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Vladimir Horowitz At Carnegie Hall - The Private Collection - Schumann, Chopin, Liszt, Balakirev
Sony Masterworks · Sep 2009CD$11.98 -
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Bach: Italian Concerto; French Overture; 4 Duets; Aria & 10 Variations In Italian Style
Piano Classics · May 2015CD$21.99 -
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Rachmaninov: Symphony No. 3, Prince Rostislav, Caprice Bohemien / Noseda, BBC Philharmonic
Chandos · Jul 2011CD$21.99 -
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Legendary Berlin Concert 18 May, 1986 / Vladimir Horowitz
Pianophiles who share an affinity for the legacy of Vladimir Horowitz will find this latest Sony release hard to resist. For the younger generation, this is one of those recitals the “Horowitz sensation” can still be fully appreciated as if it took place just yesterday. Following the release of Deutsche Grammophon’s ‘Horowitz in Hamburg - the Last Concert’ (21 June 1987), Sony has unveiled this legendary Berlin Concert from its archive. It takes us back a year before the Hamburg concert. Captured live and released on digital media for the first time, this is a recital that has both historical and musical values.
Horowitz made his solo début in the Atlantic Hotel in Hamburg on 19 January 1926. According to historical accounts, this event was nothing short of spectacular. The featured programme included Liszt’s B Minor Sonata, the Figaro-Fantasia, plus the Barcarolle and a number of Chopin Études and Mazurkas. Between this time until the early part of the1930s, Horowitz gave performances in Hamburg and Berlin. These included the Second Piano Concertos of both Brahms and Liszt (with Wilhelm Furtwängler and the Berlin Philharmonic), Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No.1 (under Oskar Fried, and later, with Eugen Pabst, also with the BPO). He made his only surviving gramophone recording from that era in Berlin on 9 June 1931 at the Philharmonie’s Beethovensaal, with Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Minor, Op.23 No.5. Anti-Semitic sentiment and political unrest limited Horowitz’s activities in Germany. His absence was further compounded by his notorious “withdrawal” and “returns” from the public concert-stage during the ensuing years. As a result, Horowitz did not again tread on German soil for 54 years until 1986. Three intriguing accounts by Dr. Norbert Ely, Jürgen Kesting, and Dr.Elmar Weingarten in the accompanying liner-notes recollect the experiences each of these writers had with Horowitz, focusing on how the fulfilment of the Berlin and Hamburg recitals in the latter years of the pianist’s life came to be. It was Dr. Weingarten’s first-hand memories as the Head of the music department of the Berlin Festival (1985-1990) that provided the most vivid account. He recalled how Horowitz spontaneously decided to offer an additional concert to the Berlin public at very short notice, by scribbling on the ‘dining menu of Hotel Kempinski’ the programme of what ultimately constituted his recital on 24 May 1986. Perhaps this later recital will be the topic of a future release from Sony Music, but in the present recording, listeners witness the reunion of a lost bond - the one between Horowitz and his German audience - a bond that had been severed for more than 54 years.
The first sounds on the first disc are of the audience applauding and applauding as Horowitz enters the Grosser Saal of the Berlin Philharmonie. Every recital since the pianist’s return to public performance in 1985 was a world wonder, synonymous with the acclaim received by pop-stars.
Then follows a series of three Sonatas from Scarlatti, a composer to whose works Horowitz brought ample delight and a fabled delicacy of colour on his infamous Steinway D instrument. Horowitz was however at his ideal best with the works of the Romantic composers, particularly those of Schumann, Liszt and Chopin. Kreisleriana evinces finesse and playful elegance - allusions to the world of E.T.A. Hoffmann. This masterly interpretation is both pliable and alive. The lilting dance at the centre of Liszt’s Soirée de Vienne No.6 was a favourite of Horowitz’s. Her it is played with virtuosic delight that even at the age of 83 shows that he remained in command of his fingers. This combines with a radiant and complementary youthfulness. The Sonetto del Petrarca 104 is delivered with a myriad colours and such intimacy that the fading final notes literally took the listeners’ breaths away. It was an experience that seemed almost spiritual.
CD 2 opens with groups of Russian pieces, two each of the Preludes of Rachmaninoff and Études of Scriabin. A glimpse of Horowitz’s love for the Polish dances was represented in two of Chopin’s Mazurkas preparing the ground for an elegantly majestic account of the A Flat Polonaise with its vociferous moments during the notorious left-hand octaves. Unexpectedly, the most impressive readings were saved for the very end of the recital in two of the three encores. These pieces were by far his most beloved: Schumann’s Träumerei and Moszkowski’s Etincelles. In the Träumerei, one can hear the poetic delicacy that washed away all technical impurities, while in the Etincelles, the delicate passages were equipped with a buoyancy and a tenderness that one might not have envisioned possible from the pianoforte.
Those who were able to afford the unprecedented ticket price of more than 300 marks apiece (or the discounted student price at 25 marks) to attend this recital must certainly have their own fantastic recollections to share, but to reiterate one such example from Dr. Norbert Ely who was the radio presenter during this Berlin concert, he described the recital experience as one that ‘revealed a lot of his [Horowitz’s] soul, exposing the inner conflicts of a century. One could hear that an era was coming to an end.’ The authentic Horowitz magic has been revived thanks to Sony who have captured a musician whose artistry was mellowed by age and experience.
-- Patrick P.L. Lam, MusicWeb International
Johann Stamitz: Flute Concertos / Aitken, Katkus
J. W. STAMITZ Flute Concertos: in D; in C; in D; in G • Robert Aitken (fl); Donatas Katkus, cond; St. Christopher CO • NAXOS 8.570150 (69:15)
The music of Johann Stamitz (1717–57) is largely known through a handful of works. For clarinetists, the B? Concerto is arguably one of (if not the) earliest written for the instrument that uses both the upper clarion and the lower chalumeau registers, and thus earns its reputation for its modernity. Orchestral trios foreshadow the emerging symphony; and his later works, including the La melodia germanica series published in Paris in 1756, not only are some of the earliest to establish the four-movement conventional symphonic pattern, but they also popularized the orchestral effects associated with the Mannheim orchestra, of which Stamitz was the concertmaster. These include rapid scales (the so-called coup d’archet ), the layered crescendo (the original Mannheim steamroller), and the rapidly ascending triads known as the Mannheim rocket. Less well known is the fact that he was a prolific composer, who, in his position, was able to experiment with the capabilities of his instruments, the various textures that could be obtained, and with form and structure. As a result, his efforts had far-reaching impacts upon the music and composers that followed him.
Stamitz was active during a period that one either can characterize as galant or (to borrow a term from literature) empfindsam . Both of these are tricky to translate accurately in musical terms, the former meaning something like “polite” or “well bred” and the latter “emotional” or “sensitive” (and there are other words that work as well). But what it really means for the listener is that there is a new sense of freedom to explore the capabilities of the music, to play with rhythm and contrast, and to develop new genres and styles. This disc presents four of his flute concertos, probably written for Johann Baptist Wendling, a flutist who was arguably one of the best of the entire century. Considering that the instrument was made of wood and had only a couple of keys, both the tone production and technical capability was limited, making the instrument more appropriate to chamber work than playing versus an orchestra, particularly one the size and power of Mannheim. In all four works, Stamitz demonstrates a skill that focuses on a dazzling display of technical virtuosity that is rarely overshadowed by the accompaniment. Even when he adds horns, as he does in the two D-Major concertos, the use is sensitive to the overall sonority. As for the flute part itself, if the listener, spoiled by the long, lyrical lines and regular phrases of the two Mozart pieces, seeks such in these works, disappointment will follow. Instead, there is a virtual compendium of pyrotechnics that leaves the listener breathless (not to mention the poor flutist). Rapid runs, leaps between registers, perpetual-motion figuration, and the rapid oscillation between duple and triple rhythms make this a flute virtuoso’s delight, as these works push the envelope of what is technically possible with the instrument. Moreover, in the C-Major Concerto, even the orchestral ritornello is technically demanding for the strings. These are not student works, but require the utmost of agility and ability to perform.
Aitken, fortunately, is quite up to the task. He takes the break-neck tempos of the opening movements with apparent ease and clarity of tone, allowing the display to come through. In the slow movements, he pulls back the throttle, but never enough to dull the sometimes-sensitive lyrical writing. For instance, in the C-Major Concerto, the second movement’s minor key, replete with echo effects, is delineated with precision and displays considerable musical deftness. In the G-Major final movement, he allows for the folk-like main theme to peer through the leaps and runs, providing a contrast that is both pleasing and a welcome relief to the pyrotechnics. Only occasionally does he blur his scales and leaps, though this may be an aftereffect of using a modern instrument.
The Lithuanian St. Christopher group provides a precise and understated accompaniment. One might have wished for more presence in the recording, but perhaps this was a decision by the sound engineer to focus on the flute. It is true that the music on this disc is mostly all about the flute and its ability, and this lends a certain sameness to each of the concertos, but if one concentrates upon the remarkable technical display, then one will find a perfect example of what can happen when a composer of this pivotal period pushes the aerobatic envelope of a more reticent and intimate instrument. We would be lucky to have the remaining 10 recorded in the future. Highly recommended.
FANFARE: Bertil van Boer
Johann Stamitz is a name well known in musical history, but his voice is seldom heard. This latest Naxos disc of flute concertos - two volumes of symphonies and one of orchestral trios are already available - is therefore a welcome release.
Famous as a virtuoso violinist and then as Kapellmeister of the celebrated Mannheim court orchestra, Stamitz presided over the establishment of that band of players and over the development of what became the ‘Mannheim style’ – disciplined playing, thrilling dynamics and innovative instrumentation. He played a key role in developing the symphonic form, and in transforming musical composition from the Baroque style to the nascent Classical sound.
