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SaleMéditation: Keyboard Works by Bach, Couperin & Others / Andreas Staier
Alpha · Feb 2024CD$20.99$15.99 -
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Villa-Lobos: Complete Choros & Bachianas Brasileiras / Neschling, São Paulo SO
BIS · Jun 2009CD$72.99 -
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All The Way Back / Vytautas Smetona
The pieces on this album offer Smetona technical feats and expressive themes, all of which the pianist handles with ease, determination, and eloquence. From Bach's lyrical and joyous Prelude and Fugue in C-sharp Major, BWV 848 to the somber and dramatic range of Liszt's Funerailles (October 1849), Smetona evokes passion and refinement in his performances. The technical mastery of works such as Brahms's Intermezzo in B-flat Minor, Op. 117, No. 2, Schumann's Fantasie in C Major, Op. 17, and Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 23 is handled by Smetona with sophistication, lucidity, and powerful passage work. Smetona shows us a balance between accurately playing the notes on the score and interpreting the feeling between them.
TRANSCRIPTIONS FOR ORGAN
Méditation: Keyboard Works by Bach, Couperin & Others / Andreas Staier
Andreas Staier’s informed and inspired interpretations have left their mark on the discography of both the harpsichord and the fortepiano and have enabled us to see Bach, Mozart and Schubert in a completely new light. This is Staier’s first solo album of a projected series for Alpha Classics, in which he also presents his own compositions for the first time. “Two motifs connect the works in this recording: the first is a ancient cantus firmus, a melody in long notes […] the second is the interval sequence of octave, fifth, sixth, and third. […] Anklange, my six pieces for harpsichord, grew out of several conversations I had with the composer Brice Pauset about what it means to compose in our time, and in particular what it implies to compose for historical instruments. This led me to ask myself how I could express and capture my own conception of music in notes, marked as it is not only by Byrd, Bach and Schubert, but also by the music of the 20th and 21st centuries."
REVIEW:
This release is a good example of Andreas Staier’s intelligent program building, both intellectually and musically speaking. Two motifs form a thread that runs through most of the works assembled here. One is the note sequence E–F-sharp–A–G-sharp–F-sharp–E that appears in Johann Caspar Ferdinand Fischer’s E major Prelude and Fugue from Ariadne Musica, Bach’s E major Prelude and Fugue from The Well-Tempered Clavier Book II, plus Froberger’s Fantasia II and Ricercar IV (the latter transposed to begin with G). The other motif is based on a sequence of intervals: octave, fifth, sixth, and third. Other pre-Bach composers include Louis Couperin and Johann Joseph Fux
At the recital’s midpoint, Staier features his own six pieces for harpsichord composed in 2020 that comprise a suite entitled Anklänge. His style forgoes tonality for the most part, yet his boundless palette of sonorities, his dramatic registral deployment, and his instincts for when and how to leave space all generate palpable tension and release. The fourth piece, for example, makes arresting use of thick spread chords that resonate for a long time under the fingers, while No. 6 features aphoristic lines that unfold like skywriting, with plenty of air between each utterance.
Indeed, resonance and breathing room characterize Staier’s performing style, which revels in the colorful variety of stops offered on his harpsichord modeled after a 1734 Hieronymus Albrecht Hass model. You’ll notice this in how Staier times and differentiates his arpeggiations of chords throughout the Couperin Pavane, as well as in the melting impact of his masterful finger legato in the Froberger Meditation. Surprisingly, Staier takes a forthright tempo for the aforementioned Bach Fugue, where his octave couplings have a rather upholstered effect that, for my taste, works against the music’s reflective and vocally oriented nature. Still, Staier remains the masterful instrumentalist and thinking musician that has long enamored me to his extensive and wide-ranging discography.
-- ClassicsToday.com (Jed Distler)
Bach: Harpsichord Works / Jory Vinikour
Presenting four masterworks for harpsichord by Johann Sebastian Bach, Jory Vinikour performs on a harpsichord modeled after German harpsichords of Bach’s time, notably Silbermann. Speaking with richness and clarity, this harpsichord was built by Tom and Barbara Wolf. The Italian Concerto and the French Overture, both published by Bach in the 2nd volume of his Clavier Übung, are paired with two other great works - the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, as well as the concerto-like Prelude and Fugue in a minor.
Two-time GRAMMY Award nominated harpsichordist Jory Vinikour is recognized as one of the outstanding musicians of his generation. A highly diversified career brings him to the world’s most important festivals and concert halls as recital and concerto soloist, and partner to several of today’s finest artists. Born in Chicago, Jory Vinikour studied in Paris with Huguette Dreyfus and Kenneth Gilbert on a Fulbright scholarship. First Prizes in the International Harpsichord Competitions of Warsaw (1993) and the Prague Spring Festival (1994) brought him to the public’s attention, and he has since appeared in festivals and concert series throughout much of the world. In 2019, Jory made his debut at the Ravinia Festival, playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations. At the Aspen Festival, he conducted Bach’s six Brandenburg Concertos.
REVIEW:
There is no doubting the brightness and breeziness of the Italian Concerto's opening Allegro, but what is most impressive is Vinikour’s ability to create a convincing Adagio. The left-hand here can so easily sound awkward, but Vinikour constructs instead a rhythmic bedrock against which the right hand can sing. And sing it does: This is “harpsichord vocalisation” of the type I have rarely encountered, and with a finale that not only glows with life but has a raft of insights. This is wonderful, sometimes even great, Bach playing.
– Fanfare
Vincent Ho: The Twelve Chinese Zodiac Animals, Books 1 & 2
Grünewald: 7 Partiten / Fernando de Luca
Bach J.s.: Organ Chorales Vol. 1
Zephyr (Carson Cooman Organ Music, Vol. 8)
Delius: A Mass of Life, Idyll / Opie, Hill

To witness a performance of Delius’s A Mass of Life, arguably his supreme creative achievement, is to look into the heart of the composer and his Nietzsche-inspired world. Moreover, this ravishing music, written between 1898 and 1905, represents Delius at the height of his powers, when musical ideas seemed to pour out of him at a time when he had finally learned to assimilate, in an entirely individual, not to say maverick manner, a confluence of modernist styles embracing Grieg, Wagner, Strauss, Charpentier and Debussy.
There is no doubt from the vivid opening choruses of Parts 1 and 2 of this recording (and what openings!) that the message of the work is a life-affirming one. There is a dynamic momentum to the tempi which perfectly evokes Zarathustra’s ruling passion, the Will of Man, and there is a richness to the orchestral sound which adds to the sense of muscularity. The chorus negotiate Delius’s often awkward vocal intervals with great skill and the intonation is virtually flawless. Just occasionally the sheer weight of the orchestral sound, which is quite forward on this recording (more so than Hickox), is apt to overwhelm the voices but this is a minor distraction.
Hill brings energy and élan to the third section, ‘In deine Auge’ (for me perhaps the most exhilarating section of Part 1), where the parallel with the end of Act 2 of Die Meistersinger is almost palpable and where the most unusual example of a Delius fugue (!) is given life, vigour and meaning.
Alan Opie, who has the lion’s share of the solo music in the work, is almost Wotan-like in his performances. From his first Nietzschean dance he is majestic and brings out of the score that vibrant, heady, Teutonic contemporaneity with which Delius had clearly become enthralled at this point in his career. Opie’s singing of what is effectively the role of Zarathustra has immense authority and his impressive range (up to high G) is ideal for Delius’s onerous vocal demands.
Andrew Kennedy, Catherine Wyn-Rogers and Janice Watson also offer fine lyrical interpretations of their solo parts and the choral accompaniments are allowed to intermingle subtly as an extension of the orchestra. The BSO are on fine form too, and special mention needs to be made of the haunting horn-playing in the introduction to Part 2 (‘On the Mountains’), a sound which sums up so much of Delius’s nature music.
This is a must for any Delius Liebhaber and, with the added bonus of the late Prelude and Idyll, a marvellous starting point for anyone new to Delius’s unique but compelling art.
