that ushered in the dark days of the Zhdanov denouncement and the targeting of Soviet artists and intellectuals. Shostakovich’s state of mind is reflected in the fact that the Third Quartet is the only work he wrote during this year.
The Fourth Quartet (1949) ran into resistance for other reasons and of a different sort. Characterized as another of his “Jewish” works—though not Jewish, Shostakovich was drawn to Jewish musical and cultural themes throughout his life—the Fourth Quartet appeared at exactly the time that the Cold War was heating up, anti-Semitism was once again on the rise (if it had ever abated), and Stalin was gleefully engaged in another round of persecution and purges. The horror is made manifest in the leering danse macabre of the concluding Allegretto, one of the standout movements in the entire quartet cycle.
For Prokofiev the string quartet plays a far less central role in his output; he wrote only two, the first in 1930, and the second, included in the present set, in 1941. Writing string quartets was not a particularly self-motivated or self-fulfilling effort for him, and this, his second go at the medium, was apparently not even his idea. Having been sent to a Soviet outpost presumed safe from Germany’s invading forces, Prokofiev was encouraged to write a string quartet based on the Kabardino-Balkar folk themes common to the North Caucasus region to which he and other artists had been evacuated. He seems to have warmed to the idea, producing a fine example of abstract music inspired by authentic folk elements.
In every single movement of Shostakovich’s quartets and in the Prokofiev, the Pacifica Quartet penetrates to the very heart and soul of the music. What stands out—matters of technical precision and ensemble blending and balance are givens—is the way in which the players probe for and reveal amazing details even in passages that, superficially, may seem to present relatively flat surfaces unlikely to yield much in the way of dimensionality, such as the Adagio of the Third Quartet. But under inspection of the Pacifica’s microscope, the music displays a topography filled with hidden peaks and valleys. It’s this intellectual curiosity to explore, wedded to largesse of emotional expressivity that makes these performances special.
I hope Rabinowitz takes this to be the fervently enthusiastic recommendation intended.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
American Classics - Gloria Coates: Symphonies 1, 7 And 14
G. COATES Symphonies: No. 1; 1 No. 7; 2 No. 14 3 ? Jorge Rotter, cond; 1 Siegerland O; 1 Olaf Henzold, cond; 2 Bavarian RSO; 2 Christoph Poppen, cond; 3 Munich CO; 3 Raymond Curfs (kd) 3 ? NAXOS 8.559289 (65:47)
First, this is Gloria Coates (b. 1938) not Eric. Second, we have a welcome addition to a still-too-small discography of one of the most original living American composers. I will confess this is my first encounter (far too late) with her music, but I have been primed by word of mouth, above all by former Fanfare critic Kyle Gann, who praises her lavishly in his American Music in the Twentieth Century. And the advance word has been confirmed by the music I?ve finally heard.
Coates is definitely a composer in the mold of the American ?ultramodernists? of the early 20th century. The listener will immediately sense an adventurous, uncompromising, cantankerous spirit in her work that is a descendant of such as Ives, Ruggles, Cowell, and Crawford. Her most distinguishing technique is that of the string glissando, which in lesser hands can be a cheap symbol of modernist instability, and a passport to aural seasickness. Not here. Coates is careful to place her sliding tones at the service of larger processes: canons in particular, or ?additive/subtractive? lines that expand and contract the range of the glissando over time and in perceptible patterns. She?s a wonderfully paradoxical composer because, on the one hand, the music is highly experimental in its surface technique, but on the other hand, classical in its attention to form and development within the symphonic argument. She?s a very conceptual composer, as both the titles of movements (Symphony No. 7?s movements are ?The Whirligig of Time,? ?The Glass of Time,? and ?Corridors of Time?) and her attachment to strict processes, nowadays called algorithms, may suggest. But no matter how idealistic the music, it always carries a visceral impact, or in good old American terms, a real wallop.
The three works on this program nicely cover the composer?s entire symphonic cycle (up to this point), dipping into the start, the middle, and end. Symphony No. 1 (1972?73) is her best-known work, also referred to as ?Music on Open Strings.? The work begins with an alternate pentatonic tuning of the instruments, and in the third movement incorporates the scordatura (retuning) of the strings back to the conventional tuning into the real-time performance fabric. Not all the sounds are just the five pitches, though, as Coates inserts all sorts of glissandos that enrich the texture, even if they don?t establish other firm pitch centers. It?s a highly original work, and a bracing combination of both minimalist and modernist practices.
The Symphony No. 7 (1990; a tribute to ?Those who brought down the Wall in PEACE,? though there is little I hear that?s programmatic in the actual music) is the most European sounding of the three works: not a surprise, as the composer has lived her mature artistic life in Germany, another marker of her ?outsider? status. It?s highly abstract in its materials, and verges on being the work whose glissandos wear out their welcome. But just when I started feeling the music was becoming predictable (in the first and third movements), it marshals its forces to create overwhelming climaxes that simultaneously sound surprising yet natural. I don?t know exactly what the technique is, but I suspect Coates has deep processes at work that lead to a culmination one desires but can?t easily predict. The relentless growth and impact of the piece, a storm in sound, is similar to Xenakis?s Jonchaies for orchestra, though I don?t claim it?s quite as great a work.
The final work, Symphony No. 14 (2001?02, ?Symphony in Microtones?), is by far the most American-sounding piece, for at least two obvious reasons. First, the piece (for strings and timpani?only the Seventh uses full orchestra on this collection) divides the string orchestra into two halves, tuned a quarter tone apart. Some of the music is so dense one doesn?t really perceive the differences, but in cases of the hymn quotation discussed below, it can be striking. The effect is the most Ivesian of this set and, in particular, I think of the composer of the Robert Browning Overture as an antecedent here.
Second, the first two movements quote pieces by Supply Belcher (a late 18th-century Maine hymnodist) and William Billings, the Boston Revolutionary-period composer who was himself an aesthetic revolutionary of the first order. The Billings choice is particularly apt, as it is ?Jargon,? his completely atonal (though better stated, it could be called ?non-functional,? as all the intervals are consonant, but they don?t make up traditional tonal chords) choral work, a message from another universe to the 18th century. In both movements, the antique sources emerge from Coates?s swirling textures like apparitions, an effect that is magical and unnerving. In the Billings movement, after appearing, the source is then stated with the quarter-tone difference, which feels like a true enrichment rather than a mere distortion.
In short, this is remarkable music. At times it can seem too crude and obvious, spurning standards of polish and taste, and then at the next moment it blindsides you with the power of its vision, a balanced match of manner and substance, form and content, style and idea. And on top of it all, if the booklet?s cover is any guide, Coates is a talented visual artist as well, in the tradition of Ruggles.
The sonic standards of the disc are variable: Symphony No. 1 is a recording from 1980, with more surface noise than we?re now accustomed to, and No. 7 comes from a concert recording of the world premiere. Only No. 14 has the clarity and crispness listeners have come to expect. At the same time, this doesn?t bother me, as none of the earlier sonic flaws are too distracting, and the music overcomes any such obstacle on its innate strengths. There is one serious competitor to this disc, cpo 999 392, which includes Nos. 1 and 7, substituting No. 4 for No. 14. I have not heard it, but I note from its online data that No. 1 is also a live recording from the same year as the Naxos (1980), and No. 7 was recorded in 1991, so I suspect at the very least there are similar sonic issues involved. I have a hunch that, based on repertoire, the Naxos disc will be preferable as an introduction, providing a broad sweep of the composer?s career. But based on what I?ve heard, I also suspect if you are hooked on Coates, you?ll probably need to get the cpo eventually.