As well as symphonies, Stamitz left behind a large number of concertos, including fourteen for flute. The four featured on this disc probably date from the 1750s and may well have been played by the Elector Carl Theodor, and by Mannheim virtuoso Johann Baptist Wendling, who so impressed Mozart on his visit to Paris in 1763 and Mannheim in 1777-78.
They are beautiful works, but the main problem is that there is little to distinguish one from the other. The two D major concertos in particular sound very much alike, although the horn parts in the second at least differentiate it from it predecessor. The C major concerto’s shift into C minor for the slow Andante offers some tonal variety, while rapid triplet figures for the soloist in the first movement keep the momentum alive.
But one cannot escape the feeling that these works were really vehicles for Wendling’s – or someone else’s – prodigious talents. Attention therefore falls on soloist Robert Aitken. His flawless technique and lightness of touch make him perfectly suited to this kind of repertoire. He is particularly impressive in the hugely demanding cadenzas in each concerto, although his forward positioning in the recording can make the flute sound a little shrill on the ear in some of the higher registers.
For their part, the St Christopher (formerly Vilnius) Chamber Orchestra under Donatus Katkus have few opportunities to shine. Nevertheless, they keep the accompaniment chugging along nicely, hinting at Haydnesque and Mozartian sounds to come.
-- John-Pierre Joyce, MusicWeb International
Pejacevic: Symphony, Op. 41; Phantasie Concertante / Rasilainen, Banfield, Rheinland-pfalz State Philharmonic
PEJA?EVI? Symphony in f?. Phantasie Concertante for Piano and Orchestra • Ari Rasilainen, cond; Volker Banfield (pn); Rheinland-Pfalz St PO • CPO 777418 (62:42)
Cpo, a label noted for ferreting out obscure repertoire, has outdone itself this time by digging up not just another female composer—that alone wouldn’t be so rare—but a Croatian one to boot. Heretofore, I don’t think I could have named a single Croatian composer of any gender, but now I can. Short-lived Dora Peja?evi? (1885–1923) was actually born in Budapest, the daughter of a Croatian father and a Hungarian mother, the Countess Lilla Vay de Vaya, an accomplished pianist and Dora’s first teacher. On her father’s side, Dora was descended from a distinguished noble family in Slavonia, the eastern region of Croatia. In composition, she was largely self-taught, but she did receive some private instruction in Zagreb, Dresden, and Munich. She died at 38 following complications of childbirth.
During her short life, she produced 58 documented works. That number isn’t particularly noteworthy compared to other composers who died even younger and wrote much more, but what is worth mentioning is that like another female composer, the French Louise Farrenc (1804–75), Peja?evi? competed with the boys in the arena of large symphonic, concerted orchestral, and chamber works. In addition to the symphony and concert fantasy on this disc, known and/or published works include a piano concerto, sonatas for piano, violin, and cello, and a piano quintet. During her life, her music was not entirely unknown in the music capitals of Europe; it was heard in Vienna, Munich, Budapest, and Prague.
The works Peja?evi? left behind, to the extent they were acknowledged at all, must have seemed hopelessly outdated by a musical intelligentsia preoccupied with the latest compositional novelties. It’s not just that she embraced a musical vocabulary practically indistinguishable from any number of late 19th-century Romantic composers, but by the time she came to begin her F?-Minor Symphony in 1916, completing it a year later, the era of the big Romantic symphony was on life support, or at least on recuperative leave. Mahler had pretty much seen to that a decade earlier. Last-stand efforts by Rachmaninoff, Sibelius, Franz Schmidt, and a number of others didn’t change the fact that the symphony, as inherited from the 19th century, was about to take on new forms and modes of expression in the 20th.
Peja?evi?’s symphony, like Rachmaninoff’s Second, may have been written in the 20th century, but it belongs to the 19th. It’s your standard-issue four-movement effusively romantic affair—a rich tapestry spun from strands of long-breathed chromatically enhanced melody, luxuriant harmony, and opulent orchestration. It doesn’t seem to be much influenced by the Mahler-Zemlinsky-Schoenberg axis, though perhaps that shouldn’t be a surprise considering the very complex cultural cross-pollination of Croatia’s history by Hungarian, Italian, and even Russian influences. In fact, isolated passages throughout Peja?evi?’s symphony remind me a bit of Glazunov. But there are so many other crosscurrents going on in the score, not least of which is a passage at 7:54 in the first movement that sounds like it escaped from Dukas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice . But it quickly morphs into something that sounds like it was lifted from Strauss’s An Alpine Symphony.
If there’s any surprise at all in Peja?evi?’s piece it’s how upbeat and optimistic it sounds for a work ostensibly in a minor key. Her melodies have an almost Italianate character to them in their lithe and graceful manner, and if the title and notes didn’t identify the piece as being in minor, I’d bet the farm it was in major.
The piano Phantasie Concertante came two years after completion of the symphony. In a single movement lasting almost 15 minutes, the piece is a virtuoso vehicle that alternates between Gershwin-like bluesy harmonies and jazzy rhythms on the one hand and keyboard figuration right out of Rachmaninoff on the other. Just listen to the broad, lush melody beginning in the cellos at 6:12 and the florid passagework in the piano weaving around and entwining with it. It could have come from the first movement of Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto. I hope someone from Hyperion is reading this, because Peja?evi?’s Phantasie and probably her piano concerto as well are ideal candidates for the next volume of the Romantic Piano Concerto series.
When you hear this piece you will wonder how Peja?evi? could have been forgotten. If the climax to the lengthy aforementioned passage doesn’t sweep you away, I can’t think of much else that will. The fact that Peja?evi? could develop, build, and sustain a musical paragraph of such length is evidence in itself that the woman could write circles around many of her peers, male or female.
Pianist Volker Banfield is stunning, as are conductor Ari Rasilainen and his Rheinland-Pfalz State Philharmonic forces. Cpo has done it again. I thought I’d already settled on my annual Want List selections, but this dark horse entry is just going to have to push another pick aside. Urgently recommended.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
Vladimir Horowitz At Carnegie Hall - The Private Collection - Schumann, Chopin, Liszt, Balakirev
VLADIMIR HOROWITZ AT CARNEGIE HALL—THE PRIVATE COLLECTION • Vladimir Horowitz (pn) • RCA 754604, mono (50:10) Live: New York 1945–1950
SCHUMANN Phantasie in C. BALAKIREV Oriental Fantasy, “ Islamey.” CHOPIN Barcarolle. LISZT (arr. Horowitz) Légendes: St. Francis de Paul Walks on Water
This latest treasure trove from the recorded legacy of Vladimir Horowitz, all previously unreleased recordings, is of performances recorded live in concert at Carnegie Hall between 1945 and 1950. (A similar collection of recorded performances, with different repertoire, was released by RCA in the mid 1990s.) The present discs were donated to the Yale Music Library by Horowitz and his wife, along with a wide variety of other valuable archival materials such as concert programs, scores, correspondence, and the like. The interesting background to this CD is that Horowitz hired a private company to record his Carnegie Hall concerts during those five years, apparently for his own use, and would listen to them on occasion. Eventually, they were forgotten, and given to Yale by Horowitz as part of the archive. The restoration of most of the originals has been remarkably successful.
The music world is a great deal richer for having access now to this collection. While some of the works on this disc were favorites of Horowitz, and performed and recorded on other occasions, there are two indisputably important and unique additions here: arrangements by Horowitz of Liszt’s “St. Francis de Paul Walks on Water” from Légendes , and Balakirev’s fabled “Islamey.” Although he performed them in concert, they were never recorded for commercial release. (Actually Horowitz performed “Islamey” during only one concert season, 1950, and the present performance dates from that time.) As most pianists are well aware, “Islamey” is considered one of the most technically demanding works in the keyboard repertoire—in other words, a perfect vehicle for Horowitz. Both the Liszt and Balakirev are absolutely stunning; the sheer technique involved—the tricky fast repeated notes, the cascades of runs and other fast passages, the accuracy of leaps, the control of dynamics—reveal Horowitz at the very peak of his career, demonstrating his absolute supremacy over the keyboard. The same must be said for his beautiful performance of Chopin’s Barcarolle, in which the pianist’s legendary singing right hand and judicious use of rubato create a haunting landscape.
The Schumann Phantasie was one of Horowitz’s favorite works; it was on the program at his 1965 Carnegie Hall “comeback” concert following a 12-year absence from the concert stage, and was issued by Columbia shortly after. The Phantasie heard here was recorded in April 1946, unfortunately accompanied by a good bit of noise from the original lacquer surfaces. Horowitz’s treatment of the first movement is truly like a fantasy, sounding dreamlike and spontaneous. It is a beautiful performance, even though in the treacherous coda of the second movement Horowitz seems to succumb to an attack of nerves, begins to rush, and actually loses it briefly before the final measures, with a memory slip and some wrong notes. But magically, the worst over, he plays the last movement with transfixing tenderness and beauty of sound.
This CD may constitute the final hidden treasures from Horowitz’s recorded legacy; but even if some new treasures are discovered, this one is a must for serious collectors.
FANFARE: Susan Kagan
This is prime Horowitz on staggering, fearless form..."
The second of three releases culled from Vladimir Horowitz's mid-1940s/early-1950s Carnegie Hall recitals offers alternative views of two works long familiar from his commercial discography, along with two showpieces otherwise unavailable in the Horowitz canon. The Schumann Fantasy is a classic example of Horowitz's genius for transforming the composer's busy, often thick textures into lean, translucent, and provocatively contoured sonorities. However, an unsettled quality emerges from the pianist's small yet persistent speed-ups and slow-downs within phrases that he would shape more simply in his 1965 comeback recital. Listeners following the score also will notice booming added octaves, plus a deletion of 19 measures from the second movement that's clearly intentional--not a memory lapse. Horowitz's similarly affetuoso approach to the Chopin Barcarolle flows better here than in his 1957 studio recording, notwithstanding the overly aggressive and tight-fisted coda.