-- Jeremy Dibble, Gramophone
DELIUS A Mass of Life. Prelude and Idyll1 • David Hill, Cond; 1Janice Watson (sop); Catherine Wyn-Rogers (mez); Andrew Kennedy (ten); 1Alan Opie (bar); Bach Ch; 1Bournemouth SO • NAXOS 8.572861-62 (2 CDs: 118:19 Text and Translation)
A Mass of Life is quintessential Delius, musically and existentially, composed over 1904–05 in the first great rush of his maturity. From the bounding affirmative choruses to the breathtakingly sustained nature contemplations, from the melancholy to the ecstatic, the Mass of Life traces and forecasts the gamut of Delian affect with a concision, fullness, and abundance he might rival but never achieve so comprehensively again. Unless I’ve missed something, this is but the fourth recording of the work since Beecham’s nonpareil 1952 account. Though its musical demands are daunting—if nowhere near as challenging as those of Mahler’s “Symphony of a Thousand,” with which it invites comparison—the primary bar to frequent performance is its text, drawn by Delius’s friend Ernst Cassirier largely from the Dance Songs of Nietzsche’s Also sprach Zarathustra. For those coming in late, one recalls the oft-quoted passage in Eric Fenby’s Delius as I Knew Him: “When, one wet day … he was looking for something to read in the library of a Norwegian friend … and had taken down a book, Thus Spake Zarathustra—a book for all and none—by one Friedrich Nietzsche, he was ripe for it. The book, he told me, never left his hands until he had devoured it from cover to cover. It was the very book he had been seeking all along, and finding that book he declared to be one of the most important events of his life. Nor did he rest content until he had read every work of Nietzsche that he could lay his hands on”—to which Fenby, a devout Catholic, adds—“and the poison entered his soul.” For listeners and performers today it may still be something of a jolt to find, in place of the supplicating Kyrie that the unfortunate term “Mass” leads one to expect, a glowingly charged hymn to the Will, “dispeller of need, my own necessity,” followed by Zarathustra’s brief praise of laughter (“My own laughter I pronounced holy”), succeeded by Zarathustra’s love duet with Life in a meadow filled with dancing girls, an archetypal encounter transpiring in a mythical dimension “beyond good and evil,” beyond place and time, crowned by the first, murmured, utterance of the Bell Song, the work’s central mystery. A Mass of Life may, of course, be enjoyed for its power and sensuous magic without reference to its text, but only to those nurtured on Nietzsche will it reveal its full import. Shrugging incomprehension of the text renders Benjamin Luxon’s Zarathustra, for Charles Groves (with the London Philharmonic Chorus and Orchestra), merely mellifluous, while Peter Coleman-Wright’s deadpan delivery for the late Richard Hickox—with the Waynflete Singers directed by today’s conductor, David Hill, and the Bournemouth Symphony Chorus and Orchestra—proves anesthetically workmanlike. When it appeared in 1997, I rated that reading, on Chandos, the best since Beecham’s (Fanfare 20:6). That honor goes now to the present offering. While Alan Opie does not efface memories of Bruce Boyce, for Beecham—whose delivery resonated from the nexus of Delius’s realization of Nietzsche—he teases the text gingerly, making a credible Zarathustra. In some numbers, Delius asks the soloists to share parts, with some of Zarathustra’s lines persuasively taken by Andrew Kennedy, and a portion of Life’s happily rendered by Janice Watson, though Catherine Wyn-Rogers’s beguiling, seductive Life recalls Monica Sinclair’s divinatory geste for Beecham. The choral work is beyond praise, though in Hill’s brisk approach the melting lyricism heard chez Beecham tautens and leaps.
Idyll is a late reworking of music from Margot la Rouge, composed in 1902 for the new opera competition offered by the music publisher Sanzogno. Though it failed to score and was not heard in Delius’s lifetime, it comes from the composer’s ripest years and contains gorgeous swaths of his richest utterance, which he salvaged in 1932, recomposing it to words by Whitman and making an extended love duet of it. Idyll has not lacked for vocally lustrous, persuasive performances submerging Whitman’s quaintness (“Behold me when I pass, hear my voice, approach, draw close, but speak not. Be not afraid of me”) in absolute conviction. Of major interest, the lovingly lingering 1981 account led by Eric Fenby—who took down the score from dictation by the blind, paralyzed Delius—features Felicity Lott and Thomas Allen (deleted Unicorn-Kanchana UKCD 2073). Meredith Davies’s still-available 1968 tilt at Idyll, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, is made memorable by the divinatory partnership of Heather Harper and John Shirley-Quirk. In keeping with his go at the Mass of Life, Hill pushes the work a bit, spurring the impassioned moments to escalate from the pervasive tone of wistful elegy. Opie, as the anonymous man, is authoritatively resonant, in response to Janice Watson’s brightly edged soprano (touched by a bit of vibrato), with its gloriously amber lower register, buxomly filling the part of the nameless woman.
One caveat: In the headnote the title of the work is given per the album, but you will search the catalog of Delius’s works in vain for an orchestral Prelude. The work so designated is simply the first three minutes—an orchestral prelude, to be sure—of Idyll and has never, until now, been listed separately. The fake title generates a phantom work to bedevil buyers, scholars, and connoisseurs, and detracts from—rather than adding to—the program’s generosity.
Sound packs an immediate wallop making for occasional congestion. In the opening chorus, for instance, the leaping underlining of trombones and tubas becomes indistinct, overwhelmed by choral mass, and while one can pick out the glockenspiel, its function of festive accentuation is lost. In quieter passages, and in the capture of the vocalists, on the other hand, this upfront take is gratifyingly welcome. In German, Zarathustra’s pronouncements recall and parody the Lutheran Bible, in light of which the ostensibly stilted thee-ing and thou-ing of William Wallace’s singing translation—made for Beecham and used by him for all of his public performances (according to notes by Delius aficionado Lyndon Jenkins)—fall into place, if not quite into King James English. Whitman’s text is included.
In sum, a superb production and the grandest addition to the Delius discography in many years. Highest recommendation.
FANFARE: Adrian Corleonis
Paris Recordings - 1949, 1953, 1959
Tatiana Nikolayeva: Prague Recordings
It was fascinating to read in the booklet that she had such a phenomenal memory that she never took any sheet music with her on tours, relying instead on that memory for her performances. The digital mastering from the original tapes by Jan Lži?a? has done wonders with the inevitable clicks and pops one might expect from these recordings, some of which were made over 65 years ago, though obviously the solo works come off best as the orchestral sound betrays its age more readily. That said her playing in the Rachmaninov piano concerto is as convincing as any I have ever heard despite the (to my ears) rather sluggish orchestral accompaniment. Her playing comes over as completely natural, without the least suggestion of artifice. The first of the solo works is Prokofiev’s 3rd piano sonata ‘From old notebooks’ and despite the rather brittle sound caused, I think, by a little too much treble, it is a solid performance that demonstrates her capacity for bringing out the contrast between the stormy and the subtle. Next come three pieces by Nikolayeva herself revealing a less well-known or appreciated side of her, that of composer. Her Three concert etudes, op13 show a real talent; how much music she wrote I must confess I don’t know but on the evidence here what she did compose is clearly worth exploring. It shows the influence of Prokofiev with complex rhythms and dense textures as opposed to the lighter and more romantic touch of Rachmaninov.
Opening disc 2, we are treated to three of the Shostakovich 24 Preludes and fugues which, as mentioned above, were dedicated to her and for which she was closely consulted. You would expect Shostakovich to know what he was doing with his dedication and consultations and her performance shows how well-founded his opinion was as she plays the pieces as naturally as if they were her own. In an interview she characterised the 15th prelude and fugue in D flat major as “...so fierce and lively, like a whirlpool. And in that quiet forest, (in Ruza outside Moscow at an artists’ retreat) when I heard that stormy whirlpool I went into wild rapture”. That certainly comes over in her playing. Conductor Kurt Sanderling told Tatiana that in his opinion the preludes and fugues were Shostakovich’s intimate diary and when she objected “Why not his string quartets and symphonies”, he replied no, this work for it is “an intimate diary of Shostakovich, kept for himself, that brings happiness to all of us”. How true Sanderling’s observation was and how wonderful to listen to these works with that thought in mind.