This may well reappear on my 2006 Want List.
FANFARE: Robert Carl
Anatole Kitain - The Complete Columbia Recordings, 1936-1939
Pianophiles should note immediately that this is a reissue of APR7029, first released around two decades ago, and that no new material has been added. If any unpublished takes exist, or if any unpublished recordings have survived, then that would deepen still further one’s appreciation of Kitain’s art. At the moment this seems unlikely – though far stranger things have cropped up in less promising circumstances, so we can but hope.
Kitain (1903-80) was an exact contemporary of Horowitz and was slightly younger than the incendiary Simon Barere. Bryan Crimp’s acknowledgement-preface in the booklet notes that standard reference books omit all mention of Kitain. I don’t know how much this has changed in the intervening 20 years but checking such staples as Harold C Schonberg, Kaiser, Lyle and even the Naxos A-Z of pianists boxed set fails to elicit a thing. So we are again reliant on Crimp’s own biographical outline in the handsome booklet for details of the rise and fall of this great pianist’s reputation.
Born in St Petersburg, he apparently so astonished Glazunov with his precocity that he won immediate entrance to the Conservatory. Soon he moved to Kiev, becoming a classmate of Horowitz, and studying with Felix Blumenfeld. The Kitain family fled Russia in 1923, Anatole winning a prize at the Liszt Piano Competition three years later – Annie Fischer won first place. He settled in France only for his life to be overtaken by upheaval yet again, moving to America when war broke out. Here there seem to have been a series of false starts, including performances under an alias, though he later gave admiringly reviewed recitals throughout the 1940s and 1950s. He made a series of LPs in the 1950s – one with his fiddle-playing brother, Robert. For MGM they recorded the sonatas by Brahms (Op.108) and Franck, and I’d certainly like to come across that disc.
What began with reluctance in 1936 – the Paris Columbia branch wasn’t keen to record him, but made two tests that were actually published – ended in some triumph as Kitain soon moved to record in the Abbey Road studios in London. Kitain was a bit of a first-take man from a quick look at the released matrix numbers. The Schumann Toccata, not surprisingly, necessitated retakes and the third take was used. Something odd seems to have gone on when he set down the Hungarian Dances of Brahms, where one side necessitated a retake a month later and a fifth take was used. Almost everything else, recorded between 1936 and 1939, was a first take.
Aside from a sense that he was naturally unfettered by studio constraints what impresses throughout is the naturalness of his phrasing and the sublimated virtuosity of a technique that allows him such freedoms as he takes. He is, in fact, not ‘free’ in the sense that he takes metrical liberties and even when he can seem idiosyncratic – perhaps in Chopin’s Scherzo in B minor – one senses the musical justification. The central section here shows his beautiful legato and sense of phrasing as the Etudes reveal his rhythmic and colouristic virtues. Whilst he is commanding in the C major, Op.10 No.7 he’s invariably controlled and though virtuosic in Liszt never for a moment crude. There are few exaggerations. He was keen to record the Brahms Dances and they are vitalising performances. His Russian repertoire is very valuable, given his background. There is great warmth and sensitivity in his Scriabin and one wishes he could have recorded more Rachmaninoff. A pity he was never asked to record his old teacher Blumenfeld’s Etude for the left hand, which Kitain played in recitals. However, the élan of the Strauss-Godowsky Fledermaus is something to be heard.
A few of the rarer examples here have a higher-than-average amount of surface noise and a few thumps, but they pass quickly. This skilfully compiled set is priced ‘as for one’. If you missed it before, you should get it now.
-- Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International
American Classics - Ives: Piano Sonata No 2, Etc / Mayer
Mayer's relaxed reading of the "The Alcotts" has special charm and a warmth that's just right for this portrait of two girls practicing the piano at home. "Thoreau" is let down a bit by the recording, which fails to back off far enough to realize a true pianissimo, even though Mayer scales down his dynamic range as Ives requests. Indeed, about the only other quibble I have aside from this one is that Mayer doesn't give us a true "very fast" in the 7/4 section of "Emerson", though of course it's an open question whether or not Ives himself would have cared. In the final analysis, this performance makes an excellent introduction to the work, combining a healthy dose of Romantic expressiveness with great clarity, concentration, and boldness. Even the readings between movements (of bits of Ives' own essays and fragments taken from the eponymous writers, an aspect of the performance I truly dreaded) are sonorously but simply intoned by Kerry Shale, coming off well as a sort of palate-cleansing sorbet between the larger courses.
The three shorter works, all more or less related to the sonata (everything in Ives tends to be related to everything else anyway), make for a very interesting and entirely appropriate bonus. I particularly enjoyed the wacky and truculent Varied Air and Variations, a riotously obnoxious piece that doesn't get as much attention as it should. As noted, the sonics, though generally good, tend to put the microphones a touch too close to the piano, and in consequence somewhat limit the dynamic range while capturing a bit of performance noise besides--but this isn't really troublesome. If you're looking for a satisfying, low-priced way to get to know some truly remarkable piano music through intelligent and sympathetic performances, you can't go wrong here.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Rzewski: The People United Will Never Be Defeated & Four Hands / Oppens, Lowenthal
New-music icon Ursula Oppens, who commissioned, premiered, and made the first recording of maverick American composer Frederic Rzewski’s The People United Will Never Be Defeated!, a remarkable, monumental set of solo piano variations, has rerecorded that landmark 1975 work to mark its 40th anniversary. This riveting, audience-pleasing tour-de-force is a nearly hour-long set of 36 variations on a popular Chilean protest song from the era of Augusto Pinochet’s repressive rightwing military dictatorship. A bonus is the world-premiere recording of a new Rzewski work, Four Hands, a duet commissioned by and written for Oppens and pianist Jerome Lowenthal, her duet partner on the recording. Fiercely challenging to perform, it leaves the listener “… absorbed and exhilarated…” (New York Times) Oppens’s Cedille Records discography includes two Grammy nominees, Oppens plays Carter and Winging It: Piano Music of John Corigliano, as well as a recording of duo-piano music by Messiaen and Debussy, again with Jerome Lowenthal.
REVIEW:
Frederic Rzewski wrote his monumental variation set based on Sergio Ortega’s Chilean resistance anthem song “El pueblo unido jamas sera vencido” for pianist Ursula Oppens, who premiered it in 1976 and made its first recording a few years later. It’s a fine performance in and of itself, yet Oppens’ stupendous new 2014 recording for Cedille surpasses the earlier version in every respect.
The opening theme, for starters, is more impassioned at its loud peaks, while the first six variations gain energy and character through Oppens’ heightened sense of voice leading. The dissonant grace note effect of Variation 7’s two-against-three rhythmic patterns is clearer than what many pianists make of it, while Variation 9’s counterpoint benefits from Oppens’ drier, more cogently contoured rethinking.
