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Malipiero: Violin Concertos & Per una favola cavalleresca / Symphonic Orchestra of Rome
Naxos · Jun 2022CD$19.99 -
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Fairouz: In The Shadow Of No Towers; Glass: Concerto Fantasy / Popiel, University Of Kansas
Naxos · Nov 2013CD$19.99 -
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Reznicek: Symphony No 1 "tragic", Etc / Beerman, Prudenskaja, Brandenburg State Orchestra Frankfurt
CPO · Jan 2009CD$18.99 -
Elgar: The Dream Of Gerontius Op. 38 / Elder, Groves, Terfel, Coote, Et Al
Halle · Oct 2008CD$32.99
Malipiero: Violin Concertos & Per una favola cavalleresca / Symphonic Orchestra of Rome
This release couples Gian Francesco Malipiero’s two contrasting violin concertos with the world premiere recording of his kaleidoscopic orchestral work Per una favola cavalleresca, evoking legendary scenes of love, tournaments, battles, moonbeams and heroes. Malipiero’s First Violin Concerto is one of his most beautiful and joyful works, a remarkable achievement for a composer who is said to have played the violin badly in his youth. His Second Violin Concerto, written 30 years later, sounds astonishingly different on a first hearing, but reveals itself to be inspired by the same lyrical impulse as the earlier concerto.
Review
Naxos/Marco Polo have been staunch allies of Malipiero of yore. Their example has been all the more admirable since their advocacy dates from a decade or more after the composer’s death. First, they recorded all the symphonies - and there are lots of them - in Russia on Marco Polo. These were done largely with the far too easily overlooked Antonio de Almeida (1928-1997). That multiple-CD series has been reissued on Naxos.
His First Violin Concerto (1932) is in the accustomed furiously confident three movements. There’s no hint of neo-classicism or museum-rigid “Alte Stil”. This is fast-flowing music where the orchestra keep pace with the ardent solo, here played with unblinking skill by Paolo Chiavacci. The writing is juicy and its probing ardour continues into the central Lento and the nicely rounded finale. This is a work and performance that, for me, never descends into tedium.
Per una favola cavalleresca (For a chivalric tale) is in four movements and is the earliest piece here. It is claimed to be inspired by legendary scenes of love, tournaments, battles, moon-beams and burials of heroes, possibly with links to a Malipero opera Lancelotto del Lago. It’s the longest work here, in four unnamed movements, across half an hour. It’s masterfully orchestrated with no strata of the orchestra wasted. Romantic to the hilt and occasionally voluptuous in the familiar manner of Respighi, as in his Ballad of the Gnomes. Even within these bounds it is a full-lipped piece yet with plenty of nocturnal facets as in parts of the third movement. Written at about the same time as Sibelius’s Suite mignonne which, at least in its titles, has its chivalric overtones, it is a very different. The Malipiero is more head-on and drips with juice as you can hear with the no-holds-barred brass fanfaring of the highly coloured finale. One can easily read into this the betrayal of Arthur and his anger, even if the work and the movement does end in a romantic glow.
Malipero wastes nothing - no time beating of useless filler material - both this and the second concerto are over and done with in about twenty minutes. The second - quite a short piece at 19:35 - is cooler. It was written a decade before the composer’s death and confronts a very different world order from the First. It is by no means devoid of passion. Even so, darker emotions are in play. The soloist has to make speedy headway. Disillusion inflects the central non troppo lento which is lichen-hung. The finale is another work of testing virtuosity, but brusque.
Another point to make is that these works, especially the First concerto and the Cavalleresca at times seem wrung from the same harmonic material as Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending but always stand in their own right.
A Malipiero genre admirably tackled by the familiar La Vecchia and his orchestra. They have been most agreeably performed and recorded.
--MusicWeb International (Rob Barnett)
Haydn: The Complete Piano Sonatas, Vol. 10 / 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
His multi-award-winning recordings and dazzling concert performances have long established Jean-Efflam Bavouzet as one of the most outstanding pianists of his generation. This latest album – the tenth – in his cycle of the complete Haydn sonatas is built around the Grand Sonata in C major, Hob. XVI: 50, a late work the first movement of which is one of the most highly developed that Haydn ever conceived for the keyboard. Bavouzet has surrounded this with less well-known works: Two very early sonatas (Nos. 3 & 4) provide a stark contrast to the later works (Nos. 28 & 45). The album ends with the Arietta con 12 Variazioni.