Listeners familiar with Liszt's St. François de Paule marchant sur les flots will notice quite a few textual emendations that ultimately draw more attention to the pianist than the composer. That said, this is prime Horowitz on staggering, fearless form, as he also is throughout Balakirev's Islamey. Simon Barere may be unmatched for sheer speed, yet Horowitz's virtuosity is more expressive in its focused articulation, motoric momentum, and shrewd pedaling. He also omits a few bars here and there. Although words cannot adequately mirror the Horowitz experience, David Dubal's vibrant, refreshingly frank booklet notes come pretty darn close.
--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com
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Also Available: Volume 1 - Vladimir Horowitz At Carnegie Hall - The Private Collection - Music of Mussorgsky & Liszt.
This second release from the Yale archive recordings captures Vladimir Horowitz in his golden prime, playing his signature repertoire in concert at Carnegie Hall, where he celebrated the milestones in his career. Horowitz employed an engineer to make 78-rpm recordings of his Carnegie Hall concerts in this period, and he used them to review and judge his performances. Most of these mono recordings were originally contained on 12 and 16-inch acetate discs. They have been impeccably mastered, with the sound restored, from new transfers made in the Yale archives. Significant press accompanied the original announcement of the donation of these recordings to Yale, where Horowitz performed often through the years and was assistant fellow of Silliman College.
The second Private Collection release includes four works that take the listener deep into the heart of the Romantic age – Schumann’s Fantasy in C Major, Op. 17; Chopin’s lilting Barcarolle, Op. 60; Liszt’s evocative musical meditation Legende No. 2 – St. Francis de Paule Walking on the Waves; and one of the most demanding pieces ever written for solo piano, Russian composer Mily Balakirev’s breathtaking steeplechase Islamey.
- Carnegie Hall Presents Series from Sony Masterworks
Schneider: 4 Flute Sonatas
Tchaikovsky & Babajanian: Piano Trios / Gluzman, Moser, Sudbin
In Russian chamber music, a rather special tradition evolved around the piano trio, with a number of composers turning to the genre to write ‘instrumental requiems’. First out was Tchaikovsky with his Piano Trio in A minor, Op. 50, ‘à la mémoire d’un grand artiste’, and he was followed by composers such as Rachmaninov, Arensky and Shostakovich. In the case of Tchaikovsky’s trio, the ‘grand artiste’ was the pianist Nikolai Rubinstein, and Tchaikovsky chose the trio genre as he felt that a piece for solo piano would be too lightweight and one with orchestral accompaniment would be too showy. The work is in two movements, a Pezzo elegiaco (‘elegiac piece’) and a set of variations, and it begins with the cello playing a moving lament which sets the tone for the entire first movement. The theme returns at the end of the second movement in the form of an impassioned funeral march. Seventy years later, when the Armenian composer and pianist Arno Babajanian (1921—83) wrote his Piano Trio in F sharp minor, he didn’t give it any subtitle, but there’s a grandeur and breadth of scale which rivals Tchaikovsky’s work – and the second movement is thoroughly elegiac in character. The trio is Babajanian’s best-known work, composed in the Romantic style of Rachmaninov, but also rooted in Armenian folk music, melodically as well as rhythmically. Performing the two works are Vadim Gluzman and Yevgeny Sudbin, both with Russian roots, joined by cellist Johannes Moser, and the three close the album with Sudbin’s arrangement of a brief Tango by Alfred Schnittke.
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REVIEW:
I will begin with what, strictly speaking, is merely the “other piece” on this disc: the piano trio by Arno Babajanian. I have never heard of him or what appears to be his best-known work, but the outstanding recording and startling advocacy of this starry chamber group makes me think I should have.
The piano trio opens with the violin and cello playing a dark theme together. The piano comes in with some lovely runs reminiscent of Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto (no bad thing, in my view). The second movement starts with a long violin melody over a syncopated piano accompaniment, not a million miles from Korngold or Prokofiev’s second violin concerto. The final movement opens with something of a shock, a jazzy passage in 5/8 time, but then the cello comes in with a lovely theme, and the two moods alternate until the end.
It is a delightful work with strong melodies and rhythmic complexity, which this trio plainly adore. It is wonderfully recorded, giving plenty of power to Johannes Moser’s cello work. I shall be taking it off my shelves frequently.
I have so far had to make do for Tchaikovsky’s Piano Trio opus 50 with an old Naxos recording by the Ashkenazy Trio (8.550467), still available. The coupling is Arensky’s trio, and I would not want to be without that. But this disc blows that version out of the water, both in terms of performance and recording. I cannot pretend to have heard all the hundreds of recordings of the work by world-renowned musicians which are out there – but this well may be among the best.
Once again, the recording of Moser’s cello has all the resonance of the real instrument; Sudbin’s piano is alert but self-effacing when it needs to be; Gluzman’s violin soars and inspires. Above all, the trio give the impression they are listening to each other and adjusting their performances accordingly.
The disc ends with a little bon-bon which I assume the group put in because they were enjoying themselves so much: the Tango from the opera Life with an Idiot by Alfred Schnittke. It is not really necessary, since the disc lasts almost seventy minutes without it, but it is great fun, for us as well as for the artists.
– MusicWeb International
Shostakovich: Concerto And Sonata For Cello / Sol Gabetta
Sol Gabetta is a cellist in great demand as a concert performer. If the high-end German record shops such as Ludwig Beck, Munich and Dussmann, Berlin are anything to go by Gabetta is being strongly marketed by her record label. The programme chosen this time for the young Argentine cellist is all-Shostakovich with wonderful accounts of both the Concerto and the Sonata. The Concerto recording was made at live concerts in January 2008 in the admirable acoustic of the Philharmonie at Munich’s Gasteig. The applause has been elided. On the other hand the Sonata in which Gabetta teams up with Romanian-born pianist Mihaela Ursuleasa is a studio recording made in Zurich. My disc was sent from Germany with German-only text.
The Cello Concerto No.2, written in the last decade of his life, was dedicated to Rostropovich who premièred the score at Shostakovich’s 60th birthday concert in Moscow. Compared to the first Cello Concerto, Op. 107 from 1959 this relatively underrated score is only now beginning to establish its rightful place in the repertoire. The harsh constraints of living and working under the Soviet regime must surely have helped shape its character.
In the opening Largo the cello plays virtually continuously. Right from the first bars the darkly brooding intensity of the cello is spine-tingling. Gabetta’s rich mocha-toned instrument is caught splendidly by the sound engineers. Taking the listener by surprise the cannon salvos and pounding martial beat at 3:58-4:03 is highly dramatic. From 4:31 the anguished wails of the cello are remarkably affecting. A reflective passage on the cello at 5:34 and 6:55 is developed by the orchestra into a thickly textured and deeply depressing episode. A concentrated section from 7:28 feels almost overwhelming. Coming as a welcome relief from 8:35 is a more upbeat passage. It is not long before the playful figures become restless and demanding and the overwhelming weight of torment returns. At 10:32-10:59 the percussion blows are quite ferocious and serve as an ominous warning. The pounding continues but fades and disappears into the distance. Over a rumbling and restless orchestra the cello from 12:54 with its plaintive theme tries to calm the agitation.
Serving as a Scherzo the central movement marked Allegretto is terse and highly rhythmic. A waltz-like street theme on the cello with a sardonic twist opens the movement. Horn-calls punctuate the scene together with a colourful array of percussive effects. Gabetta’s energetic playing cuts through the macabre orchestral writing seemingly intent on holding the cello back. Played continuously, the closing movement also an Allegretto, is heralded by a horn fanfare and drum-roll. Gabetta plays a languorous melody of a certain nobility that has been described as “ barcarolle-like”. Especially interesting are the unusual orchestral textures with notable percussive effects. From 4:41 the tempi shift quickly several times and take on a curious galloping quality. At 6:35 the cello theme becomes one of sadness and tender introspection - a mood that underpins the remainder of the movement. Percussion lashes against a frenetic cello line from 9:41 create a disconcerting effect and this builds to a terrifying climax at 10:52. The breathless cello writing then recovers its poise to repeat the melancholic but introspectively steely theme. If that was possible the mood becomes even more mournful with Gabetta’s cello sounding as if it was weeping. Snare drums and other light percussion effects close the score. The orchestra provide warm and positive support .
For alternative versions of the Cello Concerto No.2 I have long been satisfied with that from cellist Heinrich Schiff with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra under Maxim Shostakovich. With playing of impressive assurance the performance was recorded in 1984 at the Hercules Hall, Residenz, Munich on Philips 475 7575. (c/w Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1). Another beautifully played account is from cellist Mischa Maisky with the London Symphony Orchestra under Michael Tilson Thomas. It was recorded in 1993 at the Abbey Road Studios in London on Deutsche Grammophon 445 821-2. (c/w Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1).
The four movement Cello Sonata was written when Shostakovich still had artistic freedom. This was prior to the denunciation in 1936 by the Soviet authorities and before his fall from favour owing to the opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. Essentially a lyrical score rather than experimental the Sonata was premièred in 1934 in Moscow by cellist Viktor Kubatsky, its dedicatee. Interestingly there have been several arrangements for viola and piano.