Variation 10’s splattered, Boulez-like gestures and zigzagging glissandos may not transpire so “recklessly” as the composer indicates, yet the inner logic of his meticulous dynamic markings comes out in Oppens’ faithful rendition. Variation 15’s improvisatory, folk-song-like quality spills over into more elaborate territory in Variation 16. Most pianists (Rzewski included) sustain a similar mood and tone between these two variations. Not Oppens, whose feathery pianissimos and una corda pedal deployment at No. 16’s outset create a magical tonal shift that accurately reflects what’s marked in the score.
Variation 19’s jagged motives, so often pounded out on the same dynamic and emotional level, convey a playful, conversational repartée. Young speed demons who insanely blur their way through Variation 21’s relentless finger twisters have no clue of the wonderful harmonic content that Oppens’ “sanely” fast fingers bring out. However, one can argue that Oppens’ faster and lighter treatment of Variations 26 and 28 plays down the music’s grim, march-like gravitas in contrast to Rzewski’s slower, sharper-edged interpretation. Just before the theme returns, Rzewski gives pianists the option to improvise a cadenza; Oppens’ first recording didn’t include one. Here, the pianist’s short, lyrical, and absolutely lovely improvisation incorporates ideas from Variation 25.
Overall, Oppens’ virtuosity, musicality, and insightful inspiration add up to the most gratifying People United on disc, alongside Rzewski’s own 1986 HatArt label recording (out-of-print on CD, but available as a download). The recorded premiere of Rzewski’s more recent and delightfully inventive Four Hands features Oppens and Jerome Lowenthal relishing the music’s tricky rhythmic hockets, airy contrapuntal traps, fleeting allusions to Romantic fare, and jazzy final fugue with masterful glee. No lover of 20th- and 21st-century piano music should miss this important release.
-- Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com
Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli Plays Mozart
MOZART Piano Concertos: No. 20 in d, K 466; No. 15 in B?, K 450 • Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli (pn); Antoine de Bavier, cond; Stuttgart RSO • ICA 5103 (54:24) Live: Ludwigsburg 7/11/1956
Michelangeli’s Mozart is often criticized for having the same flaws as many of his other recordings: His playing is controlled, perhaps for some over-controlled to the point of being static in conception; his tempos are extreme, slower than normal in the middle movements, faster than most in the outer ones; he is free with rhythms in certain places, perhaps more so in the cadenzas than elsewhere (I have little problem with this detail in these areas in particular). Some would call him cold, a surface performer who glosses over the true spirit of this music. But it is difficult to judge harshly a performer who is so very polished in his interpretation. Even if Michelangeli were not only in his mid-30s at the time of these readings, one would be hard-pressed to call these performances cold. Perhaps even more importantly, these readings took place in the 1950s, when every composer was still seen through 19th-century eyes in some way or another; the “informed” practice of the second half of the century was soon to begin—the research into original instrumentation, dynamics, articulation, etc.
When listening to Michelangeli’s Mozart as performed at Ludwigsburg, one is struck more by the forward-propelled, one might even say Beethovenian, momentum of his playing. In the D-Minor Concerto, it is the latter composer’s oft-played cadenzas, which Michelangeli has also chosen to perform. In his hands the entire work seems momentous, from the very first low orchestral grumblings of the opening movement, through the lyrical at times, stormy at others, Romanze , to the virtuosic and flighty finale. Michelangeli performs as expected: His tone is always beautiful and rounded, his scales and arpeggios are crystal clear, his control of dynamic shading and nuances is awe-inspiring; but even more importantly his energy is palpable as is his sense of danger. One sits on the edge of one’s seat when listening to this Mozart. The B?-Major Concerto, K 450, was one of the pianist’s favorites. This reading is filled with some of the best of the qualities of the D Minor, though here some of those negative complaints heaped upon the performer seem more justified: The tempo in the opening movement is too fast. There are moments which just sound rushed; the rhythmic quirks are evident from the very opening—initiated by the orchestra, these are later echoed by the soloist. Yet for all the flaws, there are moments which are just magical: the gorgeous opening trills of the cadenza, and even more so the dance-like lift the pianist gives to the second subject just a few moments later; the simple yet sincere way the forces play the second movement, especially the wonderful sense of dialogue they maintain throughout. And if one requires technical perfection for any of Mozart’s finales, it would certainly be this one—one of the most difficult of his concertos. Michelangeli is not one to disappoint.
If one requires Mozart to sound the way a Brendel, a Schiff, or a Perahia would perform these works, then one should look towards those other performers; but if one is open to a variety of approaches, then this Michelangeli will supplement one’s collection nicely—to me the very best Mozart that the pianist ever committed to disc (forget the old EMI or DG recordings)! Though the sound is still somewhat primitive and the orchestra a bit stiff in certain places, these are, regardless, performances to cherish.
FANFARE: Scott Noriega
Hidden Waters
Haydn: The Complete Piano Sonatas, Vol. 8 / Bavouzet
"Bavouzet’s Haydn is unmatched in its zest and its wit. But it is also substantial, informed and deeply rewarding."
--The New York Times on Bavouzet's Haydn Sonatas cycle, 2022
After leaving the boys’ choir of St. Stephens Cathedral in Vienna, one of the ways the young Haydn found to support himself was as a harpsichord teacher. The three early sonatas featured on this recording were almost certainly intended for his students: short, light pieces with few technical demands. The two larger sonatas, both in the key of E flat major, were written some twenty years later and are far more extensive. Both require significantly greater prowess from the performer, and represent Haydn’s ingenuity and skill to the full. The two additional works included here, whilst single-movement compositions, are substantial pieces. The Adagio ma non troppo would become the slow movement of Piano Trio No. 36 whilst the Variations on ‘Gott erhalte’ is based on the second movement of the ‘Emperor’ Quartet, which is itself a set of variations on an anthem composed by Haydn at the request of an Austrian politician for the 29th birthday of the Emperor, and intended as a patriotic hymn comparable to ‘God Save the King’ in England- and a response against the Marseillaise.
REVIEW:
Jean-Efflam Bavouzet is back with the latest volume of his magnificent survey of the Haydn keyboard sonatas...For this latest offering he takes works from three critical periods in Haydn’s life. To make ends meet at 17 he taught harpsichord and some of his earliest sonatas were written for his pupils. These include Nos 5, 6 and 7 – all quite charming and uplifting – which are performed with a sense of affection and delight here by Bavouzet.
The Sonata No 51 in E Flat, which Bavouzet uses to break up the early works, falls into the second critical stage of Haydn’s career. The third momentous turn in his life came when he was befriended by Maria Anna von Genzinger, a mother of six and accomplished pianist and singer...[he] dedicated his Sonata No 59 (often called the Genzinger) to Maria Anna, and it has become one of his most performed piano pieces. Bavouzet does it full justice on this disc, giving a magisterial reading of this gem from the Age of the Enlightenment.
This top-notch disc is filled out with the delicious Adagio ma non troppo, an original version of the slow movement of the Piano Trio No 36, and the variations on the Austrian anthem Gott Erhalte.