Bavouzet notes: ‘The Variations in E flat major and the Sonata in A major, Hob. XVI: 30, were for me the marvelous revelations of this program. In the E flat major Variations (the lovely theme of which Mozart borrowed in his Sonata, KV 282!). The chief question was to know whether to repeat the theme at the end, as certain editions recommend. After several experiments, I finally opted for a solution perhaps a little anachronistic, by construing the entire last variation as a long, gradual crescendo which takes us from the somber and serious atmosphere of the preceding variation towards the brilliant light of the unadorned chords that conclude this magnificent cycle.’
REVIEW:
There’s one masterpiece on this CD: Sonata 60. From Jean-Efflam Bavouzet comes an almost furtively soft beginning to the first theme, a pondering pause, then loud arpeggiated affirmation, jubilation unleashed as ideas crowd in on one another and repeat gleefully. Second prize on this CD goes to Sonata 45, composed 20 years earlier, Haydn’s only piano sonata played without a break. As in previous volumes, Bavouzet mixes sonatas from various periods, backtracking 14 years earlier for Sonatas 3 and 4. So you experience the learning curve through which Haydn achieved his mature works. In Sonata 3, despite its relative simplicity, Bavouzet brings elegance and chipper, assertive bounce to the opening Allegro and you’ll relish his extra ornamentation in the repeat of the Scherzo’s final strain. In Sonata 4 his neatness and propriety in the opening movement is delightfully offset by the impropriety of repeats’ extra ornamentation[.]
--MusicWeb International (Michael Greenhalgh)
Fairouz: In The Shadow Of No Towers; Glass: Concerto Fantasy / Popiel, University Of Kansas
GLASS Concerto Fantasy for 2 timpanists and orchestra (arr. Lortz) 1. FAIROUZ Symphony No. 4, “In the Shadow of No Towers” 2 • Paul W. Popeil, cond; 1 Ji Hye Jung, 1 Gwendolyn Burgett (timpani); 2 J?nis Porietis (tpt); University of Kansas Wind Ens • NAXOS 8.573205 (57: 48)
The opening piece on this CD, Philip Glass’s Concerto Fantasy for two timpanists and orchestra, is heard here in an arrangement for wind band by Mark Lortz, band director at Stevenson University in Maryland. The transcription, from what I can tell (not knowing the original), seems quite fine, crafted with an excellent ear for texture and style. The problem, as usual, is with Glass’s music itself. Although this piece is not as heavily repetitious as most of the composer’s famous works from the 1970s and 80s, it still relies on repetition to make its point, and in this case the “point” is hammered home by the incessant banging of our two timpanists, Jung and Burgett. Let me put it this way: if you really enjoy Benny Goodman’s old arrangement of Sing, Sing, Sing, with Gene Krupa’s interminable tom-tom banging, you’ll love this Concerto. Glass regales us at the outset with a motif that sounds for all the world like the opening of Lalo Schifrin’s Mission: Impossible theme, interspersed with phrases from the Burt Bacharach song Promises, Promises. The second movement retreats from the sound barrier somewhat, but here the music sounded to me reminiscent of such iconic Glass works as Khayanaquatsi. Our two drummers recede somewhat from the sound barrier here, but the pattern they are drumming remains repetitious. The five-minute “cadenza” for the timpanists finally varies the beat a little, making some allusions to jazz, but not quite enough to hold the listener’s attention. (As comedian Stan Freberg once quipped on one of his records, “That’s close enough for jazz!”) Here, too, the timpanists are joined by xylophone for a real percussion funfest. In the third movement, the syncopation continues, but this time in typical Glassian style. Despite the use of some flatted thirds, this music reminded me of a section from Hydrogen Jukebox.