She then turns to Bach, her great love and for which playing she is rightly renowned. First up is the Fantasia in C minor, BWV 816 and her luminous playing is revealed to its highest degree, and shines through despite the sound appearing to be a little distant. Even better is her earlier recording of Bach’s French Suite no.5 in G major, BWV 816. This is a remarkable recording in terms of playing and sound which belies its age of 66 years. She plays these again as if she owned them; just listen to the Courante and its following Sarabande and marvel at the contrast she creates, injecting excitement and refinement in equal degrees and after the gentleness of the Sarabande the Gavotte and Bourrée revert to the thrill of a headlong race as notes tumble out in a great rush; utterly thrilling. Altogether a fabulous 15 ½ minutes of pianistic brilliance finishing with a breathtakingly fast Gigue.
Closing the two-disc set is another marvellous example of Nikolayeva’s technical skills, which were coupled with an innate sensitivity: her 1952 recording of Bach’s Chromatic fantasia & fugue in D minor, BWV 903 which, along with the Prokofiev, her own concert etudes, the Shostakovich and the Bach fantasia, is the first time the recording has appeared on CD. It is further proof that she was one of the greatest ever interpreters of Bach’s keyboard works. It is not enough simply to love them since all pianists who include them in their repertoire surely do, rather it is a total understanding of how they work and an ability to reveal their intrinsic humanity which she had and which is rare in my listening experience. This set is a must-have for all lovers of solo piano music and admirers of the consummate art of Tatiana Nikolayeva, a true original.
– MusicWeb International (Steve Arloff)
Rameau: The Complete Keyboard Music, Vol 3 / Gutman
RAMEAU Suites: No. 4 in A/a; No. 5 in G/g. La Dauphine. Les petits marteaux. RAMEAU-GUTMAN Pièces de clavecin en concerts: Concert No. 5 in D/d. RAMEAU-BALBASTRE Pigmalion: Giga • Stephen Gutman (pn) • TOCCATA 0052 (68:48)
I am always overjoyed to hear a new recording of Rameau’s keyboard music performed on the piano; it is a repertoire which I find completely underappreciated by most pianists today who favor the works of either Bach or Scarlatti for their recital programs. For whatever the inexplicable reasons, it is both their loss in playing this repertoire and ours in hearing it performed on an instrument capable of such tonal nuances as benefits this music. That said: This is the third and last of Stephen Gutman’s recordings of the complete keyboard music of this master, but only the first that I’ve heard. After playing this disc over and over again this month, I’ll be sure to run—not walk!—to my nearest shop to obtain the first two releases which I’ve missed out on thus far.
Luckily for me, Gutman here performs two of Rameau’s greatest keyboard suites—the one in A-Minor/Major, which ends with the virtuosic Gavotte with six variations (or doubles as he labels them), most likely modeled on the “Air and Variations” from Handel’s D-Minor Suite, and the one in G Major/Minor, which includes some of the most famous of Rameau’s excerpted pieces—“La poule,” “Les sauvages,” “L’enharmonique,” and “L’egiptienne,” among others. From the very first notes of the opening A-Minor Allemande, the pianist’s sense of exploration, his wide tonal palette, and his rhythmic freedom can all be heard to good advantage, along with his intimate and scholarly knowledge of these works—from correct ornamentation to matters of tempo. Importantly, the pianist looks to characterize each of these movements in their own particular way, and does so well—from the serious Courante to the intimate Sarabande, from the athletic and virtuosic “Les trois mains” to the exuberant and joyful “La triomphant.” Perhaps the only aspect I miss a bit comes in the concluding Gavotte, where just a bit more bombast could surely do no harm; here the minute characterization of each variation takes away from the inherent drive to the end which should pervade the entire set. As the following Suite in G is comprised of mostly named movements— à la Couperin—it benefits even more so from Gutman’s quick and profound characterization: “La poule,” being one of the best examples, demonstrates just how quickly he can portray these musical numbers. From the opening repeated-note gesture one is pulled in, only to be startled by the quick flourishes which drive the music forward. The ornaments found throughout the piece are hardly simple trills or mordents—rather, they are sounds of the hen herself. Though “Les sauvages” could be a bit more brutal in character, the pianist’s tendency to emphasize the gallant and graceful aspects in the music is in keeping with the age. “L’egiptienne” makes for a mysterious, yet rousing, conclusion.
The other works here include two transcriptions—one made by Gutman of the Concert No. 5 from the Pièces de clavecin en concerts , which includes three movements (“La Forqueray,” “La Cupis,” and “La Marais”) and the Giga from Pigmalion , possibly transcribed by one Claude-Bénigne Balbastre. Of the two works, the former is the more impressive piece, originally conceived, as is was, for a chamber ensemble of strings and keyboard; the opening work, “La Forqueray,” is actually a four-part fugue, which Gutman carefully choreographs for performance on a single keyboard—no small feat! While there are, of course, interesting little details left out, Gutman is careful to capture the most important aspects of the piece, in both transcription and performance.
Throughout this very fine recital Gutman proves himself a guide of the first order—not only does he understand this music both inside and out, he never allows the scholar in him to inhibit the performer; rather he uses the knowledge to bring out the best in this music. And while I may have my quibbles about matters of performance, there is hardly a movement in the entire recital that will not charm and delight the most judgmental of listeners. Recorded in generally good, though somewhat dry, sound and accompanied by excellent program notes (both by Graham Sadler and the pianist himself), this is a release to savor. Recommended.
FANFARE: Scott Noriega
IDENTITY
Moleiro: Piano Works / Clara Rodriguez
This appears to be a reissue of a recital previously available on ASV (ASV CD DCA 890), and recorded, I believe, in 1994. It is good to have it back in circulation, as it offers a well-played representation of an interesting minor composer.
Moleiro was born in Zaraza in Venezuela and in the mid 1920s he studied piano in Caracas with a well-known teacher, Don Salvador Llamozas. He went on to make a career as a pianist, composer and teacher. This present CD includes the bulk of the work he wrote for the piano.
Most of the music here is not strikingly Latin American in manner, although there are a few distinctive touches here and there which speak of its geographical origins. For the most part Moleiro's piano music has about it a kind of aristocratic grace, and works within mostly European models understood from a South American perspective. At times one senses a kind of nostalgia for European forms and what they might represent. One is not surprised to encounter 'El senor de la peluca' - the gentleman with the wig - or to find oneself listening to a charming Waltz.
Moleiro's Sonatinas are written in the tradition of Scarlatti (though being far from mere pastiche); his Prelude and Fugue in C sharp minor have more than a little of Bach about them; the Serenade in the Spanish Style speaks for itself; the Estudio de concierto has clear affinities with Chopin and the delightful La fuente registers its composer's knowledge of Ravel and Debussy. But everywhere there is enough evidence of a personal sensibility at work to maintain the listener's interest. At times Moleiro's programmatic miniatures - such as La muchacha de la herrería (the girl from the blacksmiths), El herrero (The blacksmith) and Los pájaros (The birds) - are attractive additions to a familiar keyboard tradition.
The last two pieces on the CD are the most distinctive. It is unfortunate that the relatively scanty documentation that comes with this CD gives no dates for any of the compositions, so that one has no way of knowing whether or not the sequence of music heard in any way represents the composer's stylistic development. Certainly Estampas del llano (Pictures of the plains) and Joropo are far more thoroughly infused with a sense of the composer's native land, and without that nostalgic air mentioned above. Though the musical language of Estampas del llano is essentially European in nature, its evocation of the Venezuelan plains, in their contrasting fecundity and aridity, makes it music that no European composer would have written. The joropo music of Venezuela grew out of the fusion of ancient Spanish traditions, including the fandango and the malagueña (themselves incorporating Arabic influences) with the musics of African slaves and of native South American Indians. It is a heady mix and from it has grown some exciting music. A good deal of that excitement is captured in Moleiro's Joropo for piano, played with considerable panache by Clara Rodriguez.