--Limelight (Steve Moffatt)
Elgar: The Kingdom / Sir Mark Elder, Halle Choir And Orchestra
Boult was a great admirer of The Kingdom and in a note accompanying the original release of his recording he included the following statement:
“I think there is a great deal in The Kingdom that is more than a match for Gerontius, and I feel that it is a much more balanced work and throughout maintains a stream of glorious music whereas Gerontius has its up and downs. Perhaps I was prejudiced by hearing a great friend of Elgar’s [Frank Schuster] (who was very kind to me in my young days) jump down the throat of a young man who made this criticism [that Gerontius was a finer achievement than Kingdom]: ‘My dear boy, beside The Kingdom, Gerontius is the work of a raw amateur’.”
I wouldn’t go as far as Schuster but I know what Boult meant about Kingdom being a morebalanced work - perhaps because Elgar fashioned his own libretto. Also, I believe that by the time he composed Kingdom, six years on from Gerontius, Elgar had become an even more accomplished orchestrator and a more assured choral writer.
Boult’s version, though now starting to show its age sonically, remains a benchmark. Since it appeared there have been two more recordings. One was a sumptuously engineered Chandos set from Richard Hickox (CHAN 8788/9). The other, which I have not heard, was made for RCA Red Seal by Leonard Slatkin but I suspect is no longer available. Sadly, that fine Elgar conductor, Vernon Handley, never had the opportunity to record the work.
Every since I reviewed his superb recording of Gerontius I have been hoping that Sir Mark Elder might make a recording of Kingdom and now, here it is. Unlike his Gerontius, which was recorded under studio conditions, this is taken from a single live concert performance. ‘Live’ recordings often include a few edits from rehearsal. I don’t know if that happened here but if it did the edits are completely undetectable and, in fact, I’m pretty sure that what we have here is a single, unedited performance; that’s what it sounds like. Those who worry about applause on CDs can be reassured; unlike Elder’s recent recording of Götterdämmerung applause is absent here.
One thing I should say at the start is that if you buy this recording for no other reason - and there are many reasons why you should buy it - do so in order to hear the orchestral playing. That may be an odd thing to say about a choral recording and in saying it I do not mean in any way to disparage the vocal contributions. However, when Elgar wrote The Kingdom he was at the height of his very considerable powers as an orchestrator and his colourful and resourceful orchestral scoring is a major element of this score. I think the composer would have rejoiced to hear his music so magnificently played as it is here by the Hallé. Their playing is truly world class and a vivid testament to the achievement to date of their Music Director, Sir Mark Elder. The playing radiates assurance and a familiarity with Elgar’s idiom. The strings consistently play with richness and flexibility while the woodwind has great finesse. Best of all, the brass section possesses splendid power and authority but, schooled by Elder, this is never overdone. One small example will suffice. Towards the end of Part III, beginning five bars after cue 120 in the Novello score, the brass nobly play the ‘New Faith’ motif (CD 1, track 9, 4:25). In the Hickox recording this is delivered fortissimo and it’s rather grandiose as a result. Elder, like Boult, has noticed that the marking is only forte and the consequent restraint in both recordings is more effective.
The LPO plays excellently for Boult on his recording while the LSO is on refulgent form for Hickox. However, I feel that the Hallé surpass both their rivals. They may not be recorded as vividly as the LSO - I’ll comment about the respective recordings later - but they are no less impressive. Also, I feel that Hickox has a tendency to underline points in the score. This rather impedes the natural flow of the orchestral playing in a way that is absent from either Boult’s or Elder’s performances though both of these conductors - and their respective players - consistently display admirable attention to Elgar’s copious markings.
The Hallé Choir is by no means put in the shade by their orchestral colleagues. From the very start they sing with great confidence and impressive tone. It’s evident that they’ve been scrupulously prepared by their guest Director, Tom Seligman. I particularly appreciated the dynamic range of their singing. They are capable of producing very exciting loud singing where Elgar requires it but their quiet singing is just as noteworthy. The precision and attack that they bring to the music is excellent throughout, as is the clarity of their diction and altogether I think the choir’s contribution is top-class.
The four soloists take respectively the roles of the Blessed Virgin Mary (soprano), Mary Magdalen (mezzo), St John (tenor) and St Peter (baritone). Of these, it is the role of St Peter that is the most prominent though to the soprano falls the very best music in the whole work, the aria, ‘The sun goeth down’.
The tenor role is not easy to present. It has its dramatic moments but it is primarily lyrical. In fact, I think Elgar portrayed St. John as The Comforter among the Apostles, and certainly as a more reflective character than St Peter. The challenge to the tenor soloist is to sing the role with sufficient impact but without straying into vehemence, which was the main reason why I thought Adrian Thompson was miscast in the role at a Three Choirs Festival concert this summer. Arthur Davies, for Hickox, sings with ringing assurance but, I think, misses some of the humanity for which the role calls. Alexander Young (Boult) is the exemplar in this part and I don’t think John Hudson matches Young. For the most part he sings reliably, though there were a couple of occasions on which he seemed to approach important high notes from below. However, to my ears he doesn’t have the same lyrical grace and ease that Young brought to the music.
The mezzo role of Mary Magdalen is sung by Susan Bickley, who so impressed me in Mahler’s Second Symphony at the Three Choirs Festival this summer. She makes a fine job of this role too, singing with warm tone and great clarity throughout. I’d say she’s as good as the excellent Yvonne Minton (Boult) and I prefer her to Felicity Palmer (Hickox). She blends well with Clare Rutter in the fresh, lightly scored duet that forms Part II of the work. Later, she has a couple of very important narrative passages. One such is at the start of Part III (“And suddenly, there came from heaven”). Here she’s dramatic and exciting, rising to a thrilling top G sharp. Further on in the work, she’s just as involving in the narration at the start of ‘The Arrest’ (Disc 2, track 3).
That narration ushers in the great soprano aria, ‘The sun goeth down’. This is a huge test for the soprano soloist, who has to begin and end the aria in a mood of prayerful contemplation but must rise to great dramatic heights in the central section. Margaret Price (Boult) is peerless here, setting standards that I’ve never heard matched on disc or live. In the outer sections of the aria her singing is rapt, supported with great sensitivity by Rodney Friend (I think), playing the luminous solo violin part. In the middle of the aria the dramatic fervour that Price brings to the music elevates it to the highest level. I’m afraid Margaret Marshall (Hickox) doesn’t match this accomplishment at all. There are some instances of wayward pitching on sustained notes at the start of the aria and, beside Miss Price, she sounds a bit squally in the central section.
Clare Rutter may not quite equal Margaret Price but she makes a fine job of this aria. I’d have liked her to sing the opening phrases just a little more softly - especially after Lyn Fletcher has prepared the way so beautifully with a lovely account of the violin solo - but overall her delivery of the more inward passages of the aria shows pleasing sensitivity. When the dramatic intensity of the music picks up she responds with very committed singing. At cue 159 (“The Gospel of the Kingdom”) (disc 2, track 4, 4:55) she’s really fervent yet within a few moments she’s fined things down to produce an exquisite pianissimo on the word “Jesus” (5:57). This is a distinguished piece of singing, which means that the aria is a high spot, as it should be. This is the most important contribution that Elgar gives to his soprano but elsewhere Miss Rutter’s singing is very good, not least in the afore-mentioned duet with Susan Bickley.