By contrast, Mohammed Fairouz’s Fourth Symphony, based on a “serious” comic book by Art Spiegelman bearing the title In the Shadow of No Towers, is a masterpiece (this is a world premiere recording). Fairouz has managed to capture the horror of the moment and its aftermath without wallowing in mawkish self-pity. Perhaps the liner notes’ descriptions of the four movements will convey to the reader the quality of the music. The first, titled “The New Normal,” shows a family’s interaction with television before, during, and after the events of September 11, 2001. Fairouz manages to suggest the twin towers collapsing by clashing rising woodwind scales with explosive brass chords, but before this Fairouz captures the feeling of unease with quiet music scored in close harmonics that often border on the eerie, and after their collapse returns to the opening material briefly before exploding again, then continuing in what the composer refers to as “a cold and quick funeral march.” The reader may feel from this verbal description that such a manipulation of musical material and emotional response seems calculated or even predictable, but such is not the case. This is damn fine and extremely creative music; not a single bar sounds formulaic, even if one is told and knows in advance what is “coming” in the music. Fairouz introduces themes that are sometimes developed and at other times juxtaposed with other themes; he keeps the listener off balance not with the sound explosions but with the silences in between.
The second movement, “Notes of a Heartbroken Narcissist,” is based on Spiegelman’s cartoon panels of a self-absorbed yuppie deciding how to comb his facial hair and turning into a rodent. It begins at a volume so low that at first I thought that my CD player had stopped working, with players scraping coins across suspended cymbals. The subcontra ranges of both brass and piano continue the gloomy mood. (Personal footnote: the day after 9/11, I went to work in shock, like everyone else in America. Talking to the young minister of a local church, I told her that what went through my mind was the plight of Olivier Messiaen and his fellow-prisoners during World War II, the four of them—all musicians—not knowing if they or the world would survive those horrible years, and Messiaen’s reaction by writing the Quartet for the End of Time. The minister’s reaction was a bit like the narcissist and his beard: “I just don’t know how to rock and roll any more!”) As annotator Paul R. Laird puts it, what emerges from this movement is not the yuppie’s narcissism but a very “heartfelt lament for those who died in the attack.”
The third movement, “One Nation Under Two Flags,” was Spiegelman’s reaction to the divisive split in America during the following years: the United “Red Zone” and “Blue Zone” of America. In Fairouz’s score, neither one is really treated sympathetically. The Red Zone is represented by shrill jingoistic music, the Blue Zone by music that is “just plain angry.” (Art Spiegelman referred to it as “a martial schizo-scherzo.” I call it modern-day Charles Ives.) Once again, Fairouz keeps you guessing as to how the music will play out. A quiet passage for clarinets and soft solo trumpet over piano comes almost as a shock in the midst of the chaos.
The last movement, “Anniversaries,” is based on Spiegelman’s pictorial description of clocks that restarted on September 12 yet seemed to resemble a ticking “time-bomb that occasionally explodes,” after which the ghostly image of the twin towers grows larger than life before fading away. Here, Fairouz does indeed rely on the gimmick of a ticking clock sound as the underlying motif for the movement, but once again his inner ear for harmonic movement and sound color are astonishing. He almost makes of the wind ensemble something entirely different than what we are used to: the sounds that emerge sometimes resemble a harmonium, at other times an organ. It is the musical equivalent of the relentless march of time against a backdrop of horror brought, kicking and screaming, into our lives.
In praising the varied moods of the Fairouz Symphony, one must give special credit to the University of Kansas Woodwind Ensemble and their director, Paul Popeil. This is playing on an extraordinarily high level of a work that is technically and emotionally demanding from start to finish.
A split review, then. It almost seems unfair that so trivial a work as the Glass Concerto is paired on this disc with an incredible masterpiece. It’s rather like putting someone’s Variations on “Blue Suede Shoes” on the same disc with the Górecki Third Symphony. Yet I must urge you to acquire this disc for the Fairouz work. You simply won’t believe how brilliant it is.
FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley
Earthworks
Quartet Integra
Reznicek: Symphony No 1 "tragic", Etc / Beerman, Prudenskaja, Brandenburg State Orchestra Frankfurt
REZNICEK Symphony No. 1, “Tragic.” 4 Songs of Prayer and Repentance 1 • Frank Beermann, cond; Marina Prudenskaja (mez); 1 Brandenburg St O Frankfurt • cpo 777 223 (68:50)
In some ways, Reznicek might be described as the poor man’s Richard Strauss. Cpo, which is engaged in a project to record Reznicek’s orchestral output, has already released the composer’s Second and Fifth Symphonies and two tone-poems, Schlemihl and Raskolnikoff , reviewed by Henry Fogel in 28:2. Schlemihl has been dismissed in some quarters as the effort of a jealous and bitter Reznicek to parody and deflate the puffed up ego of Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben, schlemihl being Yiddish for an unlucky, incompetent boob upon whose head every manner of misfortune falls—in effect, the anti-hero to Strauss’s Übermensch . But the non-Jewish Reznicek, as Fogel pointed out, may have misconstrued the caustic connotation of the word, which imparts the flavor of not just a pitiable sad sack, but of a fool who invites bad luck and ridicule; for Reznicek’s trials and tribulations—the deaths of two children and his first wife—were real and indeed heartbreaking.