The two main themes of the opening movement could not be more different in character. The first is an upright elegant melody that Gabetta and Ursuleasa. It is intensified in tension and made more weighty until it becomes unruly bordering on stormy. By contrast the second theme is cloaked in lush yearning Romanticism. Gabetta’s glorious tone is outstanding and Ursuleasa revels in the long warm lines. An Allegro the second movement is a countryside romp that Gabetta and Ursuleasa develop into the manner of an excitable folk dance. Sombre and mournful in the third movement Largo Gabetta’s cello sounds as if it is sobbing. The intensity becomes heavier with the cello reaching down to its deepest register. In the skittish and scampering Rondo: Finale the piano has abundant opportunity to shine with Ursuleasa demonstrating her assurance in a number of dazzling runs. It is Gabetta’s relatively restrained cello part that keeps the merriment in check.
For both the splendid playing as well being an important music document I admire the version of the Sonata played by cellist Daniil Shafran and the composer on piano. Recorded in 1956 I have the performance on Revelation RV10017. (c/w Rachmaninov Cello Sonata). I also play often the account from cellist Leonid Gorokhov and pianist Nikolai Demidenko. This satisfying version was recorded at Champs Hill, Pulborough, Sussex in 2004 on ASV Gold GLD4006.
I was perfectly happy with this RCA Victor Red Seal recording in both the concerto and sonata. Gabetta’s cello is placed well forward and is vividly clear. I know of no more dramatic and beautifully played account of the Concerto.
-- Michael Cookson, MusicWeb International
Bach - Gambensonaten / Stadtfeld, Vogler
BACH Sonatas for Viola da Gamba and Basso: in G, BWV 1027 ; in D, BWV 1028 ; in g, BWV 1029 . Chorale Preludes from the Orgelbüchlein: “Jesu meine Freude,” BWV 610; “Vom Himmel hoch,” BWV 606; “Gottes Sohn is kommen,” BWV 600; “In dir ist Freude,” BWV 615; “Der Tag, der ist so freudenreich,” BWV 605; “Herr Christ, der ein’ge Gottes Sohn,” BWV 601; “Vom Himmel kam der Engel Schar,” BWV 607; “Herr Gott, nun schleufz den Himmel auf,” BWV 617 • Jan Vogler (vc); Martin Stadtfeld (pn) • SONY 88697575192 (54:27)
The three sonatas for viola da gamba and basso composed by Johann Sebastian Bach probably during the last year or so he spent in Weimar are repertoire staples, both for early-music practitioners and for performers on modern instruments, such as the viola or the cello. As such they are almost required repertoire and there is a plethora of recordings, both on period instruments and modern, available in the catalog. This particular rendition introduces cellist Jan Vogler and pianist Martin Stadtfeld in another of those attempts to reenvision these venerable works in an unusual and perhaps even unique way. As the rather perfunctory booklet notes state: “Performing these three works on the cello and piano has long since become established as an alternative that combines knowledge of performing practice in Bach’s time with the striving for tonal expression that has analytical clarity [that] benefits the dialogue character of these sonatas.” All right, one supposes, as a generic goal, but it is clear that this particular recording seems more the result of a discussion between the two performers than one more attempt to find a unique reconfiguration of conventional and well-known pieces. Since the three works are short, the two chose a selection of chorale preludes from Bach’s Orgelbüchlein to fill out the disc. And of course, having these performed by the cello/piano duo presents another take on the short practical pieces that Bach attempted to write for the entire liturgical year (he only finalized 46 out of an intended 164 chorales). As they say, they were “taking up the challenge of reproducing on their instruments Bach’s compositional technique that varies between festive splendor and intimate melancholy.” I suppose that is enough to link these various pieces to the gamba sonatas, but to my ear they come off more like encores than the sort of experiment proposed.
I’ve always considered the gamba sonatas to be good if typical representatives of the early 17th-century German style. Two of the works are in the typical four-movement format, while the last, BWV 1029 in G Minor, reflects a more modern three-movement pattern typical of the Italian secular style just coming into vogue. Bach is quite adept at the intricate spinning out of his main themes in the fast movements, altering the motives just enough to provide interest and weaving the continuo and solo lines in subtle ways that avoid mechanical repetition. One hears echoes of the short didactic works from the Anna Magdalena Notebook in the second movement of the G Major, while the Andante of the D Major could have come straight out of a Vivaldi concerto. (It is interesting to note that around this time Bach was angling for another position at Cöthen and studying Vivaldi intensely.) The first movement of the G Minor could almost be a replacement for Brandenburg 6, with close thematic similarities abounding. In short, these are solidly composed and well worth having in one’s collection of Baroque chamber music.
The issue that surrounds this disc is really that it is yet another recording on modern instruments, when so many fine examples of the works on period instruments can be found. I don’t propose to reopen what has to be a real can of worms here, but let me state right out that while idiomatic performances do bring out much of the sound world Bach originally created in these sonatas, he at least would not have particularly objected to their being performed on whatever was available at the time. Moreover, from the benefit of almost three centuries of instrumental development, these still resonate, whether on period instruments or modern. Both Vogler and Stadtfelt are fine performers. Their execution of the sonatas is clean and finely nuanced. Yes, there is more than a little bit of modern vibrato and resonant tone, but because they are rather equally matched, this gives their performance a rounded sound that brings out some of the technical subtleties of the composition. Sometimes they do miss an occasional beat; for example, in the Adagio of the G-Minor Sonata the cello mezza di voce is bland, not at all the resonant increasing vibrato that the sustained tone calls for, but by and large these are decent performances. The only rather weak areas are the chorale preludes. These, unfortunately, do not “vary between festive splendor and intimate melancholy,” but rather sound sort of like background music one might find in a romance film. They are universally romantic in their performance, and neither of the players really has a sense of what these things were supposed to do in real life. They would be good encores after particularly rousing applause, but they don’t really belong with the gamba sonatas. The final word on this disc is that these are all right, especially if you are a budding cellist who has contemplated your own performance of the sonatas. Period-instrument devotees will find this yet another anathema, but if you take it in the spirit of presenting a collaboration between two relatively new names in the field, then you might want to add this to your collection.
FANFARE: Bertil van Boer
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If Bach's viola da gamba and harpsichord sonatas played on the cello and piano hold appeal, then you'll very likely enjoy these direct, clear-lined, slightly dry, yet intelligently interactive and texturally contrasted performances. Jan Vogler applies vibrato discreetly, yet never sacrifices tonal values in the process. Vogler's haunting, alto-like timbre above the staff weaves aural magic in slower movements and in the chorale-prelude transcriptions that bookend the sonatas. With the ghost of Glenn Gould gently hovering above, Martin Stadtfeld's dry-point articulation, rhythmic incisiveness, and sparkling trills significantly contribute to the mix (incidentally, Sony ought to release Stadtfeld's excellent Goldberg Variations in the U.S.). The cover photo seems less worthy of Bach than of Saturday Night Fever.
--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com
Bach: Italian Concerto; French Overture; 4 Duets; Aria & 10 Variations In Italian Style
MOZART: THE COMPLETE PIANO SONATAS VOL. 3
RAVEL L'ALCHIMISTE
MOZART: PIANO SONATAS VOL.1
Prokofiev: Alexander Nevsky / Ormandy, Philadelphia Orchestra
PROKOFIEV Alexander Nevsky. 1 RACHMANINOFF The Bells 2 • Eugene Ormandy, cond; Philadelphia O; Phyllis Curtin (sop); 2 Betty Allen (mez); 1 George Shirley (ten); 2 Michael Devlin (bar); 2 Mendelssohn Club of Philadelphia; 1 Temple University Ch 2 • RCA-ArkivMusic 38296 (72:46)
Prokofiev may not immediately come to mind when thinking about Ormandy’s repertoire, but in fact his Prokofiev discography is substantial: all the symphonies save the Second and Third, including two versions each of the Fifth and Sixth; the Second and Fourth piano concertos; both violin concertos (with Isaac Stern); and the Scythian Suite , along with the usual suspects. This 1974–75 Alexander Nevsky , his second version, is a tour de force; Betty Allen is impressive (singing in Russian) in “The Field of the Dead,” and “The Battle on the Ice” is larger than life. The sound is among the best of the Ormandy RCAs, very immediate, with terrific bass response.
The Bells , recorded in 1973, isn’t quite as spectacular sounding; it’s as though the presence of soloists causes the pickup of the orchestra to lose immediacy. The work is sung in English, a retranslation of Balmont’s Russian. A Philadelphia specialty (Ormandy had first recorded it in 1954), it should have been a winner. But the real weak link is the soloists; George Shirley is fine, if not soaring, in the first movement, but Phyllis Curtin wobbles in the second, and in the remarkable final movement (with more lovely work by Rosenblatt) Michael Devlin uses a full operatic fortissimo regardless of the actual dynamic marking. Still, Ormandy is never less than authoritative in Rachmaninoff, and the Prokofiev is an absolute winner.
FANFARE: Richard A. Kaplan
These are two very fine performances. Ormandy proves himself to be surprisingly exciting in Nevsky, particularly in the first half of The Battle on the Ice. Betty Allen's voice doesn't ever seem to have been beautiful, and her registers are uneven, but that small deficit aside, most listeners will find little to complain about. The last movement, with percussion well to the fore, is more cinematic than the actual film, though no one can pretend that these balances are in any way natural.
Always a terrific Rachmaninov conductor, and with a fine cast of soloists, Ormandy delivers a powerful performance of The Bells. Yes, the version used is the English re-translation of the Russian original, but the Temple University Choirs sing with amazingly clear diction, even in the wild "Alarm Bells" third movement. The engineering here is far more naturally balanced than in Nevsky, though as with most of the discs in this Japanese RCA series it could use a state-of-the-art remastering. Available "on demand" from Arkivmusic.com, and demand it you should.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
Massonneau: 3 Duos Concertante, Op. 9
Attractive Classical-era duets for violin
and cello in world-premiere recordings
by a young Italian pair of brothers.