The key solo role in The Kingdom is the baritone part, here entrusted to Iain Paterson. He sings well and with authority. Once again, the Boult recording sets the benchmark for John Shirley-Quirk is quite magnificent in the role, singing with a marvellous combination of controlled intensity and tonal richness. For Hickox, David Wilson-Johnson does very well without surpassing Shirley-Quirk. I enjoyed Iain Paterson’s singing very much. He brings intelligence to the role and, as I’ve already said, authority. His crucial, long solo in Part III, built around the ‘New Faith’ theme, is a cornerstone of the work and Paterson doesn’t disappoint. He delivers this and his other solos with conviction and at every turn his diction is clear.
I had hoped that Sir Mark Elder would prove an authoritative interpreter of The Kingdom and indeed he does. Several things mark out his interpretation. One is an impressive control of pace and structure. That, I suppose, is no surprise given his pedigree as a fine operatic conductor. Another is his attention to detail, respecting Elgar’s copious and vital markings in the score. That, again, should be no surprise to anyone who has heard his previous excellent Elgar recordings. He also demonstrates a great understanding of the score, ensuring that the sentiments it expresses are given their due weight but never letting the music sound sanctimonious. It seemed to me that his choice of tempi was, almost without exception, excellent. Elder displays a mastery of the score that is comparable with Boult’s and he doesn’t indulge in any of the over-emphatic point-making that slightly mar Hickox’s otherwise impressive reading. To cap it all, this is a live recording so we can benefit from the sweep and electricity of the occasion.
I should mention the quality of sound in the respective recordings. The Boult recording was made in Kingsway Hall by Christopher Bishop and Christopher Parker. It’s a very good recording but it is now over forty years old and it hasn’t got the same degree of presence and inner clarity as its two more modern rivals. The Chandos recording for Hickox was made in St Jude’s Church, London by Brian and Ralph Couzens. The sound has great presence, indeed punch, and in many ways it’s a splendid achievement. The sound can be thrilling and, as usual with Chandos, a great deal of detail is revealed. However, playing all three recordings on the same equipment and without adjusting the controls made me think that perhaps the fullness of the Chandos sound was just a bit too much of a good thing at times.
The engineering team behind this new Hallé recording is exactly the same one that produced Elder’s warmly received recording of Götterdämmerung. I haven’t yet had the time to do more than sample that Wagner recording though what I’ve heard has impressed me. I’m certainly very impressed indeed by this new Elgar recording. It seems to me to present a nicely truthful concert hall balance. The soloists are given a properly prominent position in the aural picture without one feeling that they’re artificially close. The choir, though behind the orchestra is reported with presence while the orchestra is in excellent balance with both the choir and the soloists, allowing one to appreciate their superb playing without feeling that the orchestra is too dominant.
It only remains to say that the notes are by the doyen of Elgar commentators, Michael Kennedy, who provides a succinct but completely satisfying note about the work and a good synopsis of the action.
I hope that this fine new recording of The Kingdom will enhance the reputation of this marvellous work. It contains a great deal of quintessential Elgar, not least ‘The sun goeth down’. And much of Part III, from the start of St Peter’s extended aria (‘I have prayed for thee’) to the end of that movement, is top-drawer Elgar. The ending of Part III never fails to move me, especially when it’s done as superbly and convincingly as is the case here. As I said earlier, I might not go as far as Frank Schuster in evaluating the respective merits of Gerontius and Kingdom but I feel that Kingdom has been unfairly in the shadow of Elgar’s earlier choral masterpiece so it’s a cause for rejoicing that this splendid new Hallé account is now available.
Elder has already given us a recording of the Prelude to The Kingdom as a filler to his recording, with Thomas Zehetmair of the Violin Concerto. That was a different performance of the Prelude, set down in 2005. Reviewing the disc William Hedley said that Elder’s account of the Prelude made him want to hear the complete oratorio again. Well, now he can and I hope he’ll enjoy it as much as I have. With this excellent recording Sir Mark Elder further enhances his reputation as the finest Elgar conductor currently before the public. I hope he will go on before too long to give us a much-needed new recording of the companion oratorio, The Apostles. Can I also enter a plea that the Hallé’s evolving Elgar Edition will encompass the shamefully neglected Spirit of England, of which I’m sure Sir Mark would be a fine interpreter?
Sir Adrian Boult’s recording of The Kingdom must retain its place as a reference performance, not least because it has the finest quartet of soloists that I’ve ever heard in the work. However, this new Elder interpretation is a worthy rival and should be heard by all Elgar enthusiasts. It is certainly the pre-eminent digital account.
-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International
Robert Merrill & Jussi Bjorling - Arias & Duets
Faust
1. Salut! Demeure chaste et pure² [5:01]
Georges BIZET (1837 – 1875)
Les Pecheurs de perles
2. Au fond du temple saint ¹² [4:40]
Carmen
3. La fleur que tu m’avais jetée² [4:08]
Giacomo MEYERBEER (1791 – 1864)
L’Africaine
4. O Paradiso!² [3:34]
Giuseppe VERDI (1813 – 1901)
Don Carlo
5. Io l’ho perduta!¹² [10:30]
Rigoletto
6. Cortigiani, vil razza dannata¹ [4:26]
Il trovatore
7. Il balen del suo sorriso¹ [3:14]
La forza del destino
8. Solenne in quest’ora¹² [4:15]
Un ballo in maschera
9. Eri tu¹ [4:15]
Otello
10. Credo in un Dio crudel¹ [4:45]
11. Si, pel ciel¹² [4:29]
Pietro MASCAGNI (1863 – 1945)
Cavalleria rusticana
12. Il cavallo scalpita¹ [2:44]
13. Mama, quell vino è generoso² [3:58]
Ruggiero LEONCAVALLO (1858 – 1919)
Pagliacci
14. Si può? Si Può?¹ [4:57]
15. Vesti la giubba² [4:00]
Giacomo PUCCINI (1858 – 1924)
La bohème
16. Che gelida manina² [5:11]
17. O mimi, tu più non torni¹² [4:14]
Jussi Björling (tenor)², Robert Merrill (baritone)¹, RCA Victor Orchestra/Renato Cellini (1, 2, 4, 5, 8, 11, 15, 16, 17); Arthur Fiedler (6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 14); Swedish Radio Orchestra/Nils Grevillius (3; 13)
rec. New York, November 1949 (6, 7, 9, 10 12, 14); November 1950 (5); January 1951 (2, 8, 11, 16, 17); March 1951 (1, 4, 15); Stockholm, September 1950 (3, 13)
NIMBUS NI 7945 [78:31]
This disc is a gem.