Throughout this recital the sureness of Rodriguez' technique is evident, and her flexibility ensures that she can sound at home in all of the various musical idioms on which Moleiro's piano music touches. This makes for a consistently entertaining programme - a CD that makes a case, without overstatement, for the music of a figure too little known beyond his native land.
-- Glyn Pursglove, MusicWeb International
Saint-saëns: Album For Piano, Etudes / Mi-joo Lee
Camille Saint-Saëns was one of the major Romantic composers in nineteenth century France. Regarded as a pioneer in his early years after the Great War and then in his eighties Saint-Saëns was still writing in his familiar late-Romantic style and his music had become regarded as anachronistic. Throughout his long life of eighty-six years Saint-Saëns wrote in most genres, including symphonies, concertante works, sacred and secular choral music, a ballet Javotte and incidental music, chamber music, numerous songs and pieces for piano and organ, and numerous arrangements. Saint-Saëns much cherished his thirteen operas all written during the period 1872-1911. Despite being prolific the fame of Saint-Saëns rests largely on just a small number of works most notably: the Symphony No. 3 Organ; the Symphonic Poem: Danse macabre; Softly awakes my heart and the Bacchanale from the opera Samson and Delilah; the Introduction and Rondo capriccioso and Havanaise for violin and orchestra, and The Swan from The Carnival of the Animals. Although of high quality the majority of his works are hardly known. A concert pianist himself a substantial number of Saint-Saëns’s rarely heard solo piano scores are a case in point. Even in his home country his piano scores soon became lost among the piano works of his European predecessors Liszt and Chopin and the impressionism of his successors Debussy, Ravel and Satie.
This MDG release serves as a excellent showcase for the solo piano scores. Presented here are three collections of six piano works. For some reason they are not placed in chronological order. The first is the Album pour Piano, op. 72. These are pieces tailored for virtuoso display in the fashionable Parisian salons and concert halls. The Album opens with an urgent Prélude with passages of calm; sounding somewhat Lisztian. A peaceful work tinged with melancholy the Carillon adopts a more serious quality at its centre. The rapid and darting Toccata has considerable appeal and the Valse is another attractive piece that develops a fervent core. Rocking and undemanding, the Chanson Napolitaine evokes the motion of the gondola. The concluding Final is a dazzling and exuberant showpiece.
The next two collections comprise Études ( Studies). These are spacious, polished and appealing in style and at times strike the classical approach of Mendelssohn. The Six Études pour le Piano, op. 52 commence with an upbeat and extrovert Prélude. Titled Pour l'independance des doigts this is melodic and encompasses a sighing and romantic mood. A brisk and determined Prélude and Fugue in F minor is followed by the tricky Etude de rythme so movingly gentle and delicate with an almost pleading quality. The Prélude and Fugue in A major is very fine being both melodic and dramatic, The set culminates in the popular En forme de Valse, sweeping and scatty.
The closing set is the Six Études pour le Piano, op. 111. Opening the set is the short Tierces majeures et mineures which is big-boned and extrovert. Reminding me on occasions of Rimsky-Korsakov’s famous Flight of the Bumblebee is the rapid Traits chromatiques followed by the Prélude et Fugue notable for its broad and dramatic gestures. Saint-Saëns was a great lover of the sound of bells and wrote several bell-inspired scores. A repetitive piece Les Cloches de Las Palmas contains prominent bell-like figures that could easily be ringing out a warning to townsfolk. The attractive, penultimate and scurrying Tierces majeures chromatiques is only brief. To crown this collection comes the dramatic and boisterous Toccata d'après le cinquième concerto a title that refers to the finale of the Piano Concerto No. 5, op. 103 known as ‘ The Egyptian’ .
Korean pianist Mi-Joo Lee provides excellent playing with a beautiful tone drawn from her Steinway concert grand (model D). There were only a couple of minor examples of poor technicality otherwise the soloist was gloriously committed, fresh, confident and perceptive. Virtually everything that Saint-Saëns wrote is appealing and of high quality whilst not making any claims for these splendid and interesting scores to be classed as masterworks. They deserve a wider circulation.
-- Michael Cookson, MusicWeb International
Ives: String Quartets No 1 & 2 / Juilliard String Quartet
The String Quartet No. 1 was the composer’s first major work. Although he wrote it as early as 1896, it did not receive its first public performance until 1957, three years after Ives’ death. This is listener-friendly Ives, filled with snatches of hymns and other familiar tunes and not knotty as his later works, including the String Quartet No. 2, were to become. Although it is unmistakably Ives, it also sounds at times like Brahms and Dvo?ák. The work’s fugal first movement has an interesting history. Apparently Ives decided to detach it from the quartet and use it as the third movement of his Symphony No. 4, where it remains today. However, when the quartet was first published in1961 the first movement returned to its proper place. The quartet has been performed in this four-movement form ever since. According to David Johnson, who wrote the original liner notes, Ives gave the four movements of the quartet, often subtitled, “A Revival Service,” the following “churchly titles”: Fugue,Prelude,Offertory and Postlude. The printed score, though, eliminates these and gives only the tempo markings.
The Quartet No. 2 shows an entirely different side of Charles Ives. Whereas the earlier work was highly melodic and Romantic, the Second Quartet is more aggressively modern-dissonant and largely atonal. It also contains snatches of songs, such as Dixie and Columbia the Gem of the Ocean, and no little humor. Near the end of the second movement, the quartet stops to tune up before closing with two crashing chords. At one point in this movement there is a brief quotation from the Ode to Joy from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Ives retained titles for the three movements: I-Discussions (Andante moderato), II-Arguments (Allegro con spirito), and III-The Call of the Mountains (Adagio). The quartet is also programmatic. Ives wrote the following after the work’s title: “…four men-who converse, discuss, argue, fight, shake hands, shut up-then walk up to the mountain side to view the firmament!”
These being two of Ives’ most important chamber works, it is strange that they have not been recorded more often-especially compared to the songs and symphonies. Of more modern recordings, the one that most closely approaches the benchmark the Juilliard has provided is that by what many consider today’s leading American quartet, the Emersons. Their recording on DG also contains a very brief Scherzo, called “Holding Your Own,” that Ives composed in 1903-04, and Samuel Barber’s String Quartet, Op. 11 containing the original version of his famous Adagio. Those performances are perfectly fine as a whole, even if they do not quite possess the dramatic edge or the nuances of the Juilliard. The main advantage of the Emerson disc is that it contains over an hour of music very well played and recorded. That said, the re-mastering for CD of the Juilliard recording is very successful and the sound is as good as that for the Emerson. I have not heard the accounts by the Blair Quartet on Naxos, but they have received positive reviews as well, including Dominy Clements' review on this website. You pays your money and takes your choice! The notes for the Juilliard CD are from the original LP and the presentation is first class in every way.
-- Leslie Wright, MusicWeb International
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There are several other fine recordings of these two remarkable quartets--not nearly as many as there should be--and they all include additional works that may entice some listeners to choose their fuller programs over this 49-minute recital. But that would be a mistake, for these performances by the Juilliard Quartet are exceptional in their refinement and detail, their vibrant ensemble character, and, especially in the First quartet, their respectful attention to Ives' thematic material, never artificially punching up the spontaneous hymn-tune bits nor overworking the more integrated developmental passages.
The very articulate playing allows unusual but essential clarity among the four parts, and the group's Ivesian sensibility appreciates the background programmatic concept of "A Revival Service" (First quartet) and the underlying "story" of the Second quartet's four men "who converse, discuss, argue, fight, shake hands, shut up--then walk up the mountainside to view the firmament!", but always celebrates each work's most compelling musical attributes.