Like Brahms, who didn’t complete his First Symphony until he was 43, Reznicek was 41 in 1901 when he wrote his Symphony No. 1 in D Major. The original booklet essay written in German by Eckhardt van den Hoogen is, in translation at least, incomprehensible gibberish. I was unable to make heads or tails of its mishmash of arcane literary references and absurdist metaphors—“the Criminal Tango of the first movement and the Jesus Christ Superstar of the last movement”—not to mention the mental imagery of “pulling on the pigtails of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto,” and the depiction of Reznicek’s beard as a “foot muff” that put me off my dinner. From what I was able to glean, it seems that the only “tragedy” that led the composer to subtitle the work “Tragic” was a ride on a crowded city train in which a pretty young girl who caught Reznicek’s eye got up and offered the “old man” her seat.
So what does this “tragic” concoction sound like? Well, a bit like Strauss being badgered by Pauline to go to his room and compose something. Then, beginning at 12:08 in the first movement, a sequence that seems to mimic the development section in the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s “Pathétique” makes a discomfiting appearance. Here comes a snippet of Schumann, there a scrap of Brahms, and everywhere the oddments and leftovers of Liszt. This symphony would be a piece of utter trash were it not for the twofold fact that it was obviously written by a master orchestral craftsman of the first order, and that it buys one entrance to a musical circus of clowns dressed up as Tchaikovsky, Strauss, Wagner, and Liszt somersaulting around the ring. I defy anyone to listen to Reznicek’s Symphony No. 1 and not laugh out loud as the parade of jesters passes by. If the piece had been written after Schlemihl instead of before it, a more appropriate subtitle might have been Schlamazel.
Having had my say on the Symphony, let me turn now to the Four Songs of Prayer and Repentance after words of the Holy Scriptures. Reznicek really ought not to be judged by his First Symphony, which has got to be either an aberration or some sort of off-color, politically incorrect joke. He was a serious composer with a quite significant catalog of works to his credit: five symphonies, a dozen operas, numerous orchestral and concerted compositions, at least five string quartets, two piano trios, and a considerable volume of solo piano and organ pieces. Very little of it has been recorded; and, except for the Donna Diana Overture, I’ve no recollection of hearing any of it performed live—which is a shame, because the Four Songs are gorgeous.
Written in 1913, long before Strauss said sayonara with his Four Last Songs , Reznicek’s songs take their cue from Brahms’s Four Serious Songs , though they are not nearly as reverential and austere. Where Brahms chose Biblical texts that reflect the fatalism of his last years—“for that which befalls man befalls beasts”—Reznicek selected verses from Ecclesiastes and The Book of Sirach that focus on comforting, acceptance, and the beauty that is to be found in wisdom—“The pipe and the psaltery make sweet melody, but a pleasant tongue is above them both.” Reznicek’s songs are supple and sensuous, but not sensual in that steamy, erotic way that many of Strauss’s songs are. The orchestral accompaniments caress the words with an angelic tenderness.
Marina Prudenskaja, who is identified as a mezzo-soprano, actually has more of a dark-hued contralto quality to her voice that reminded me a bit of Rita Gorr. She has the right timbre and range, I think, to be an ideal candidate for Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody.