There are few recordings of the same vintage – or indeed from any period of recorded history – that have been so frequently issued and reissued than the five legendary duets that Björling and Merrill set down in 1950-51. One can wonder if there is one single lover of great singing that doesn’t have a copy. I hope that there is still a market and that new generations will be able to discover gems from earlier times. These duets are among the most luminous of all. Björling and Merrill took part in the premiere of the new production of Don Carlo at the Metropolitan Opera on 6 November 1950, a performance that was televised. Less than a week later the same cast appeared in a radio broadcast, from which there exist excerpts issued on record. On 30 November RCA Victor and HMV in a joint effort recorded the long duet in a New York studio with Renato Cellini conducting. It was issued in Europe on HMV DB 21622 (78 rpm) and in the US on a 45 rpm disc (ERB-7027) and after that probably everyone – with the possible exception of Harald Henrysson, the curator of the Jussi Björling Museum – has lost count of the number of issues. Just a month later they were back in the studio and recorded four more duets, including the one from The Pearl Fishers, which has been one the most requested recordings ever since.
What is the secret of their popularity? The music of course, but with so many other recordings to choose from this is hardly the main reason. The quality of the recordings is no more than adequate for the period and the playing of the studio orchestra is professional but no more so than on other recordings. But the singing is special. Not only do the two voices blend so well, they are also clearly contrasted, which is especially obvious in Solenne in quest’ora from La forza del destino. Björling, who never sang Forza on stage, opens with hushed lyrical singing, far removed from some world-famous singers who try to break the sound-barrier, and then comes Merrill, who sang his role, he even recorded it with Thomas Schippers in the 1960s, and attacks the music with considerably more power. They recorded the Bohème duet a few years later in the complete recording with Beecham, who perhaps is more individual but whose slow tempo also makes it slightly turgid. Cellini has a more natural flow. Maybe the most interesting item is the Otello duet. The title role is the pinnacle for an Italianate tenor and Björling wanted to sing it but he wished to wait some years until his voice had darkened. It did, which can be heard on his later recordings, but before he was ready for the role death intervened, a fate that also fell upon Caruso a generation earlier. Neither of them reached the age of fifty. That Björling had the measure for some aspects of the role as early as 1951 is obvious from this duet, which actually is one of the more strenuous scenes in the opera. Merrill had recorded Iago’s Credo a year earlier – included here – and he returned to the aria for a later recital, recorded in Rome in 1956 in connection with the complete Rigoletto, where both singers participated.
Even in 1949 Merrill’s voice was one of the most beautiful and brilliant, surpassing even contemporaries like Warren, Gobbi and Bastianini, though falling short on interpretative depth. One can compare in detail his early readings with those from the mid-fifties and again – in Trovatore and Rigoletto – with complete recordings from the early sixties. The voice has not aged all that much but neither have the readings. He is no cipher dramatically but his readings are of the all-purpose kind that could without great loss be interchangeable between operas. Even so it is a special pleasure to listen to him for the supreme singing and these recordings with Arthur Fiedler are relative rarities in the reissue catalogues and therefore especially welcome.
This also goes for Björling’s recordings of roughly the same period. We find his aria recordings from the late thirties and early forties on sundry labels but these sides – there are also arias from Aida and La Gioconda from the same session as Che gelida manina and the two Tosca arias recorded with Grevillius at a session the week before the Carmen and Cavalleria arias – have been largely forgotten. This is a pity since they show Björling at the absolute peak of his powers, having honed them on numerous performances and recitals while still with the voice in mint condition.
If you haven’t got the duets, by all means buy the disc for them – they have rarely been challenged and never surpassed> however even if you do have them in threefold versions this disc remains a gem for the sake of the arias.
-- Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International
Reger: Complete Sonatas for Unaccompanied Violin / Mathe
REGER Sonatas for Unaccompanied Violin, op. 91: No. 1 in a; No. 2 in D; No. 3 in B?; No. 4 in b; No. 5 in e; No. 6 in G; No. 7 in a • Ulrike-Anima Mathé (vn) • DORIAN 90915 (2 CDs: 115:44)
Having just reviewed a recording of Reger’s suites for solo viola with Tabea Zimmermann for the previous issue, I was pleased to receive this sumptuously reconstituted set from Dorian of the composer’s complete op. 91 sonatas for solo violin. Max Reger, it seems, is beginning to attract more mainstream attention and more of an audience than has heretofore been the case.
Reger’s seven sonatas for solo violin are important additions to the repertoire, and choice in recorded versions is extremely limited. Therefore, I do not wish to be too critical of this retread, which was originally (and still is) available as two separate discs. But I must get one thing out of the way right off the bat. Once upon a time, Dorian was roundly criticized for recordings with such excessive reverberation that they sounded like they’d been made in an echo chamber. The company apparently took the criticism to heart, for their releases that followed were significantly less echoey. Unfortunately, these not-new recordings, made in the Troy Savings Bank Music Hall in Troy, New York, in 1992 and 1994, come from a period during which Dorian’s engineers were pursuing their sinful ways. I’ve heard quite a few more recent recordings that emanate from this venue, so I can vouch for the fact that it’s a hall with superb acoustics that sound nothing like this. The impression one receives the instant Ulrike-Anima Mathé’s bow touches the strings is of a vast, cavernous space that makes her violin sound three times normal size and dimensionally distorted.
That being said, judgment of Mathé’s playing should not be based on what her makeup artists did to pump it up on steroids. She articulates Reger’s difficult double-stopping and string crossings cleanly and with exceptional incisiveness. Her left-hand work is equally deft, capable of delivering pitch-perfect intonation and invigorating velocity. And though it’s hard to judge her tone quality due to the souped-up sound, I suspect that it would be quite pleasing to hear in a normal setting.
Reger-phobia is unwarranted. Anyone who has ever read anything about Reger or had any exposure to his music knows that he was obsessive-compulsive when it came to writing fugues, and that he had a “thing” about Bach. That fixation, however, led to the creation of some fascinating and intellectually stimulating music. If you enjoy listening to Bach’s sonatas and partitas for unaccompanied violin, you are virtually guaranteed to enjoy Reger’s sonatas, for they are Bach revisited and reheard through 1905 ears.
The technical difficulties posed by Reger’s sonatas are similar to those posed by Bach’s works for unaccompanied violin. To produce the harmony and the effect of multiple voices engaged in contrapuntal interplay, it is necessary to notate miles of double- and triple-stops and awkward string crossings, something that is neither easy nor natural to play on an instrument better suited to producing a single-voiced melody. Thus, works of this type require a technical whiz of virtuoso caliber, but they are not virtuosic display pieces in the same way that Paganini’s, Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst’s, or Eugène Ysaÿe’s somewhat later works for solo violin are. Reger’s sonatas, however, are no more boring, academic exercises than are Bach’s sonatas and partitas. The initial appeal may be intellectual, but gradually the music grows on you and blossoms into something entirely satisfying on an emotional level.
At the time these recordings were made, Mathé showed every promise of being a rising star. I’m not quite sure what has happened to her since. I reviewed a cpo CD of Friedrich Kiel’s piano quartets in Fanfare 31:5 in which she played violin; but other than that, on record at least, it doesn’t appear that she’s been very active, which is too bad, because her playing here is exceptionally good. And, as mentioned above, recordings of Reger’s op. 91 complete are few and far between. The only other current listing I find is on Troubadisc with violinist Renate Eggebrecht-Kupsa. Her account of the sonatas may be very fine (she has way more recordings listed than does Mathé), but I haven’t heard it.