Although the First quartet was written in 1896, not untypically for Ives' music its premiere wasn't until many decades later--in 1957. The Juilliard's recording followed only nine years after, in 1966--the Second quartet was recorded the following year. But there's a dynamism and freshness in the playing--complemented by sound that's just slightly dry enough to give the strings a nice vibrant edge--that surpasses all subsequent readings on disc.
The Emerson Quartet renditions (DG) are not only often faster, but the interpretations have an overtly academic character in the all-too-conspicuous articulation and phrasing. The Lydian Quartet's (Centaur) fine enough performances are dulled just a bit by the acoustic; the Blair Quartet's (Naxos) readings are very good, the best of the modern recordings of these two unique--and extremely different quartets. But whether you already have or eventually want more than one version, the Juilliard's Ives should not be missed.
--David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com
Denis Matsuev - Unknown Rachmaninoff
RACHMANINOFF Suite for Orchestra in d (for piano). Fugue in d. Études-tableaux, op. 39/2,6,9. Prelude in g, op. 23/5. Prelude in g?, op. 32/12. Piano Sonata No. 2 (1931) • Denis Matsuev (pn) • RCA 715591 (60:23)
This album is titled “Unknown Rachmaninoff”—and for most aficionados, the big news is the inclusion of two recently uncovered works apparently from 1891: a fugue written for a composition class with Arensky (actually, a longer version of the work previously published as the Piece in D Minor) and the composer’s own transcription of an orchestral suite long thought lost. Or, more accurately, the disc includes what’s claimed as the piano version of the Suite: certainly, the information we’re given in Marina Gaykovich’s notes doesn’t allay any initial doubts. The manuscript, missing its first page, identifies neither composer nor title; and all we’re told about the process of attribution is that “specialists [who?] managed to verify [how?] Rachmaninoff as the author and proved [how?] that it was the Suite.” I’m maintaining a healthy skepticism.
In any case, the Suite is a substantial work (nearly 20 minutes) most notable for its grand first movement. It sounds momentarily like a premonition of the C?-Minor Prelude, but it soon launches into a striving melodic surge with a surprising kinship to the first movement of the Paderewski Sonata. Lasting an extremely eventful eight minutes, the movement offers plenty of intricate inner voice activity, a great deal of attractive (if not especially Rachmaninoffian) melodic material, and consistent evidence of harmonic ingenuity. The three follow-ups are less engaging (the pseudo-Classical gestures of the third-movement minuet are particularly bland), but even here, the music offers splashes of interest—say, in the contrapuntal curls of the Lento or the outdoorsy spirit of the final Allegro. If the work is really by Rachmaninoff, the piece further confirms his early mastery of the keyboard (it certainly doesn’t sound like a transcription); if it’s by someone else, it’s someone else worth knowing. As for the so-called Fugue: largely written in two voices, it’s more of a toccata than a fugue; but whatever you call it, it’s fueled by bracing energy and dashes of harmonic spice.
It’s especially good to have this new material introduced by so persuasive an advocate as Denis Matsuev. As you might expect from a youthful firebrand whose first recording was called “Tribute to Horowitz,” virtuoso brilliance takes precedence over lyrical expression—but he’s far from cold, and he plays the Fugue and the Suite with the unflagging conviction usually reserved for masterpieces. The more familiar works are impressive too. Matsuev’s playing tends to be lean and angular, but he keeps the busiest passages from sounding cluttered (rarely has the passagework in the first movement of the Sonata emerged so cleanly), and he plays with plenty of rhythmic snap. Those who prefer their Rachmaninoff lush may, at times, feel a bit battered—Matsuev certainly pounces on every opportunity to crush you with reminders of his power (the Étude-tableau in D , op. 39/9 sounds particularly cataclysmic here). And it would be idle to pretend that his recording of the Sonata has the depth of Grimaud’s or that he matches the ebb and flow of Richter in the Preludes and in the Études-tableaux that he recorded. But given Matsuev’s premises, this is playing of a very high order; certainly, his reading of the Fugue is far more thrilling than, say, Biret’s or Shelley’s relatively anodyne recordings of the shorter version.
The recording was made on Rachmaninoff’s own Steinway at his villa in Senar, Switzerland—and the engineering is up-front and immediate. All in all, a significant release.
FANFARE: Peter J. Rabinowitz
Handel: Keyboard Suites, Vol 1 / Philip Edward Fisher
HANDEL Suites, HWV 426–429 • Philip Edward Fisher (pn) • NAXOS 8.572197 (61:55 )
Handel’s keyboard suites—though still not as established in the repertoire of the average pianist as Bach’s are—are steadily gaining popularity with many performers. Just last issue (in Fanfare 33:6), I had the pleasure of reviewing two new recordings of some of this repertoire. Here, we have Volume 1 of what looks like a complete recording of the so-called “Eight Great Suites.”
Philip Edward Fisher certainly has the mechanical capabilities to play this music in a convincing manner, as the virtuosic opening preludes to both the first and third suites, in A Major and D Minor, respectively, can attest. His free way with them pays dividends, as it feeds off the very nature of their origins—improvisation. Fisher does have one eccentricity to his playing in terms of this freedom, though, one that if he did not overuse might be more convincing. He enjoys starting many movements slowly, then accelerating into the full tempo in the second measure of the movement. This most notably occurs, to my ears, in the Gigue to the A-Major Suite, not only the first time, at the onset of the piece, but all four times, as he plays every single repeat of this movement! How this is supposed to be dance-like, I’m not sure. Fisher’s tone, in addition, tends to have a bit more weight than does Gould’s or Perahia’s. He has a keen sense of voicing and tonal shading, as well as tempi which tend to be moderate, except occasionally. The Air to the D-Minor Suite, which he, along with many others, plays just too slowly for me, is an example. For a better overall approach, I prefer Perahia, who is able to lend unity to this movement through the slow accelerando from the onset of the piece—one that continues through all of the variations, bringing a beautiful sense of momentum. Fisher’s E-Minor Suite comes off the best, as he plays it in the most unaffected way: a light and bouncy, virtuosic fugal Prélude, followed by a soft and flowing Allemande, an aggressive and assured Courante, a pensive Sarabande with little ornamentation and played at a gently lilting tempo, and a lively, quirky, and lightly ornamented Gigue. Fisher seems to let the music speak for itself here—something that many performers can do a little more of from time to time.
All in all, this is a very fine disc, to be warmly recommended, not only for its low price, but also for its often assured and inspired playing. In addition to this disc, I would highly recommend those performances by Murray Perahia (Sony 62785), Evgeny Koroliov (seemingly only available for download on Amazon and iTunes, or check out amazon.de for the actual disc), and Racha Arodaky (AIR 001-2009). Here’s hoping that Fisher will grace us not only with the complete “Eight Great Suites” of 1720 in the following volume(s), but all 16.
FANFARE: Scott Noriega
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The modern concert grand lends itself well to the idiomatic flair and delightful variety characterizing Handel's keyboard suites, yet surprisingly few pianists champion them on disc. Philip Edward Fisher is an exception, and his first volume in what promises to be a complete cycle adds up to an absorbing listen.
Naxos' close, dry pickup imparts an analytic, Glenn Gould-like clarity to Fisher's touch, although there's plenty of nuance and tonal shading. You hear this right away in the First suite's Prelude, and also in the Gigue, where Fisher states the main theme's first four repeated notes before accelerating into a faster basic tempo--an oddly convincing gesture.
In contrast to Sviatoslav Richter's straightforwardly plain dispatch of the Second suite's Fugue and Presto movements, Fisher generates more textural variety by elongating accented notes and pressing slightly ahead in sequential passagework. And listeners familiar with the E minor suite's Courante as a courtly allegretto by way of Keith Jarrett or Ragna Schirmer will be surprised by Fisher's relatively subjective deliberation. How the remainder of this cycle will fare next to Schirmer's more warmly engineered traversal of all 16 suites remains to be seen, but so far Fisher and Handel appear to be a provocative and often inspired match.