Despite what you may have concluded from my opinion of the Symphony, this disc comes with a hearty endorsement, and not just for the Four Songs , which are lovely beyond description, but yes, for the Symphony, too, which is a laugh-a-minute Hooterville riot. Performances and recording are first-class.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
I WISH YOU LOVE: MORE FROM THE BODYGUARD
LOVE YOU MADLY LIVE AT BUBBA'S
SINGS THE RODGERS AND HART SONG BOOK
NOW YEARBOOK 1997 / VARIOUS
NOW YEARBOOK 1997 / VARIOUS
NOW PRESENTS 12 INCH 80S: VOL 2 1983-1984 / VAR
LAST DANCE
COZY YOU (AND OTHER NICE SONGS)
SINGULAR SIMONE: THE CHRONOLOGICAL 45S 1959-1962
I WAS BORN RUTH LEE JONES BUT I AM SINGING AS
SOUND OF HOLLYWOOD
WONDERFUL
LITTLE GIRL BLUE
FITZGERALD & PASS... AGAIN
NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL THE 70'S / VARIOUS
As I Love You - The Complete Shirley Bassey 1956-1962
SI
Elgar: The Dream Of Gerontius Op. 38 / Elder, Groves, Terfel, Coote, Et Al
Last year, when I surveyed most of the available recordings of The Dream of Gerontius, I expressed the hope that Mark Elder, as he then was, and his Hallé forces might make a commercial recording of the work. That hope was inspired by the remarkable performance that they had given at the 2005 Henry Wood Promenade Concerts, which, as I commented at the time, made a great impression on me. Having re-listened to it more than once in the off-air recording I made, I now feel it was, quite simply, the finest live account of the work that I ever expect to hear. And now, with almost identical forces, the newly-knighted Sir Mark Elder has made a studio recording. It comes too late for the 150th anniversary of Elgar’s birth but instead, and more fittingly, perhaps, it marks the Hallé’s own 150th birthday, which falls this year.
The inevitable question is: has it been worth the wait for this recording? The answer is an unequivocal "yes".
The American tenor, Paul Groves, reprises the role of Gerontius, as I hoped he would. I hadn’t realised it at the time but we learn from the booklet biography that his performance at the 2005 Proms was his debut in the role, which makes his achievement that night all the more remarkable. His greatest virtue of all, it seems to me, is the clarity and ease of his singing. Every note is hit right in the centre and his voice has an exciting and pleasing ring. The top notes are always true and secure. I followed in the score but, frankly, that was superfluous as far as the text is concerned for Groves’ diction is crystal clear – as, indeed, is that of the other soloists and the choirs.
In Part I Elgar sets his tenor a task that is almost impossible. The singer must try to suggest the frailty of a man on his death bed while, at the same time, he must be able to deliver heroic, dramatic passages, such as ‘Sanctus fortis’. Groves is fully equal to the dramatic sections though sometimes he does sound a little too healthy for a dying man. ‘Sanctus fortis’ is a huge test and it’s one that Groves passes with flying colours. He starts it in ringing, forthright voice but later on, just before cue 48 in the vocal score, he shades off the end of the phrase "Parce mihi, Domine" with great sensitivity. In this aria, and frequently during the performance as a whole, he demonstrates prodigious breath control. One example occurs in ‘Sanctus fortis’, where the whole eight-bar phrase, "For the love of Him alone, Holy Church as his creation" is taken in one span, where most tenors take a breath, quite legitimately, after the comma. Later, the first phrase of ‘Take me away’ is one glorious, seamless whole, as it should be but often isn’t. Returning to ‘Sanctus fortis’, there’s a lovely piangendo at cue 53, when the words "Sanctus fortis" are repeated gently by Gerontius, and then the phrase "O Jesu, help" is truly anguished. Groves’ delivery of the climatic "In Thine own agony", top B flat and all, is magnificent. In all, his performance of this testing keynote aria is very fine.
Part II brings different demands for the tenor soloist. Now he represents the soul of the dead Gerontius. Quite a bit of the music in Part I required the vocal resources of a heldentenor but the opening pages of Part II needs the subtlety of a lieder singer. I’m not sure that Groves is quite successful in these passages. The clear, pleasing singing remains a constant feature but he doesn’t seem to delve as deeply into the words as do some of his distinguished predecessors in the role. As an example, I compared the first solo – "I went to sleep" - as sung on disc by John Mitchinson (for Rattle) and by Anthony Rolfe Johnson (Vernon Handley). Both are so much more responsive to the words and both also sing more quietly. Groves can’t quite match those experienced masters of the role. But he brings his own insights and subtleties to the part and his dialogue with the Angel is intelligently and sensitively sung. Inspired, no doubt, by the presence of an audience, he was a touch more spontaneous at times in the live Proms performance. On the other hand, on that occasion he had to project into a huge acoustic. Here, recording under studio conditions, he can offer a more subtly nuanced reading. The last section of the role, the aria ‘Take me away’, is another hugely demanding solo. Groves’ opening is superb. Later on, perhaps, a little more dynamic contrast would have been welcome but his fervour – not overdone - firm tone and excellent breath control offer ample compensation and the final phrase – "there let me be" – is most affecting.