Despite his French name, Louis
Massonneau was a German composer,
born in Kassel in 1766 and dying at the
venerable age of 82 in MecklenburgVorpommern in 1848. His father was
chef to the Landgrave Friedrich II of
Hessen-Kassel, and Louis received his
musical training at the hands of the
court musicians in Kassel, soon
becoming a violinist in the court
orchestra. The Landgrave died when
Massonneau was 19, and the orchestra
disbanded, requiring him to seek his
fortune elsewhere. This he did in a
series of posts, as a concertmaster of
court and theatre orchestras in
Göttingen, Frankfurt, Altona, Dessau,
Hamburg and finally Mecklenburg, where he
settled for good and retired in 1837.
Composing all the while, Massonneau left
behind a fairly substantial catalogue. Almost
completely unknown apart from a trio of
oboe quartets, it includes three symphonies,
twelve symphonies and six violin concertos,
doubtless written with his own talents in
mind. These three Duos Concertante probably
date from Massonneau’s time in Altona, when
he came to know the cellist Martin Calmus.
Required to perform duets for the
entertainment of those attending ‘Musical
Academies’, Massonneau doubtless found a
dearth of such repertoire, and wrote it afresh.
Calmus himself must have been an
accomplished cellist, because both parts
demonstrate a virtuosity and experimental
spirit shared with the better-known music of
their contemporary Boccherini. Each duo is cast
in three movements, skilfully varied in form
from the others, in which lyrical expression is
tempered by a touch of irony. Haydnesque
touches of major-minor ambiguity lend
dramatic tension to the first duo, while a more
balletic spirit and Mozartian melodic charm
brings a quasi-operatic character to the second.
No.3 is the most innovative in its rapid
conversational interplay between violin and
cello and unconventional range of timbre.
Demian and Dylan Baraldi have made this
recording with the cooperation of the Edition
Massonneau, and authoritative booklet notes
from the Edition illuminate the composer’s life
and work.
Cyprien Katsaris Archives, Vol. 8: Schubert
LISZT Hungarian Rhapsodies: Nos. 2, 3, 5, 7. Elegies: Nos. 1, 2. Liebestraum No. 3. Klavierstücke: Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Trauervorspiel und Trauermarsch. Unstern! Nuages gris. La Lugubre gondola Nos. 1, 2. R.W.—Venezia. Am Grabe Richard Wagners. Piano Sonata in b. Piano Concerto No. 2 1 • Cyprien Katsaris (pn); 1 Arild Remmereit (cond); 1 Deutches SO Berlin • PIANO 21 014-N (2 CDs: 137:51)
SCHUBERT Klavierstücke, D 946: Nos. 1, 2. Ländler, D 366: Nos. 1 (2 versions); 2–5, 10, 13. Ländler, D 790: Nos. 3, 4, 7, 8, 11. Deutsche Tänze, D 420: Nos. 1, 3, 4. Piano Sonata in B?, D 960. SCHUBERT-LISZT Ständchen. Der Müller und der Bach. Ave Maria & • Cyprien Katsaris (pn) • PIANO 21 P21 042A (2 CDs: 103:27) Live: 7/3/93
& KATSARIS Improvisation on Themes of Tchaikovsky and Wagner. BACH Concerto in d, BWV 974: Adagio
“When I heard that recording, I was afraid to play the piece again—I will not play it again”: That’s how the mature Cyprien Katsaris, in an interview with me last year, described his reaction on rehearing this scorching live performance of the Liszt Sonata, taped when he was a youngster of 22 (see Fanfare 34:5). At the time, I wondered just how hyperbolic he was being. Now that I’ve had a chance to hear the performance—which concludes his two-CD Liszt sampler—I can easily understand why he feels that way. Granted, by the stopwatch (always unreliable, but especially so in a long work with dozens of tempo changes), this 29-minute reading is fairly centrist in overall timing. But it certainly doesn’t feel centrist. Rather, the overall effect is vertiginous—passages of almost terrifying impetus made even more ferocious by the extremity with which Katsaris plays many of the slower passages (try, for instance, the way he puts on the brakes as he approaches his arrival at measure 532, or the way he stretches the fermata before the Grandioso theme at measure 600). Yet for all the brinksmanship, for all the improvisatory bravura, there’s never a sense of approximation. Katsaris’s somewhat dry tone keeps the textures clear and his unerring control of articulation and accent keeps them active, with the result that the music consistently sounds both detailed and eventful. And in part because he has such a good sense of the music’s emotional architecture (including a sure understanding of the dramatic purpose of the recitatives), the music has a consistent sense of direction. This reading may not have the intellectual acuity of Steven Hough’s or the volcanic integrity of Ernst Levy’s or the depth of Richter’s many recordings. But for sheer adrenaline, the young Katsaris is a match for Simon Barere, and for sheer imagination, he’s got him beat.
The performance is doubly effective because it comes at the end of a recital that generally offers a rather different vision of both Liszt and Katsaris. Granted, once past the deceptively pensive opening, the high-speed performance of the Second Concerto is similarly searing—especially in the brilliant cascades in the final pages. Here, too, Katsaris ups the emotional ante with his careful articulation, which gives an unusually detailed profile to the musical gestures. And here too he manages to heighten things further with his extreme contrast (try the luxury of the Allegro moderato ). Granted, too, no one is likely to accuse him of underplaying the second Hungarian Rhapsody. But most of the rest of the performances—as befits the repertoire—are notable less for their razzle-dazzle than for their acute understanding of Liszt’s subtler rhetoric.
Thus, it’s not simply that Katsaris captures (even heightens) the strangeness of the radical late scores. More than that, the recording stands out because he manages to do so without turning the music abstract or damping its remaining romantic tendencies. Thus, he fully conveys the obsessive qualities of La Lugubre Gondola I —but he does so without losing the music’s sense of motion. Similarly, there’s no attempt to normalize La Lugubre Gondola II —but there’s no loss of the passionate desperation at its core. Listen to the marvelous tonal effects (including the artful pedaling) in Am Grabe or to the tremendous control of dynamics in the opening pages of the Trauervorspiel or to the disorienting contradictions of the Second Elegy (gloriously passionate, utterly bereft): Rarely has so strong a case been made for the emotional (as opposed to the experimental) qualities of these scores.
One caveat: As Patrick Rucker rightly pointed out in his knowledgeable review in Fanfare 35:4 (less enthusiastic than mine), this is not a collection for textual purists. The most startling deviation from the written score comes at the end of Trauervorspiel und Trauermarsch . Not only does Katsaris add a sonic halo to Liszt’s stark original, but he also throws in a striking effect: Just as the final sustained wash of sound seems to be dying away, it suddenly builds a crescendo. Can a piano really crescendo on a sustained sound? It certainly sounds as if there has been some electronic intervention, but in a series of e-mails Katsaris told me that it was a purely acoustical phenomenon created by the pedals. In any case, while it’s not quite what Liszt wrote, it does (at least to my ears) fit the mood of the music.
The sound varies according to the sources, but it’s generally good, and the studio performances—all of which are new—are a lot better than that. In the Second Concerto, the orchestra provides unusually rich and colorful support.
Schubert demands a rather different approach—and on this recital from 1993, he gets it. These are, on the whole, brightly illuminated performances, dryish in tone and often impulsive (although never rushed) in tempo. Thus, while the sonata is surely one of Schubert’s grander creations, there’s none of Horowitz’s intensity; indeed, Katsaris nearly whispers the third movement, and he offers a generally sunlit account of the finale. Yet for all the clarity, there’s no lack of melodic beauty (listen to the flexible melodic curls of the second of the Klavierstücke ), of timbral sensitivity ( Ständchen is exquisite), or (especially in his collection of Ländler and dances) of succulence and wit. Katsaris’s own fantasy on themes by Tchaikovsky (mainly Swan Lake ) and Wagner ( Tannhäuser , although Lohengrin might have been more fitting) is a delightful first encore—but the eloquent reading of the Bach, with its utter purity and peace, brings the recital to an even higher plane. Not quite as ear-catching as the Liszt recital, perhaps, but well worth owning even so.
FANFARE: Peter J. Rabinowitz
Milken Archive - F. Jacobi: Cello Concerto, Etc
Included on this CD are three instrumental works of Jewish inspiration: the Cello Concerto, an introspective work inspired by the Book of Psalms; Hagiographa: Three Biblical Narratives for Piano and String Quartet, a rhapsodic evocation of three major biblical personalities; and Two Pieces in Sabbath Mood, an orchestral tone poem that depicts the spiritual qualities of the Sabbath in Jewish life and tradition. Also heard are two liturgical pieces: excerpts from the Sabbath Evening Service, a restrained setting for baritone and a cappella chorus that was commissioned by New York’s Temple Emanu-El; and Ahavat Olam, an independent setting of the Sabbath evening prayer for cantor and choir that is infused with echoes of traditional cantorial chant.
Click here to view all available releases in the Milken Archive Series at ArkivMusic.
R E V I E W S:
Fanfare:
The opening of Frederick Jacobi’s Cello Concerto will take your breath away. It is one of those instantly memorable, drop-dead gorgeous beginnings—like Fauré’s Elégie for cello and orchestra—that will have you asking yourself, “Who is this composer and where has he been all my life?” Well, it turns out that for the last several years of my life, Jacobi has been hiding on a shelf in my own library. His 1932 Cello Concerto, aka “Three Psalms for Cello and Orchestra,” has been filed away in my personal collection on a CRI disc containing a program of other works by Jacobi, including the here-recorded Hagiographa. Which leads to the inevitable question, “How memorable can it be if I didn’t remember I had it?”