--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com
Villa-Lobos: Complete Choros & Bachianas Brasileiras / Neschling, São Paulo SO
REVIEWS:
It's very nice to see Christina Ortiz back in the saddle for a major recording. As you may recall, she recorded a lot of stuff, mostly very good, for EMI, and also did the complete Villa-Lobos piano concertos for Decca. She probably knows the style and the music as well or better than anyone alive, and her playing here has real sweep and bravura, particularly in the quick outer sections of what is basically a three-movements-in-one sort of structure. The work is one of the composer's major masterpieces, and with brilliant sonics, you'd have to be crazy not to buy this disc if you have even a shred of interest in Villa-Lobos... Choros No. 5, subtitled "Brazilian Soul", is a five-minute piano solo that not surprisingly sounds like an extended cadenza from No. 11. Ortiz plays it with unaffected gusto and a powerful lyrical impulse. Choros No. 7 is scored for an exotic assortment of strings, winds (including saxophone), and offstage tam-tam... It's hugely fun and full of timbres and textures that you'll find nowhere else. If this disc signals the start of a complete Choros series with these forces on BIS, we're in for a real treat.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
While Villa-Lobos' Bachianas Brasileiras series may be better known or more popular (at least in part), his Choros pieces are just as fine... It's high time that a label decided to record the entire sequence, and if you've been following these releases you already know just how exceptional the results are likely to be... This newcomer certainly doesn't disappoint. John Neschling leads his São Paulo forces in performances that offer the last word in glittering color and rhythmic exuberance, engineered with maximum realism and impact. The shorter, more intimate pieces are strategically placed in between the big orchestral works, making the entire disc a fabulously varied program that offers eloquent proof of Villa-Lobos' range and originality. Kudos also go to guitarist Fabio Zanon for his soulful reading of Choros No. 1, and to the various brass players for their vibrant reading of the quirkily scored No. 4. You're going to love this!
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com [reviewing the original release of Choros Vol. 2]
There is nothing to criticize here: it's all wonderful. This final volume in BIS's survey of the extant Choros pieces by Villa-Lobos (Nos. 13 and 14 are lost) offers in some ways the most interesting and varied assortment of the bunch. Introduction to the Choros features orchestra plus solo guitar, the latter splendidly played by Fabio Zanon. It's a soulful, evocative piece full of good tunes and colorful scoring, and you'll probably grow old and die before your local orchestra plays it live. Two Choros (Bis), a coda to the larger series of 12 numbered works, is a substantial pair of duets for violin and cello.
Choros No. 2 is another duet, this time for flute and clarinet; No. 3 is a brief chorus for male voices, winds, and percussion; No. 10 is a vibrant, primal piece for orchestra and mixed choir, while No. 12 is one of the composer's grandest and most successful large works for orchestra (it lasts more than half an hour). As already suggested, the performances are all splendid, the sonics terrific. I've already listened to this disc a dozen times, and look forward to the next dozen. Don't miss it. [11/20/2008]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com [reviewing the original release of Choros Vol. 3]
The primary novelty here is the piano-solo original version of Bachianas Brasileiras No. 4, an interesting alternative to the more familiar setting for orchestra... Jean-Louis Steuerman [gives] a fine performance... Both wind players sound terrific in the brief and quirky Bachianas Brasileiras No. 6, and soprano Donna Brown sings (and hums) really beautifully in the popular No. 5. I was particularly taken with her clarity of diction and accuracy of intonation in the rapid-fire second movement. Here, and in Bachianas Brasileiras No. 1, the cello section of the São Paulo Symphony plays magnificently, with incisive rhythms (check out the first movement of No. 1) and a big, rich tone. As usual, BIS's engineering is excellent... It looks to be the Bachianas Brasileiras cycle of choice, assuming standards remain this high.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com [reviewing the original release of Bachianas Brasilieras 1, 4 (piano), 5 and 6]
This new installment of what looks to be the complete orchestral Bachianas Brasileiras is as fine as the previous one. Lest this be taken for granted, bear in mind that the worst complete set of the "BB" came from Brazil. The music needs more than just a feel for the idiom: it needs to be splendidly played and recorded, which fortunately is the case here. Both Nos. 7 and 8 take a four-movement form best summed up as "prelude, aria/dance, toccata, and fugue". Under Robert Minczuk, the orchestra plays with real panache in the toccatas, but also with powerful lyrical impetus in No. 7's opening movement, which rises to a climax of positively Tchaikovskian emotion. BIS also offers a special bonus in letting us hear both versions of BB No. 9, for wordless chorus and for string orchestra. The former is all but unknown, and if the choral singing is sometimes a bit rough and ready (the parts are atrociously difficult), just having the vocal version readily available at last represents a unique treat. The engineering is typically excellent. For fans of the composer, this is self-recommending.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com [reviewing the original release of Bachianas Brasilieras 7-9]
These performances of Bachianas Brasileiras Nos. 2 and 4 easily are the finest available. The São Paulo Symphony Orchestra certainly ought to know how to play this music, and do they ever! You'll be amazed at how effortlessly the strings articulate the hellish motor-rhythms in the finale of No. 4, or how the players differentiate the percussion timbres in the "train" movement of No. 2. Even if you know these works well, it's like hearing them for the first time. In No. 3 for piano and orchestra, not one of the best pieces in the series, conductor Roberto Minczuk shapes a performance quite similar to that on the composer's own EMI recording, albeit with infinitely greater sound and much, much better playing.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com [reviewing the original release of Bachianas Brasilieras 2, 3 and 4 (orchestral)]
American Classics - Harris: Complete Piano Music / Burleson
None of the pieces on this disk could be claimed to be major works but there are some very attractive and interesting things nonetheless. The two sets of American Ballads use folk-tunes, such as The Streets of Laredo and When Johnny Comes Marching Home, and are delightful suites with some nice quirky turns of phrase. In feel they are reminiscent of Barber’s Excursions for piano and would enrich any recital of modernish piano music. The early Sonata is a tersely argued work in four succinct movements, and it’s easy to see why the original scherzo wouldn’t have fitted into Harris’s scheme of things. The Piano Suite is another strong work; the first movement is bold and brassy, demonstrative and forthright, the middle movement pensive and the finale a French flavoured gigue.
For the rest we have six miniatures. The Toccata contains elements of both the headlong rush you’d expect from such a work, and short reflective interludes. The Variations on an American Folksong, True Love Don’t Weep starts in a most serious manner, becomes lighter then just as you think it’s going somewhere it stops! Untitled is, I believe, the earliest piece we know by Harris and it’s very strange, questing and angular, almost tuneless and imbued with an otherworldly feel. Little Suite is fun, this could almost be a teaching piece. A Happy Piece for Shirley is a delightful tribute. Orchestrations, a strange title for a solo piano piece, especially from someone as adept at orchestration as Harris, is very serious and profound.
Whilst most of these works have been recorded before, it’s good to have them collected together on one disk, and although none of them can claim pretensions to be a lost masterpiece, they are more than mere chippings off the block of genius. The performances have an air of authority about them and the recording is clean and clear. The notes, if not exhaustive, are helpful. Essential for anyone investigating the Symphonies which Naxos is in the process of recording and there are works here which pianists should be investigating when seeking something piquant for their recitals.
-- Bob Briggs, MusicWeb International
Grandes Pièces Symphoniques / Ian Tracey
The CD opens with a display piece which is much more than just display: the whole disc might well have been devised to demonstrate that there is much more to the great French organ tradition than just a mighty sound. Much of the music is quiet and reflective and the bravura works, like this Tournemire improvisation, have more to offer than glorious sound.