Alice Coote, who was the Angel in the Proms performance, once again takes the role for the recording. Like Paul Groves she offers much but I found it interesting to compare this performance with her live account. To my ears her voice has a slight edge to it at times in this present performance and her tone doesn’t have quite the same degree of warmth and fullness that she exhibited at the Proms. That said, she is right inside the role, she sings with feeling and commitment and her performance gives a great deal of pleasure. I like, for example, the inflection she brings to the words, "this child of clay". A little later on, she has the right amount of legato and warmth for "A presage falls upon thee." That wonderful passage "There was a mortal" is done with appropriate inwardness – I think she does this passage even better here than in the Proms performance. Her account of the celebrated Farewell is lovely. She brings compassion and dignity to this solo and sends the Soul of Gerontius on his way in a most reassuring way.
There is one change to the line up of soloists that took part in the Prom performance and it’s a significant one. In place of Matthew Best, who sang in 2005, Bryn Terfel sings the two bass solos. This is luxury casting indeed. Terfel is a magisterial Priest. His opening phrases are delivered with all the power and sonority that one would expect from this singer. However, I was delighted to note how, as the aria unfolds, he’s attentive to Elgar’s dynamic markings, which are often quiet, and by so doing he makes the Priest’s words properly prayerful. He’s an imposing Angel of The Agony, singing this dramatic solo quite splendidly. One relishes the sheer amplitude of his voice but, once again, one notes how attentive he is to the dynamic markings – and it makes such a difference. Often I’ve found that a soloist is more suited to one of these two solos than the other but on this occasion Terfel is completely successful in both.
At the Proms performance the Hallé Youth Choir, a mixed-voice choir whose members are aged between twelve and nineteen years, sang the crucial semi chorus parts. Their contribution was important then and I’m delighted to find them similarly involved this time. The involvement of these young singers, for whom this recording must have been a tremendous experience, gives this performance an edge over most of its CD rivals. Benjamin Britten scored a significant coup by using the choir of King’s College, Cambridge as the semi chorus when he recorded Gerontius in 1971 and I wonder if Sir Mark Elder had that precedent in mind. The use of young voices, with their completely different timbre, results in a sharp and very telling contrast and I find the effect is really exciting and atmospheric. The writing for the semi chorus is often extremely exposed but the young Hallé singers rise to the challenge superbly and their fresh, youthful voices add an additional and very welcome dimension to the choral sound. I think their involvement is a major success and I applaud it unreservedly.
Their adult colleagues in the main Hallé Choir are also on top form. They’ve obviously been prepared superbly by their chorus master, James Burton. So, every strand is clear in "Be merciful" and they bring real bite and urgency to "Rescue him." In the Demons’ Chorus their singing is virile and has excellent definition. Perhaps they could have snarled a bit more but it’s an exciting account of the chorus. Equally fine is ‘Praise to the Holiest’ and, towards the end, they are clear, controlled and atmospheric at "Lord, Thou hast been our refuge", never an easy passage to bring off.
The orchestral contribution is, if anything, even finer. From the very start of the Prelude to Part I you sense we’re in for something a bit special. The playing glows here and elsewhere. Dynamics are beautifully observed, the rhythms are well articulated and there’s a consistent feeling that the players are right inside the idiom and playing with belief. Two things are worthy of special comment. Firstly, the engineers have contrived to balance the organ beautifully so that whenever it plays it enriches the textures without being unduly prominent. Secondly, the harp part is hugely important and once again, the instrument is balanced perfectly so that time and again one is aware of its importance yet it never draws unwarranted attention to itself.
But for all the splendour of these contributions the whole is knitted into something much greater than the sum of its parts by Sir Mark Elder. Writing of his Prom performance I suggested that one or two of his tempi were a fraction too fleet. I have no such feelings here. I cannot recall a single bar in the whole score when I felt that the pacing wasn’t just right. Elder has demonstrated in several previous Elgar recordings and performances that he is a master interpreter of this composer. This superb interpretation confirms that judgement in spades. His shaping of the Prelude is masterly and that sets the tone for the whole performance. He is scrupulous in his observance of Elgar’s markings and in many ways that’s the key to success in Elgar performance for the composer was copious in the indications he gave in the score and if a conductor trusts Elgar and follows the markings that’s more than half the battle.