The answer to that question may seem a bit of a cop-out, but I think it has to do with the fact that beautiful as this music is—and it is—it is also highly derivative of a number of other higher profile composers. The three-movement Cello Concerto, for example, though mostly a quiet, contemplative work, inevitably calls to mind associations with Bloch’s Schelomo (though it is nowhere near as cinematic), and even Dvo?ák’s Cello Concerto. Or, as the Milken Archive of American Jewish Music press release has it, “Jacobi’s style is marked by broad, melodic lyricism, often infused or contrasted with a sophisticated sense of drama that is personal and restrained, rather than overtly theatrical.” Not surprisingly, Jacobi studied with Bloch and Rubin Goldmark.
Frederick Jacobi (1891–1952) was a native San Franciscan of German-Jewish descent. Though not of a religious upbringing or traditional Jewish background, his interest in his cultural heritage was likely kindled by a commission he received in 1930 from Lazare Saminsky of New York’s Temple Emanu-El to provide a setting of the Sabbath Eve Service. He was also equally interested, however, in the authentic music of America’s southwest native tribes, and in the 1920s (like Bartók before him), Jacobi spent time among Pueblo and Navajo populations in Arizona and New Mexico, recording their indigenous rhythms, melodies, and sonorities. Much of this research found its way into his concert works.
Jacobi was an unapologetic and unrepentant romantic, and all of the pieces on this disc are marked by the broad, melodic lyricism noted above. “Mi khamokha” (the first of the four excerpts from the Sabbath Evening Service), an exquisitely simple yet intensely moving piece for baritone (Patrick Mason) surrounded by chorus, could be a not-too-distant cousin of the Sanctus from Berlioz’s Requiem. Hagiographa is, to all extents and purposes, a piano quintet. It can be listened to and appreciated as such without knowing that each of its three quite substantial movements is titled, respectively, “Job,” “Ruth,” and “Joshua.”
Ahavat olam is another of Cantor David Putterman’s commissions for liturgical music at New York’s Park Avenue Synagogue. Jacobi composed it in 1945. It is written in the style of traditional cantorial pieces for solo cantor and chorus. Brief as it is (just over three minutes), it ends with a most beautiful benedictory Amen. Two Pieces in Sabbath Mood, like Hagiographa, can be listened to as purely abstract music. Its two movements, “Kaddish” and “Oneg Shabbat,” are purely orchestral, and could be described as a tone poem.
If you love wonderfully rich romantic musical tapestries, tinged with ethnic (Jewish and native American) melodies and harmonies, Jacobi is a composer well worth exploring. I can recommend this Naxos release over the aforementioned CRI, not only because the performances and sound are better, but because the CRI contains only instrumental works, whereas the current release presents a nice cross-section and balance among instrumental, choral, and orchestral pieces. Very nice indeed.
Jerry Dubins, FANFARE
Rachmaninov: Symphony No. 3, Prince Rostislav, Caprice Bohemien / Noseda, BBC Philharmonic
RACHMANINOFF Symphony No. 3. Caprice bohémien. Prince Rostislav • Gianandrea Noseda, cond; BBC PO • CHANDOS 10677 (73:50)
Rachmaninoff’s Third Symphony, composed in 1935–36, has never gained the same traction as the Second or The Isle of the Dead , both composed some years before his departure from Russia in 1917; it is neither as lush as the Second—how could it be?—nor as muscular as the Symphonic Dances , his next, and last, composition. Aside from the difficulty Rachmaninoff had composing in exile, which has been well documented, I believe the Third Symphony and the Fourth Piano Concerto, both “problem” pieces, stand in similar relation to the Symphonic Dances and the Paganini Rhapsody , respectively: Just as the Fourth Concerto shows Rachmaninoff working out the difficulties of adapting to a familiar genre the leaner-textured and more harmonically bold style of his later solo piano works, so does the Third Symphony; and, in each case, the work that follows demonstrates his masterly solution to the problem. In other words, while the Third Symphony is a not-quite-comfortable juxtaposition of past and present in Rachmaninoff’s musical language, the Symphonic Dances expresses the complete assurance of his new style or manner, much in the same way an émigré writer’s second novel in his new country would exhibit greater security in its use of the new language.
Over the years I’ve found the recordings of the Third by the Philadelphia Orchestra, for which the symphony was written, generally satisfying: the composer’s own, supple 1939 version, and those by Eugene Ormandy, first a taut version on a mono LP and then a somewhat more luxuriant one in stereo. (The Dutoit recording for Decca is more problematic; see my review in Fanfare 35:1.) This new version by Gianandrea Noseda, however, demands consideration. For starters, the BBC Philharmonic sounds terrific; the strings are rich and full, as they must be in this work, and the many wind solos are superb. The statement of the first movement’s second theme near the end, by flute and clarinet two octaves apart, is meltingly beautiful. The ensemble in the tricky scherzo section of the second movement is dead-on. This may well be Britain’s finest orchestra these days.
Then there’s the contribution of Noseda himself. He’s a veteran Rachmaninoff conductor by now, having recorded all three symphonies and all three operas for Chandos; of the major works, only the Symphonic Dances and the choral-orchestral music remain. Fanfare’s critics have had mixed reactions to his previous Rachmaninoff recordings, but I find this one a real winner: Like the composer’s own version, tempos are flexible but never arbitrary, instead seeming to react to the music’s ebb and flow; climaxes are dynamic (and with Chandos’s sound, they can pack a wallop) but never exaggerated. Noseda takes the first-movement exposition repeat, now standard practice, but something neither Rachmaninoff (on 78s) nor Ormandy did.
The symphony, sensibly placed last on the disc, is complemented by two early works. The Caprice bohémien is a sonic showpiece, again with particularly beautiful wind solos. Noseda handles the gradual but relentless increase in speed in the latter portion nicely, making for a big finish. Prince Rostislav , from Rachmaninoff’s incredibly fruitful year of 1891—he was 18 years old!—is long on atmosphere if short on memorable thematic material; it owes a debt to Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sadko.
This is a first-rate recording. If, like me, you could use a well-wrought Rachmaninoff Third with the exposition repeat and in excellent modern sound, you need look no further.
FANFARE: Richard A. Kaplan
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There was once a trend among critics to downplay Rachmaninov's Symphony No. 3 likely stemming from mixed reviews at the work's premiere but beginning in the late 1970s the symphony has been re-evaluated several times and is today often recognized as an assured and thoroughly exciting Russian orchestral work, with appealing themes and a structure every bit as strong as the popular Symphonic Dances. In fact the dance rhythms of the Symphony's energetic finale are much akin to those in the Symphonic Dances as is the colorful orchestration. The work was written for Rachmaninov's favorite orchestra, the Philadelphia under Leopold Stokowski.
The album contains two other rarely heard works. The symphonic poem Prince Rostislav wherein the youthful composer shows the influence of his composition teacher Rimsky-Korsakov and, as with Rimsky-Korsakov's most popular works, is graced with eloquent, folk-like melody. Despite these appealing elements, the piece is overshadowed by Rachmaninov's later masterpieces. An even more rarely heard work is the Capriccio bohémien, which is luminously orchestrated and inspired by similar musical moments within the composer's opera Aleko.
Gianandrea Noseda continues this Chandos Rachmaninov series with excellent, well-recorded performances by the BBC Philharmonic who seem to be enjoying themselves within this passionate, fiery, luxurious music.
- Greg La Traille, ArkivMusic.com
D'Albert: Symphony in F / Markl, MDR SO
D’ALBERT Tiefland: Symphonic Prologue. Symphony in F, Op. 4 • Jun Märkl, cond; MDR Leipzig RSO • NAXOS 8.572805 (62:40)
A recording of Eugen d’Albert’s early Symphony in F Major appeared on CPO three years ago and was reviewed by James A. Altena in 33:6. That version was conducted by Herman Bäumer leading the Osnabrücker Symphony Orchestra. D’Albert’s life story is reasonably well known, so it needn’t be recapped at length. In short, he was born in Glasgow, studied in London, and at 17 won a scholarship to study in Austria. There he was so taken with Austro-German music and culture that he repudiated his English training as worthless and from that day forward considered himself a right and proper German. He studied with Liszt, met Brahms, and built a career as one of the foremost piano virtuosos of his day. Between 1904 and 1905, d’Albert toured the U.S., and in 1907 succeeded Joseph Joachim as director of Berlin’s Hochschulefür Musik. D’Albert counted among his circle of associates and friends, Richard Strauss, who dedicated his Burleske to him, Hans Pfitzner, Engelbert Humperdinck, and Ignatz Waghalter (see the interview with Irmina Trynkos in 36:3). D’Albert’s personal life was a bit of a mess. Like Henry VIII, he married and divorced six times, though as far as we know, all of d’Albert’s wives kept their heads. When connubial contentment eluded him, he comforted himself in the arms of a mistress. His love of Germany and all things German must have soured when the First World War broke out, for in 1914, he moved to Zurich and became a Swiss citizen. He died, however, in Riga, Latvia, where he’d traveled to secure a divorce from his sixth wife.
Little by little d’Albert’s interest in composing began to overtake his career as a pianist. His output is not insignificant. It includes 21 operas, of which the seventh, Tiefland , first staged in 1903, was a major success, playing in houses around the world. It still holds the boards today, though mainly in Austria and Germany. Other works include a Cello Concerto, two piano concertos (available on Volume 9 of Hyperion’s “Romantic Piano Concerto” series), a couple of string quartets, an overture to Grillparzer’s Esther , a Piano Sonata, a handful of solo piano pieces, and lots and lots of songs.
Note: d’Albert composed the overture to Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience in 1881, just prior to his departure for Austria. Except for the cello concerto, the two piano concertos, the symphony on this disc, and his opera, Tiefland , plus several recordings of excerpts therefrom, not a lot else by d’Albert has found its way onto disc.