Reger’s sonatas need not appeal exclusively to listeners who have a special interest in music for solo violin. So, provisionally recommended, as long as you can adjust to the recorded sound. Otherwise, you might wish to explore Eggebrecht-Kupsa’s version, although it’s pricey. I suspect, though I don’t know for sure since it was not yet listed at the time of writing, that the Dorian set, being a repackaging job, may be sold as a twofer.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
Bruckner: Symphony No. 5 / Shani, Rotterdam Philharmonic
Liszt: Complete Piano Music Vol 21 / K. Scherbakov
But, hang on a minute, this music certainly doesn’t sound like Liszt and, of course, it isn’t – it’s Beethoven. Although I have been aware of Liszt’s transcriptions of his symphonies for some time, this is my first experience of them. I approached the disc with several questions in my mind: Why did Liszt transcribe them? Why, when I can easily choose between recordings by Klemperer, Karajan, Böhm and Zinman, should I want to listen to a piano version? Even if I am interested in piano transcriptions of Beethoven’s symphonies, should I really be starting with the Ninth?
I would presume that Liszt was motivated to produce his transcriptions as a vehicle for his own performance and to increase the possibility of their performance more generally; although they would only ever be accessible to great virtuosos. My initial reason for wanting to listen to this was curiosity but I will re-listen in the future because the experience was much more compelling than I had expected. It made me think afresh about a work I thought I knew well. Each time I have listened to it I have marvelled at Beethoven’s music, Liszt’s conception for the piano, and Scherbakov’s musicianship and virtuosity.
My feeling is that the difficulties of playing the 9th Symphony on the piano must increase progressively throughout the work. The first movement is relatively straightforward compared to the scherzo, for which there is an incessant rhythmic challenge; despite this Scherbakov takes all the other repeats except the last one. In the adagio the difficulty is obviously not one of hitting the notes but conveying the feeling normally imparted in the string writing. Sensibly Scherbakov adopts a relatively fast tempo (although the duration of 12 minutes is similar to Zinman, Böhm takes about half as long again) and yet he convincingly conveys the spiritual essence of the music. But all this is nothing compared to the finale! As this began, I was really sceptical. Hadn’t Liszt thought of bringing at least a tenor along with him? Can a piano really sing like four soloists and a chorus? Of course it can’t but Scherbakov’s piano sings for all it is worth and the words went round in my head. The experience was quite different but still a rich broth rather than a consommé. Scherbakov handles the various contrasting sections of the finale with the same skill as a great conductor and he brings off a magnificent conclusion. The fantastic glow that you should feel at the end of this work was just as intense as ever.
Second time round, listening to this disc with the orchestral score was an interesting experience. The most striking thing was how many of the notes are in the piano version, a very high proportion and certainly all the ones that matter. Curiously though, there seems to be a small cut in the scherzo of eight bars just before the last repeated section (at 9’52" on track 2). This section (on page 133 of the Dover edition of the score) is played on all the orchestral versions mentioned above. Essentially it is a repeat of the opening eight bars of this movement. I don’t know whether Liszt, Scherbakov or Naxos is responsible for the omission. It would be surprising if it were Liszt because this short passage is so straightforward that even I could transcribe it for the piano (you couldn’t say that for more than 99% of the rest of this work!) although perhaps these bars were not in the edition of the score he used. Whatever the explanation, I raise it as a point of interest and do not feel that it detracts significantly from his truly magnificent rendition of this movement.
The recorded sound is not absolutely top-drawer and the piano initially seemed a little harsh in tone (this is not entirely inappropriate at the beginning of this work) but my ears adapted. The booklet is rather disappointing – no need here for a biography of Liszt, rather some more detail about the transcriptions would have been appreciated. But, for me, given music-making like this, these are minor considerations.
There is competition, both from within Leslie Howard’s complete Liszt series and also a complete Beethoven symphony transcription set by Cyprien Katsaris (see link to review below). Obviously, I haven’t heard these discs (yet) but, regardless of their merits, Scherbakov is worth hearing as well.
I am glad I started my piano transcription experience with the Ninth because it has made me want to explore the rest of the series. Apparently Scherbakov has already recorded three discs including the first six symphonies (see links to reviews of two of the discs below) and these are already available. I shall be looking out for these and the rest of this series, whatever their place in Naxos’s grand scheme. I shall also await volume 28 with anticipation - perhaps it might contain some original music by Liszt?
This is a magnificent disc and listening to it is a truly uplifting experience.
-- Patrick C. Waller, MusicWeb International
Rautavaara: Rubaiyat, Balada, Canto V & 4 Songs from Rasputin / Storgårds, Helsinki Philharmonic
A MusicWeb International Recording of the Month!
Steadfast Ondine have here gathered four world premiere recordings of works by Finnish contemporary composer Rautavaara. In the 1970s and early 1980s I associated him with the thornier groves of avant-garde dissonance as evidenced by the Third Symphony. In fact, time and again, I have been reminded that Rautavaara reaches out to many listeners beyond any narrow elite. His early Cantus Arcticus (1972) is miraculously accessible. A concert late last year also underscored the same message. The BBC Philharmonic under Carlos Miguel Prieto in MediaCity Salford played his Symphony No. 7 Angel of Light. This is a surgingly and phantasmally lyrical three-quarter hour work belonging among the last century's melodic treasures, close to Silvestrov's Symphony No. 5, the symphonies of Alla Pavlova and Ned Rorem's Lions.
Rubáiyát (2015) is a song-cycle using verse from Edward Fitzgerald's translation/realization of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam (1048–1131). We are fortunate to hear Gerald Finley singing it in its orchestral version. His voice is clear yet lush of tone. He sings across an incessantly inventive and beckoning orchestral arioso. His enunciation is sharply focused and while his 'line' is usually independent of the accompaniment he puts across the poetry's carpe diem philosophy with eloquence. Rautavaara does not shy from word and line repetition and grasps the opportunities provided by the most famous (least neglected) verses. The work begins with an abrupt plunge ‘in media res' and, as if further to emphasise the message, ends abruptly, without grace line or flourish, on the words 'O make haste'.
Verses have been popular with composers. Apart from Bantock's three-hour setting there are the song-cycle by Liza Lehmann, Arthur Foote's Character Pieces after Omar Khayyám, Robert Blum's Symphony No. 1 Omar Khayyám for orchestra and baritone, Lex van Delden's Omar Khayyám cantata, works by Charles Cadman, Henry Houseley, and in the 1970s, Alan Hovhaness's Rubaiyat for narrator, accordion and orchestra. There are also smaller-scale contributions from Hindemith and Penderecki.
Into the Heart of Light (Canto V - 2012) is the latest installment in the composer's series of works for string orchestra. The first of the Cantos dates from the 1960s. This glowingly confident example of lofty melodic writing for massed strings reaches across to the angelic ecstasy of the Seventh Symphony.