This is one of the improvisations which Tournemire recorded and which were subsequently transcribed by Duruflé. Tournemire insisted that improvisations could not and should not be recaptured but this Improvisation on the Te Deum is a fine piece, worthy of preservation. The CD notes attribute this work to L’Orgue mystique, a cycle of 51 pieces on Gregorian themes for the major festivals of the liturgical year but, whereas that work consists of improvisation-like pieces which Tournemire actually wrote down, the Te Deum improvisation was not written down until Duruflé’s labour of love in transcribing it 28 years later.
Duruflé’s transcription in Ian Tracey’s hands almost persuades one that one is hearing the actual process of improvisation, yet at the same time the playing is totally assured. The Liverpool organ may not be a Cavaillé-Coll, but it is a fine instrument.
Only careful listening identifies the plainsong tune of the Te Deum but that is part of the art of composing such pieces. Bach sometimes buries his chorale melodies fairly deeply in his preludes and Duruflé’s own music based on plainsong themes sometimes requires a deal of detective work. Try his Four motets on Gregorian themes, coupled with his own performance of his gorgeous, Fauré-inspired Requiem and his Mass Cum jubilo on Apex 2564 61139 2, a budget-price distillation of two Erato CDs which have long been in my collection.
The two short pieces by Bonnet which follow are fairly insubstantial but they make an excellent bridge between the display of the Tournemire and the Saint-Saëns improvisation, itself an exercise in virtuosity which receives a glorious free-wheeling performance from Tracey. There is very little Saint-Saëns organ music in the record catalogues; a performance like this reminds us that there is much more to him than The Carnival of the Animals, as I have pointed out in my recent review of two of his Piano Concertos. (Jean-Yves Thibaudet with the OSR under Charles Dutoit on Decca 475 8764).
The title of Franck’s Grande Pièce Symphonique, which is used as the generic name of the CD as a whole, implies employment of the big guns but, in fact, the dominant mood of this piece is restrained, with frequent markings of dolce, pp and even ppp. The opening andante serioso is subdued and reflective: Tracey captures the serioso mood here as well as the mood of the succeeding allegro section, faster but still no troppo e maestoso. The notes in the booklet compare the opening section to a processional but I was put more in mind of a hushed and expectant congregation awaiting the start of Vespers.
In the quiet and reflective andante opening of the second movement, too, the image conjured up is of the preparation for an important service – a role which Tracey, in his capacity at Liverpool Cathedral, will have performed many times. He captures all these quiet passages extremely effectively, especially in those sections marked cantando, and the recording registers every detail, with individual manual- and pedal-parts coming over very clearly. The Liverpool reverberation is kept to a minimum.
The finale also opens pp, but with a hint of a storm to come. When those bigger guns finally arrive, in the wonderful fugue and the concluding outburst of joy, they are all the more effective for having been kept so long in reserve – and for Franck’s retaining a considerable degree of restraint even when they do fire. This is certainly not a showpiece for the sake of mere show and Tracey shows admirable restraint where a lesser organist might well have gone overboard. These grander moments are also very well captured by the engineers, even in normal stereo. One is again aware of the resonance of the building without its ever interfering with the clarity of the recording.
Those seeking to expand their knowledge of Franck’s organ music will inevitably reduplicate the Grande pièce, albeit at bargain price and on French organs. Either Jennifer Bate on the Beauvais organ (Regis RRC2054) or Marie-Claire Alain on the Cavaillé-Coll organ at Caen (Apex 2564 61428 2) will do very nicely. Both are 2-CD sets selling for around £9 in the UK.
The Gigout Scherzo provides a lighter, capricious moment before the Widor: delicacy of touch is paramount here and this Tracey very ably provides.
The Widor Symphony is not the one with the Toccata: that is No.5, already recorded in full by Tracey on CHAN9271. Listeners may welcome the chance to get away from that ubiquitous piece and at the same time hear another of his symphonies in its entirety: the Fourth Symphony is as good a piece as any to choose. Don’t expect these works, despite their title, to sound too symphonic: they are more like a suite than a symphony. Again Tracey’s chief rival in this work is Marie-Claire Alain’s authoritative account on the Cavaillé-Coll organ at Saint Germain (Warner Elatus 2564 60341 2, at mid-price).
Franck left his big guns till the end of his Grande Pièce; the Widor Symphony does the opposite, starting with a fff marking at the beginning of the opening Toccata. This is a big movement – by definition a Toccata is designed to show off the player’s expertise in ‘touching’ the keys. (From Italian toccare, to touch.) Tracey makes the Toccata sound big without being entirely overwhelming and without setting off too much reverberation: if anything, I might have wanted him to sound just a little more ferocious. The Fugue begins quietly with the 16’ pedal tone which the score calls for held in restraint; the effect is ethereal.
The third movement, marked dolce, opens even more ethereally, with the pp organ barely audible. This is the best-known movement, often played as a separate piece. The booklet compares it to Daquin’s Noëls but, having recently reviewed an excellent Hyperion Helios reissue of the Noëls (CDH 55319) I have to say that the relationship is a distant one apart from the cantabile nature of the music, excellently captured by Tracey. The central section, written in four staves – i.e. with two sets of pedal parts – is fiendishly difficult but Tracey, with art that conceals art, makes it sound effortless.
The Scherzo and Adagio are again gentle movements, the pp opening of each setting the tone. The mood of the Adagio anticipates that of Fauré’s Requiem by twenty-one years. Tracey’s nimble playing in the Scherzo, his lighter touch in the Adagio and the recording are once more absolutely first class.
It is a mark of a fine recording not only that it captures the loudest moments without distortion but that it makes an equally good job of registering music on the threshold of hearing. The Chandos engineers score in both respects on this CD – just don’t try to play it in the car: the volume required for the quieter movements to register would place you in the head-bangers’ league in the louder movements.
The Finale begins fff, a marking which recurs at several points in the movement. The big guns are unleashed at the start but Widor is careful again not to make the effect too overwhelming and Tracey’s playing contributes to the comparative restraint, especially in the central part of this movement. The closing bars bring a confident conclusion to the work, confidently executed.
I have already indicated that the recording is first-class even in stereo. In SACD surround-format I am sure that the ambience of Liverpool Cathedral is perfectly captured, albeit without too much of the reverberation of this building.
I’m going for broke and nominating this my Recording of the Month. I cannot imagine a better place to start to get to know the French organ repertoire – unless it should be one of Ian Tracey’s other recordings in this series. Lovers of the genre should place their orders at once.
-- Brian Wilson, MusicWeb International
Bach: 6 Cello Suites / Carmine Miranda
BACH Six Cello Suites • Carmine Miranda (vc) • CENTAUR 3263/4 (2 CDs: 130:10)
Since reviewing Truls Mørk’s version of Bach’s unaccompanied cello suites in 29:5, no fewer than six more accounts have crossed my desk. In chronological order, they were Jean-Guihen Queyras (31:4), Sara Sant’Ambrogio (33:3), Luigi Piovano (34:5), Hekun Wu (34:6), Tanya Tomkins (35:1), and Richard Tuncliffe (36:1). Some of the cellists used conventional cellos, others period instruments. All but two, however, had one thing in common: They were uniformly awful, though each in its own way, ranging from barely tolerable to downright execrable. The one I kept coming back to as my preferred and strongly recommended set throughout those reviews was the first on this list, the one by Jean-Guihen Queyras, with Hekun Wu being a close runner-up. Both, by the way, performed the suites on cellos in modern configuration.
Bach’s six cello suites are like a Siren’s call to cellists of all persuasions, luring many of them to ruin. And the thing is there’s no reason for it. Was it a singular achievement for Bach to write such technically challenging works for an instrument that was relatively new at the time, and a melody instrument to boot, one that takes even more kindly to intensive double-stopping than the violin? Yes. But are the cello suites comparable on levels of musical scope and intellectual depth to the unaccompanied violin sonatas and partitas? Not even close. There are no massive fugues in the cello suites and nothing that approaches the dimensions of the D-Minor Violin Partita’s Chaconne. The cello suites are exactly what their title tells us they are—six sets of relatively short, stylized baroque dances. Yet for cellists—and for some listeners, I think—they’ve taken on an import that may be beyond their actual significance in Bach’s output, virtually becoming every cellist’s initiation rite.