Another note: if you’re searching ArkivMusic for d’Albert, you’ll find him listed under the letter “A,” as Albert, Eugène d’—odd, since the site lists D’Indy as D’Indy, Vincent. Maybe it has something to do with the lowercase “d” vs. the uppercase “D.” Amazon and the Fanfare Archive put d’Albert under “D,” but the Archive purges the apostrophe, giving his name as dAlbert. How many ways can you spell “dog?” How about “dawg?”
I concur in the opinion of others that d’Albert’s compositional strength lies mainly in his mastery of the craft; his thematic ideas lend themselves well to development and he knows his way around the orchestra. I find it a bit more difficult, however, to concur with colleague Altena that Brahms and Schumann are ever-present in d’Albert’s 1886 symphony. If you’ve not heard the piece before, my guess is you would find its soundscape rather generic, as if fashioned from some factory-made, synthetic, wash-and-wear fabric. The garment fits the style of the day, but the pants are somehow baggy and nondescript. Granted, d’Albert was only 22 when he composed his one and only symphony, but attractive as it is in the moment, it’s not the sort of work whose melodies or other features linger.
If the opening strains of the Symphonic Prologue to Tiefland recall the opening of the Scène aux champs movement from Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique , it’s with good reason. D’Albert is painting a similar pastoral scene in which two shepherds are heard calling to each other on their pipes. Following that, the music seems to meander along a path on which it first meets, greets, and passes Wagner, only to encounter Debussy around the next bend walking his poodles, Pelléas et Mélisande . I confess to never having heard d’Albert’s opera, Tiefland , but if the rest of it is anything like the Prologue, I can understand the work’s success; it’s actually quite alluring, more so I would say than the symphony. But then the symphony is one of the composer’s earliest orchestral efforts—only the Piano Concerto No. 1 of 1884 predates it—whereas Tiefland came after d’Albert’s self-styled conversion to German-hood, and is a mature work by a composer already seasoned in writing for the stage by six previous operas.
I’m unfortunately not familiar with the CPO recording Altena reviewed, but this current release by Jun Märkl and the MDR Leipzig Radio Symphony Orchestra strikes me as eminently satisfactory. Playing and recording are both topnotch, and if you’re not acquainted with d’Albert’s music, this disc, at Naxos’s budget price, is an excellent way to gain some familiarity with it—enough, at least, to know whether you might care to explore further. On those grounds, recommended.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
Haydn: The Complete Piano Sonatas, Vol. 9 / 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
Following his acclaimed recording of Beethoven’s concertos with the Swedish Chamber Orchestra, Jean-Efflam Bavouzet returns to his exploration of Haydn’s sonatas, described by the magazine Gramophone as ‘a major modern recording landmark in the Haydn discography’.
As in previous installments, Bavouzet has programmed sonatas from Haydn’s early, middle, and late periods, giving added interest to the recital. Sonatas Nos. 10 and 2, dating from the 1750s and ’60s respectively, share the key of C major, but differ in form. The short No. 2 was almost certainly written for pupils whilst Haydn was working as a teacher. No. 10 is more ambitious and extensive. Sonatas Nos. 41 and 44 date from the early 1770s and show some influence from C.P.E. Bach and the Sturm und Drang [Storm and Stress] movement. More virtuosic than the earlier sonatas, in these the trademark humor of Haydn is also more evident. Sonatas Nos. 52 and 53 were composed a decade later and are conspicuously more demanding, technically and musically. As in the case of the previous volumes, this album was recorded at Potton Hall in Suffolk, on a Yamaha CFX Concert Grand Piano.
REVIEW
I am tempted to set my morning alarm to go off with Bavouzet’s Haydn C major Sonata; it’s guaranteed to fill the room with sunshine and youthful energy...all in all this is another remarkable addition to Bavouzet’s invaluable survey.
--Gramophone (Michelle Assay)
Jean-Efflam Bavouzet’s ongoing [Haydn] survey on Chandos is one of the glories of the 21st-century record industry, nine volumes and counting of playing that is poised and polished, as well as ideally flamboyant and aptly witty.
--New York Times (David Allen)
As ever in his Haydn cycle, Bavouzet provides a stimulating mix. Listen in turn to a cheerily scampering Sonata 10; a grand, poetic, dazzling personality in Sonata 44; a Sonata 2 in turns imposing and with a rounded melodiousness. All that is before Sonata 52’s sureness of melody, immensely varied rhythmically and in mood, and Sonata 53’s cagey then engaging hurtle.
--MusicWeb International (Michael Greenhalgh)
V5: COMPLETE WORKS PIANO TRIO
Ravel & Falla / Tharaud, Langrée, Orchestre National de France
The music of Ravel is especially close to Alexandre Tharaud's heart. Now, in partnership with the Orchestre National de France and conductor Louis Langrée, he has recorded both the composer's piano concertos, pairing them with Noches en los jardines de España (Nights in the Gardens of Spain), Manuel de Falla's sumptuous work for piano and orchestra.
"Ravel's Concerto in G major is fresh and Mozartian in it's colours, while his Concerto for the Left Hand is haunted by dark shades and suppressed fears," says Tharaud. Both concertos were premiered in 1932. "Characteristically for Ravel, they are simultaneously unique and alike. They share meticulous craftsmanship and jazzy touches, and both evoke little automata and the ghosts of war." The cross-currents of French and Spanish culture, so evident in Ravel's aesthetic, flow though Falla's concerto-like piece too. The Andalusian composer lived for a time in Paris and became friendly with Ravel. "The solo piano in Noches en los jardines de España plays a different role from the piano in the Ravel concertos," continues Tharaud. "It blends in more closely with the orchestra, though the works share a Romantic spirit and a poignant sense of nostalgia."
Bartók: Piano Concertos / Aimard, Salonen, San Francisco Symphony
Pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard joins forces with the San Francisco Symphony and Music Director Esa-Pekka Salonen for a recording of Bartók’s complete piano concertos. A pianist himself; Bartók imbued his three concertos with multiple aspects of his compositional persona; ranging from complex and innovative (the First) to exuberant (the Second) and serene (the Third). The result is a fascinating slice of his musical life. This all-Bartók release marks the first Pentatone collaboration between Esa-Pekka Salonen and the San Francisco Symphony; an ensemble he has reshaped through creative performance concepts and expansive new media projects.
A renowned champion of twentieth-century music; Pierre-Laurent Aimard has released multiple acclaimed albums in his exclusive contract with Pentatone; including Messiaen’s Catalogue d’Oiseaux (2018) and Visions de l’Amen (2022); along with Beethoven’s Hammerklavier Sonata & Eroica Variations (2021). He also joined Tamara Stefanovich in Etudes and Frames (2023); with music by Vassos Nicolaou. Salonen returns to the label for the first time since his recording of Stravinsky’s Perséphone (2018); the San Francisco Symphony previously appeared on the 2005 Pentatone release Young America.
REVIEWS:
You know just within a couple of minutes these recordings are going to be special. As Salonen and the San Francisco Symphony sweep thrillingly into the First Piano Concerto’s Allegro, Pierre-Laurent Aimard luxuriates in the space they leave him on a superbly recorded disc…‘Definitive’ is a daft word to use about an interpretation. How can we truly know? But superlative this absolutely is.
-- The Sunday Times (★★★★★)
Ultimately, then, we’ve got something special here: a fresh take on some canonic works by a conductor and soloist whose bread-and-butter is this very fare. It’s an undertaking that flatters all parties involved musically, technically, and intellectually. Best of all, it draws out the latent mellifluousness of Bartók’s writing, even when, outwardly, that’s at its most hard-edged.
-- The Arts Fuse
In the second concerto I particularly admired the middle movement, with its opening on slow strings – which were silent in the first movement – and the fast toccata-like middle section generated exactly the right kind of excitement.
The third concerto is more different from the other two than they are from each other. It is mainly serene and graceful, remarkably so when one considers that it was written in wartime, in exile and when Bartók knew he did not have long to live...Aimard, slightly to my surprise, provides beautifully elegant phrasing and articulation and shows himself as much at home in the graceful writing here as he did in the much more challenging writing in the first two concertos...The recording is impeccable.
-- MusicWeb International
[Aimard] is aided and abetted every step of the way by the San Francisco Orchestra and its new(ish) music director...Salonen approaches these works as unapologetically modernist, and he has inspired the orchestra to shed the richly upholstered colors they developed under MTT for a less weighty, more severe color palette that ensures laser-like clarity even in the densest contrapuntal passages. The middle sections of concertos 1 and 2’s slow movements are particularly telling, and listen to the wind’s precision and leanness in the first concerto’s opening movement, which gives the music a mechanical brilliance. Pentatone’s engineers ensure the bass drum has plenty of impact. When Salonen conducted these concertos for Bronfman in Los Angeles, the Sony engineering highlighted that orchestra’s cinematic sound. Here we have a quite different sound palette that embraces a greater variety of hues in a true concert hall acoustic.
Characterful...strongly recommended.