Balada (2014) sets texts by Lorca. It's a substantial piece for tenor, mixed choir and orchestra. On this occasion Mika Pohjonen is the soloist. The work was premiered in Madrid in May 2015. Its burning fervour injects a flaming drama which is put across with muscular commitment by both choir and orchestra. The music moves in approximately the same universe as the more demonstrative moments in John Tavener's big choral-orchestral works as well as recalling Szymanowski's Third Symphony Song of the Night and Barber's Prayers of Kierkegaard. As usual my intention here is to give some flavour of what you will hear, not to imply any lack of originality.
The Four Songs from the opera Rasputin are arrangements by the composer for mixed choir and orchestra. No doubt we will hear the whole opera before too long; the sooner the better. It's certainly a fruitful subject and story. The massed choral effect is redolent from time to time of Sibelius's Kullervo. The orchestral tissue gleams, shines and glitters around the plangent and awed singing. There's a touch of Mussorgsky's voice of the people here.
The notes by Kimmo Korhonen and a typically fine recording, lacking nothing in impact and subtlety, serve to complement some glorious music-making. This will make converts and have them exploring Ondine's already bejewelled Rautavaara pages.
– MusicWeb International (Rob Barnett)
Rubbra: Symphonies 6 & 8, Soliloquy / Saram, Del Mar, Handley
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)
Ullmann: Der Kaiser von Atlantis / Agudin, Orchestre Musique des Lumieres
Viktor Ullmann arrived in Theresienstadt on 8 September 1942. He was 44 years old, a Jew and a former officer of the Austrian army. Being an accomplished composer, well known for his organizational skills, he was immediately solicited by the Freizeitgestaltung to organize concerts and conferences, to write musical reviews (he authored 26 such texts), and to compose. In fact, during the two years before his transport to Auschwitz, he wrote several instrumental and vocal works, including song cycles for baritone and piano, one sonata for violin and piano, his third string quartet, three piano sonatas (numbers 5, 6 and 7) as well as an opera in one act on a libretto by the young poet Peter Kien Der Kaiser von Atlantis oder die Tod-Verweigerung (The Emperor of Atlantis, or the Disobedience of Death). Ever since his arrival in the ghetto, Ullmann seems aware of the precariousness of his future, as is shown in the quite openly ironic remark on the manuscript of his piano sonata nº 7, dated 22 August 1944: “The performance rights are reserved by the composer until his death”, so, not for long.
REVIEW:
In the three or four generations since composer Viktor Ullmann wrote his opera Der Kaiser von Atlantis with librettist Peter Kien, in the Nazi ghetto-prison Terezín (Theresienstadt) in 1943/44, humanity hasn’t progressed very far. To anyone in today’s world who even pays the slightest attention, this work’s themes and characters–for instance, its “Kaiser” is a demented, tyrannical dictator who launches a massive, unprovoked war–will be all too familiar, and real.
Death and Harlequin are sitting together reminiscing, Harlequin lamenting how life is no fun anymore; Death decrying the loss of the glorious nature of dying as in the old days. Neither finds satisfaction or meaning in a world that has lost its ability to laugh or to properly die. But then Emperor Overall announces that “we have decided in our infallible, all-penetrating wisdom, to declare…the great, beneficent War of all against all.” Every person, whether child, woman, or man (“whether crooked or straight”) will take up arms, everyone against everyone. And, Overall declares, it will all be led by “our old associate, Death.” However, upon hearing this, Death takes offense at the presumption, breaks his sword, and refuses to cooperate. Death goes “on strike”. (The subtitle of the opera is “oder Die Tod-Verweigerung”, or the Disobedience of Death.)
What follows–including the confrontation between two seeming enemies who choose love rather than fighting–concerns the (ultimately chaotic) consequences of a world without death, and, importantly, of removing the instrument of death from a ruler’s arsenal. If death is no longer at his service, then the Emperor no longer has his power. Ultimately Death returns to his work, restores his necessary function, taking Overall with him.
Ullmann’s music is a fascinating assortment of styles, owing to influences of Schoenberg (with whom he studied) and to several of the more popular forms of the period (Weill’s “cabaret” music is often mentioned), whose juxtapositions–and the fact that it’s all very “singable”–sustain musical interest while ensuring no loss of dramatic momentum. Here are elements of the colorful, somewhat experimental, developing world of music theatre in “between-the-wars” Central Europe, mixing the tonal and atonal, the humorous and the grotesque, irony and the plainly serious, while, in Ullmann’s hands, always mindful of a necessity for structural formality.
Instrumentation–undoubtedly determined by what was available in the camp–is a colorful mix, a 13-piece chamber orchestra that includes strings and winds, but also harmonium, saxophone, banjo, and harpsichord. Throughout there are quotations, both in the libretto and music, from other works that would have carried particular meaning for the audience. Among them: the very first notes of the opera are the Angel of Death motif from Czech composer Josef Suk’s “Asrael” Symphony; there is an effectively distorted rendition of Haydn’s “Kaiser Lied” (which had become the German national anthem); and at the end of the opera comes the famous chorale tune “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott”.
Because of the circumstances of the work’s creation and its ultimate fate–it was never performed in Terezín; its premiere wasn’t until 1975–there is no definitive version. Ullmann and most of the other artists involved in the production were deported to Auschwitz in October, 1944, and before he left, the composer gave his manuscripts to Terezín’s librarian for what he hoped would be safekeeping until after the war. Ullmann was killed on arrival at Auschwitz. The scores survived but were only discovered years later in London. [Note: for a detailed account of the musical lives and activities in the Terezín concentration camp, including those of Viktor Ullmann and many other musicians, please see Joza Karas’ seminal work on the subject, Music In Terezín 1941-1945 (Pendragon Press).]
The existing score was much annotated, marked up with changes made during rehearsals. In some instances Ullmann himself provided alternate choices or leaves uncertain notations that are equally likely options. However, careful study has been undertaken and serious efforts made to discern Ullmann’s intent as closely and clearly as possible and to produce a score based on these findings and educated assumptions. This is the version we get here, and it’s excellent, from the singing to the instrumental work. And don’t forget the first rate notes and the inclusion of the complete libretto in four languages.
The music itself is more than worthy of serious attention; this is a sophisticated, consistently engaging dramatic work that impresses, in the words of annotator Bruno Giner, “not because it was composed in Theresienstadt, not as an emblematic parable of totalitarianism…but indeed because it is an accomplished and artistically successful work.” There are no stand-alone arias in the traditional sense, nor grand, show-stopping moments; it doesn’t require singers of extraordinary technical capabilities (not that the ones here aren’t capable of such!). It’s just a hair-raising story, ingeniously characterized, plotted, and scored; one that makes its points very effectively, one you will remember. The singers and instrumental players assembled for this recording are all first-rate–the singers’ voices exactly right for these roles; the chamber orchestra in command of the style and always supportive and assertive where required.
And, speaking of singers–and the “all too familiar”: In the notes you will read that this recording, which was made in March, 2015, is dedicated “to the memory of our comrade Wassyl Slipak, whose voice never left us.” A baritone at the Paris Opera, Slipak, who here sings the role of Death with impressive vocalism and commanding presence, left his position there in 2015 to join the fight against Russian separatists in his native Ukraine. He was killed by a sniper in June, 2016. And so it goes.
-- ClassicsToday.com (David Vernier)