So, how does the young Venezuelan cellist, Carmine Miranda (b. 1988), fare in his initiation into cellodom’s manhood? Well, first a few words about this young artist, who is likely unknown to readers, as this is his recording debut; he was 22 when he recorded the Bach suites for Centaur in 2011–12. Miranda’s early training took place in his native country, where he studied at the Carabobo State Music Conservatory, then in the Latin-American Academy of Violoncello, and finally at the Simon Bolivar Conservatory of Music (the institution that spawned the famous “El Sistema”). Miranda then traveled to the States to study with Ross Harbaugh at the University of Miami, followed by further coaching under Yehuda Hanani at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music where Miranda obtained his bachelor’s and master’s degrees and is a candidate for a doctorate.
In the U.S., he has performed at Carnegie Hall, Bowdoin Music Festival, the Bach Annalia Festival in Cincinnati, the Young People’s Festival in Chatham, N.Y., and is on the artist’s roster for the Close Encounters with Music Series in Great Barrington, N.Y., both under the direction of Yehuda Hanani and others.
Among Miranda’s awards are first prize at the 2005 Alhambra Music Competition, the National Prize for best soloist from the FMEA (Florida Music Educators Association), and the 2008–09 University of Cincinnati Cello Competition. He has collaborated with recognized international artists such as Yehuda Hanani, Awadagin Pratt, Rodolfo Saglimbeni and performed as a soloist with several chamber ensembles and orchestras, recently including the Caracas Municipal Symphony Orchestra. He is also the founder and member of the Troika Piano Trio comprised of violinist Joshua Ulrich and pianist Assaf Sommer.
Miranda, who authored his own album note, makes no mention of the instrument(s) he uses for these performances, how he handles the scordatura tuning of the Fifth Suite—does he retune his cello according to the original manuscript or use the modern standard-tuning edition?—or what he does to accommodate the Sixth Suite, believed to have been originally written for a five-string violoncello piccolo. His note speaks only of his personal impressions of, and responses to, the emotional and spiritual character and quality of each of the pieces. At one point, in fact, I was quite taken aback to read, “Interpretation of the suites has nothing to do with what is correct, accurate, and historical, but it rather has to do with going deep within the soul of the writing…” That raised a red flag for me, not to mention an eyebrow. I couldn’t help but think to myself that only the immodesty of youth could be so callow and cavalier with respect to the years of serious musicological research that have attempted to ascertain what is “correct, accurate, and historical,” and to the many veteran cellists who have spent more years studying these works than Miranda has been alive. But the proof, as they say, is in the hearing. And so I decided not to allow my annoyance with Miranda’s words to influence my judgment of his playing.
Instantly, from the very first bar of the G-Major Suite, the cellist that came to mind was Pablo Casals, a comparison that elicits no higher compliment. In my above-mentioned review of Tanya Tomkins’s Bach suites, I noted how slow and super-romanticized her readings were; she takes 3:16 for the opening Prelude, a full half-minute longer than Jacqueline du Pré, who, at 2:35, is hardly fast. So, I went back to Casals’s 1950s recording and found that he dispatched the Prelude in two minutes flat and without any rhythmic distensions or distortions. What about Carmine Miranda? 2:09. I don’t know if Miranda studied Casals’s recordings, but if he didn’t, it’s truly uncanny how closely he channels both the letter and the spirit of the great cellist’s example.
It’s really difficult to express in words the beauty of Miranda’s performances. His cello is a modern instrument, or at least one updated with modern fittings and tuned to modern pitch, but the tone it emits is lighter in weight than that which we often hear in versions played on modern cellos. Of course, much of that can be attributed to Miranda’s bowing. He doesn’t dig into the strings to produce guttural sounds. The tone is clean and clear and intonation perfect. But one expects more than technical proficiency, dexterity, and finesse; and more—much more than that—is what one gets from Miranda’s readings.
Alluded to above is the fact that these are suites of dances, and time and again, in extolling the virtues of Jean-Guihen Queyras’s performances, I’ve remarked on the way in which he manages to capture the essence of each dance step. Miranda, it seems to me, goes one step further (no pun intended). He hears, and allows us to hear, the historical roots of each dance and whence it comes, which is pretty funny when you try to square that with his comment that interpretation of the suites has nothing to do with the historical. Yet listen to Miranda’s courantes, and you will hear not just rapid tempos, but the very definition of the Renaissance dance as described by Thoinot Arbeau, the 16th-century French theorist who tells us that the courante was danced with fast running and jumping steps. If Miranda didn’t learn this from reading music history, he knows it intuitively, for it’s not just his accelerated tempos but the effect of rhythmic arrest you would observe in a dance that involved running forward several steps, then making a sudden jump, hop, or jerk to stop short the forward motion. In Miranda’s hands, the suites don’t just sound dance-like , as in stylized baroque refinements, they sound like actual Renaissance dances.
Likewise, Miranda’s sarabandes are played with the stately gravitas that would have been à la mode for a processional court dance in 17th-century France. Interestingly, the sarabande had its origins as a fairly fast dance a century earlier and quite likely in Mexico or Central America. When Spanish colonists brought the dance back to Spain with them, it was banned in 1583 for being obscene. It wasn’t until the sarabande made its way to Italy and then France that it became the slow, triple-meter dance that was widely adopted into the baroque suite.
I’ve never heard Bach’s cello suites played in quite this way, and while I wouldn’t want to be without the versions by Queyras, Hekun Wu, Casals, and János Starker, Carmine Miranda’s will not only join them, it will stand out as perhaps the most original and imaginative interpretations of the suites I’ve heard.
Centaur’s recording, too, is outstanding, capturing Miranda’s cello fairly close up but with sufficient air around it to allow for a natural sounding bloom, yet without any annoying echo effect. An album note states that the recording was made without any editing. This is a definite buy recommendation for both connoisseurs of Bach’s cello suites and those who appreciate cello playing at its best. I’d have to say that Carmine Miranda has passed his initiation with flying colors. Welcome to the ranks of the world class players.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
Shostakovich: 24 Preludes And Fugues Op 87 / Scherbakov

Konstantin Scherbakov's 24 Shostakovich Preludes and Fugues leapfrog to the head of a small yet distinguished class on disc, whose valedictorians include Tatiana Nikolaeva and Vladimir Ashkenazy. Time and again I am struck by expressive and textural novelties that inevitably result from Scherbakov's fastidious adherence to Shostakovich's markings. The pianist connects the A minor Prelude's scurrying 16th-notes with a seamless legato that still manages to allow each one to speak softly. He treats the D major Prelude's right-hand arpeggiated chords in a slightly detached manner in order to offset the left hand's cello-like legato line. In the F-sharp minor Fugue Scherbakov takes special care to differentiate the levels of soft dynamics. He maintains Fugue No. 15's marcatissimo directive with unyielding vehemence, while effortlessly clarifying the difficult-to-disentangle voices.
Those familiar with Nikolaeva's freer treatment of the 16th fugue's elaborate subject will be surprised at the profile and contrast it acquires when played in strict time, as Scherbakov does. As a result, the uneven duplets truly stand out from the even ones. On the other hand, the 14th Prelude's tremolos sometimes threaten to cover the melodic material. Here both Nikolaeva and the composer relegate these tremolos to a spooky background murmur, and make more of the motto theme's tenutos. And Scherbakov sometimes plays down Shostakovich's edgy humor. Yet these quibbles are about aesthetic choices, not interpretive faults, and really don't matter in the larger context of Scherbakov's achievement. His interpretations are thought out, deeply pondered, prepared to the nth degree, and played with a perfect fusion of technique and soul. Even listeners who consider these works arid and somewhat pedantic will change their minds after hearing Scherbakov. A triumph.
--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com