-- The Classic Review
Rodolphe Kreutzer: Violin Concertos No 17, 18 & 19 / Axel Strauss
KREUTZER Violin Concertos: No. 17 in G; No. 18 in e; No. 19 in d • Axel Strauss (vn); Andrew Mogrelia, cond; San Francisco Conservatory O • NAXOS 8570380 (71: 52)
From a position of relative neglect (only his 40 studies for violin remained really active in the repertoire), Rodolphe Kreutzer has risen to greater prominence with recordings of his studies (by Elizabeth Wallfisch, cpo 999901, Fanfare 32:5) and concertos (No. 19 in D Minor, No. 18 in E Minor, and No. 15 in A Major, with violinist Laurent Albrecht Breuninger and Alun Francis conducting the SWR Radio Orchestra Kaiserlautern, on cpo 777188, Fanfare 33:6; and No. 9 in E Minor, No. 13 in D Major, the Variations on “Nel cor più non mi sento,” and Montanyas Regaladas , with violinist Saskia Lethiec and José Ferreira Lobo conducting the Orquestra do Norte, Porto, and the Versailles Conservatory Instrumental Ensemble, Talent 2911 126, Fanfare 33:1) now being frequently issued. In fact, Breuninger’s recording included Kreutzer’s last two concertos, the 18th and 19th, which Axel Strauss now offers along with the roughly contemporaneous 17th.
The slow movement of Kreutzer’s 17th concerto provides ample—and poignant—melodic relief from the bold thematic statements and technical passagework that mark much of its first movement. If Giovanni Battista Viotti, who’s often linked with Kreutzer (the French “Viotti-Rode-Kreutzer Concerto”) introduced Haydn’s symphonic orchestration into the violin concerto’s armamentarium, Kreutzer approached the sound of Beethoven’s orchestra, as Bruce R. Schueneman’s notes point out. But Kreutzer kept the violin at the forefront, a position that Axel Strauss and his 1845 J. F. Pressenda violin commandingly occupy. He’s snappy and alert in the passagework, as well, delivering impressive barrages of double-stops and sharply characterizing, both stylistically and rhythmically, the Rondo finale’s thematic material. And, as in the first movement’s second theme, he imparts an almost nostalgic sweetness to his reading of the second movement. Those who expect a clone of Viotti’s more familiar concertos (a greater number of them have remained in print) may be pleasantly surprised by Kreutzer’s inventiveness and keen ear for orchestral timbres.
The 18th and 19th concertos begin with Moderato movements, both almost double the length of the six-odd-minute affair that opens the 17th Concerto. As does the 17th, the 18th begins with a movement that explores the passagework, notably in double-stops, that must have stood near the avant garde of violinists’ technical capabilities at the time Kreutzer wrote it; although hardly a virtuoso vehicle in today’s terms, it exploits the instrument’s idiomatic possibilities with a canniness that the trailblazing composers of the era seemed to possess in abundance (else, how could the violin have achieved the prominence it did?), presenting them in the context of dramatic orchestral statements and barnstorming tuttis. Strauss hardly plays this work, or the 17th Concerto, for that matter, dismissively, as many might do (hear how seriously he takes the recitative passages in the middle of the first movement); perhaps the sense of history developed by period instrumentalists has opened the eyes even of world-weary and everything-but-masterpiece-disdaining conservatory students to the merits of compositions like this one. Strauss once again brings a plausible plaintiveness to the second movement with its melody flowing over a light accompaniment and an exuberant if dignified vitality to the final Rondo. Like the first movement of the 17th Concerto, that of the 19th (which Schueneman cites Boris Schwarz as considering, with Viotti’s celebrated 22nd, as one of the outstanding examples of the French Violin Concerto—Joachim admired these two concertos as well, placing Viotti’s just after Beethoven’s and ahead of Mendelssohn’s and Brahms’s) develops the contrast between the lyrical and the dramatic, which continues, in its way, into the second movement, while the finale provides the usual good-natured conclusion (often, as here, with the principal theme in dotted rhythms).
Those who consider Kreutzer’s studies mere drudgery that a violinist has to endure on the way to the Paganini caprices should discover in these concertos, as well as in the others that have been recorded, a composer of unsuspected talent, even one worthy of Beethoven’s dedication of the famous Ninth Sonata. The engineers have placed the violin in the forefront of the San Francisco Conservatory Orchestra, which plays with vibrant and sonorous enthusiasm. Strongly recommended.
FANFARE: Robert Maxham
Liberte
Ries: 3 Violin Sonatas / Grossman, Kagan
Ferdinand Ries was Beethoven’s student, close friend and biographer, but until quite recently was very much one of those composers living in the shadow of his Bonn master, rather than as the gifted and prolific composer he in fact was.
American pianist, author and educator Susan Kagan has explored the music of those composers associated with Beethoven and his musical scene. In fact she has researched the music of Archduke Rudolph – Beethoven’s composition student for more than twenty years – for her Ph.D. This was subsequently published by Pendragon Press back in 1988. More recently she has almost single-handedly championed the cause of Ries’s piano music, with five CDs of his Sonatas and Sonatinas on the Naxos label.
Kagan explains: ‘Ries studied piano with Beethoven (both were natives of Bonn, Germany) and was entrusted by him with such work as making transcriptions and piano arrangements, and copying orchestral parts of Beethoven’s new works. Ries moved to England in 1813, married an Englishwoman, and had a successful career touring as a virtuoso concert pianist. At the same time he was composing prodigiously and virtually everything he wrote was published. His thorough knowledge of Beethoven’s music undoubtedly helped shape Ries’s style, but his piano sonatas, from 1809 on, show an adventurous turn toward an expressive keyboard style anticipating that of the first generation of Romantic piano composers – Mendelssohn, Chopin, and Schumann. His gift for melody is like Schubert’s, and he is ever inventive in creating and developing beautiful themes. While his symphonies and concertos are ‘public’ works, intended for large audiences and concert halls, the piano sonatas are his most personally-expressive works, revealing an individual outlook on a genre of music cultivated by that great triumvirate of the Classical period – Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven.’
Ries also composed eighteen violin sonatas, which were brought out by Bonn music-publisher, Simrock, who also published much of Beethoven’s music. On this latest release from Naxos, Kagan is joined by violinist and fellow-American Eric Grossman, in an exploration of three of Ries’s violin sonatas, two from his op. 8 set, and his op. 19, all world-première recordings. However, unlike the piano sonatas, which have been released as part of a series of volumes, by starting here with a well-chosen selection from the eighteen extant examples, it gives the record company the option of releasing further violin sonatas in the future, or just letting this present single CD speak on behalf of the other fifteen.
It is interesting that the opening movements of the Sonata in F, Op. 8 No. 1, recorded first, and the Sonata in C minor, Op. 8 No. 2 that follows, have more than just a passing acquaintance with movements by Beethoven himself. While the latter first movement is very reminiscent of the corresponding movement from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in the same key, Op. 10 No. 3, the F major Sonata opens in a pastoral vein, with a main theme which immediately hints at Beethoven’s ‘Spring’ Sonata for violin and piano in the same key. Rather than reinforcing the idea that Ries is merely mimicking his teacher – what follows, in both of Ries’s sonatas, after the initial ‘homage to Ludwig’, really does confirm that the younger composer has an individual voice, and subsequently embarks on quite a different musical journey from his master.
Of the violin sonatas as a whole, Kagan continues: ‘(They) are models of the Viennese Classical sonata style established by Mozart: most are in three movements, with first movements in sonata-allegro form, lyrical slow movements in ternary (ABA) form, and rondo finales. Like Mozart, Ries divides the material to provide equal interest for both instruments.’ The Sonata in F largely adheres to this pattern, though is, in fact, a four-movement work, with a sprightly Scherzo and Trio in the tonic minor (F minor) following the opening ‘Allegro ma non troppo’, before a conventional, though short slow movement, leads to the finale, with its essentially rustic theme. However, this soon contrasts with the central episode, where staccato triplets evolve into a vigorous fugato section (like a fugue, but not fully played-out), and something which, according to Kagan in her compact, yet succinct and informative sleeve-notes, is an unusual event in Ries’s music, where polyphonic writing is ‘generally avoided’.
The characteristic dotted rhythms and robust dynamics of the ‘Allegro con spirito’ that open the Sonata in C minor, imbue it initially with an almost martial character, but this soon turns lyrical, in which vein the ensuing ‘Adagio cantabile’ slow movement continues, and which also then acts as the perfect aperitif to the lightness of the closing rondo, with its staccato texture and preponderance of rapid repeated notes.
The so-named Grande Sonata in F minor, while the shortest of the three works on the CD, is nevertheless conceived in large scale, both with regards structure and content, and with its key, and the dramatic insistence of the opening movement’s main theme, link it in character to Beethoven’s ‘Appassionata’ piano sonata, written some five years earlier. Unlike Beethoven’s work, Ries’s sonata begins with a short and poignant ‘Largo espressivo’ introduction – not unlike the opening of Beethoven’s earlier ‘Pathétique’ sonata, but providing nowhere near as dramatic a lead-in. Ries maintains the feverish mood of the ‘Allegro agitato’ throughout, despite the occasional sections away from the over-arching minor tonality, and the movement’s calmly-understated close. The following slow movement, in a gentle triple measure, and in the relative major key (A flat major), has a simple charm and eloquence that makes it extremely endearing and pleasing on the ear, but with sufficient contrast within, to hold the listener’s attention throughout. The overall playful mood of the final rondo also has more than enough variety, both rhythmically and melodically in its main theme and episodes, to sustain it, with some real fireworks in the central episode. The music has a decidedly Schubertian feel, both thematically, and in Ries’s use of tonality, where more remote keys figure, and there is often a characteristic shift from major to minor and back. Yet again Ries chooses to finish like a lamb, rather than a lion – something Beethoven does in the opening movement of his ‘Appassionata’, but not in the work’s tumultuous and clattering coda to the finale.
Whichever way you look at this latest Ries CD from Naxos, you will surely not be disappointed. The playing, positioning and recording are first-rate, and the three pieces recorded are charming, entertaining and with a good feel for motivic development. Whether they form part of a more extended investigation into the composer’s repertoire for violin and piano, or remain just a one-off sampler, at the bargain price offered, they are simply too good to miss.
– Philip R Buttall, MusicWeb International