The performance has huge sweep and conviction but there are also many small points that show Elder’s meticulous and perceptive attention to detail. One example comes in the Prelude a couple of bars before cue 17 when the orchestra plays a quiet, stabbing chord, with the gong adding a frisson. Elder places and balances that chord to perfection. Move on to the short, hushed Prelude to Part II, for the strings alone. Elder obtains miraculous, luminous textures from his players and in a mere twenty-six bars he establishes an otherworldly atmosphere, just as Elgar intended. Best of all, at cue 3 the dynamic marking is an incredible pppp. Elder achieves precisely that and the effect is superb. Only one other conductor in my experience has matched this, namely Simon Rattle in his 1986 EMI recording, but to be honest, I think even Rattle is put in the shade at this point. These are very small points in themselves but they catch the ear and show the scrupulous attention to detail that has gone into the preparation of this performance.
Elder, however, is anything but a micro-manager. He is magnificent in the big moments. The end of Part I, after the chorus has joined the bass soloist at "Go, in the name of Angels and Archangels", is brought off expertly. Every strand of Elgar’s many-layered tableau is given its proper weight and the whole passage causes the eyes – or my eyes, at any rate – to prickle, as it should. Even better is the long build up to ‘Praise to the Holiest’. This long passage, after the Angel’s solo "There was a mortal" is challenging, but Elder’s direction is superbly assured. Once again, all the various strands - semi chorus, chorus, orchestra and two soloists - are knitted together perfectly. One thing I admired particularly is the way in which Elder paces the several short sections marked Poco più animato with a vernal eagerness and then observes the decelerations, marked by Elgar, to perfection. Here the ladies of the chorus and the younger ladies in the semi chorus sing with a wide-eyed freshness that is completely appropriate to Angelicals. The whole passage is an unqualified success and Elder builds the tension and the atmosphere so that when the choir erupts at "Praise to the Holiest" it is as if great gold doors have been thrown open to reveal blinding light. Elder handles the ensuing chorus masterfully. The last pages, from cue 94 onwards, are tremendously exciting without recourse to excessive speed as Sakari Oramo does on his CBSO recording (see review). The end of the chorus bids fair to lift the roof off the Bridgewater Hall yet Elder’s forces have more to give and manage to observe the crescendo on the last, long chord. It’s a thrilling moment.
One more example of Elder’s perceptive command of the score and of his forces will suffice. In Part II, starting at cue 114, is the remarkable passage where Gerontius sings, "I go before my Judge", followed by the choir’s muffled entreaties, "Be merciful". Elder distils the most incredible atmosphere in these bars. The music has an awestruck quality that I’ve never heard brought out so well. It sounds as if everyone – Paul Groves, the choirs, the orchestra – is on tenterhooks, scarcely daring to articulate the notes. It’s the most remarkable piece of music making imaginable.
So how can I sum up this recording? I think it’s a remarkable achievement and I have been greatly moved by hearing it. Paul Groves and Alice Coote both deliver very fine performances. I feel that both gave a little more in terms of spontaneity during the Proms performance, inspired by the presence of an audience. On the other hand, under studio conditions they achieve some subtle points that were not possible in the huge arena that is the Royal Albert Hall. Bryn Terfel is a superb addition to the cast. The choirs and orchestra are on inspired form and Sir Mark Elder confirms that he is the finest Elgar interpreter now before the public. Under his inspired leadership the white-hot inspiration of Elgar’s visionary score comes alive.
The performance is captured in excellent, atmospheric sound. The recording doesn’t quite have the punch and presence of the Oramo recording but it’s not far short in terms of immediacy. The forces are splendidly and truthfully balanced and the whole project is a great success for the engineers. The notes are by Michael Kennedy and up to that fine writer’s usual immaculate standard.
It has been well worth the wait for this recording. For over forty years Sir John Barbirolli’s great 1964 recording of Gerontius has dominated the catalogue. I’m sure he would rejoice that, in their 150th anniversary year, his beloved Hallé and their distinguished current Music Director have produced a worthy successor and one that offers irrefutable proof that the Elgar tradition of the Hallé is being maintained in the twenty-first century. Let us hope that Sir Mark will go on to give us new and equally fine recordings of Apostles and Kingdom but even if that doesn’t happen they have done Elgar proud with this distinguished recording which I have found to be a very moving experience.
-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International