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Vaughan Williams: London Symphony; Butterworth: Banks of Green Willow / Hickox, LSO
Chandos · Mar 2001CD$21.99 -
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Korngold: String Quartets 1-3, Piano Quintet Op 15 / Sigfridsson, Aron Quartett
CPO · Jan 2010CD$36.99 -
Jon Lord: To Notice Such Things / Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra
Avie Records · Mar 2010CD$19.99
Haydn: 2032, Vol. 9 -- L'Addio / Antonini, Il Giardino Armonico
This ninth volume of the Haydn2032 series focuses on the composer’s psychological subtlety in its focus on a central work: his Symphony no.45, known as the ‘Abschieds-Symphonie’ (‘Farewell’ Symphony), composed in 1772. It is said to have got its nickname from a symbolic message Haydn conveyed to Prince Esterházy when he and his orchestra were required to stay longer than planned in the Prince’s summer residence. On the occasion of the symphony’s first performance, Haydn had arranged for the musicians to leave their places one by one during the final Adagio. The day after the concert, all the musicians were able to return to their families and bid farewell to the Prince, who had obviously taken the point of this poetic request for ‘liberation’ expressed in music. The programme is completed by Symphonies nos. 15 and 35 and a cantata sung by Sandrine Piau, the heart-rending ‘Berenice, che fai?’ on a text by Metastasio that was a real ‘hit’ of the eighteenth century, set by some forty composers.
Caribbean Steeldrums / Various
The Great Poets: Matthew Arnold
Kaiku (Echo) - Finnish Contemporary Works for Cello
Symphonie No. 1 - Chansons
Quartet Integra
Haydn: Symphonies 45, 94, 101
FANTASIAS BARCELONICAS - TRIBUTE TO PAQUITO D'RIV
Rachmaninoff: Piano Concertos Nos. 2 & 4 / Fedorova
Beethoven Symphonies Nos 1 & 5
Vaughan Williams: London Symphony; Butterworth: Banks of Green Willow / Hickox, LSO
Whereas the opening movement is as we know it today, the ensuing, expanded Lento acquires an intriguingly mournful, even world-weary demeanour. Unnervingly, the ecstatic full flowering of that glorious E major Largamente idea, first heard at fig F in the final revision, never materialises, and the skies glower menacingly thereafter. Towards the end of the Scherzo (at 5'44) comes a haunting episode that Arnold Bax was particularly sad to see cut (‘a mysterious passage of strange and fascinating cacophony’ was how he described it in his autobiography, Farewell, My Youth [Scholar Press; 1992]). The finale, too, contains a wealth of additional material, most strikingly a liturgical theme of wondrous lyrical beauty (try from 6'42) and, in the epilogue, a gripping paragraph (beginning at 15'47) which both looks back to the work’s introduction as well as forward to the first movement of A Pastoral Symphony. Sprawling it may be, but VW’s epic conception evinces a prodigal inventiveness, poetry, mystery and vitality that do not pall with repeated hearings, and, time and again, I find myself marvelling at just how hugely influential its intoxicatingly colourful orchestral palette must have been on Holst’s The Planets and even Bax’s wartime tone-poems.
Hickox and the LSO respond with an unquenchable spirit, generous flexibility and tender affection that suit VW’s admirably ambitious inspiration to a T, and Chandos’s sound is big and bold to match. Quite simply, an essential purchase for anyone remotely interested in British music.
-- Gramophone [7/2001]
C. Schumann & Hensel: O How Enchanting / Pahn, Schornsheim
“Oh, do it Clara darling!” said Robert Schumann to his bride Clara, strongly encouraging her to pursue composing. Although the pianist had always composed, when she married in 1840 – without being asked to – she was immediately willing to dispense with this part of her musical output: “A woman does not have to desire to compose – so far not one has been able to do so; should that be what I am destined to do?” Clara is caught up in a crisis and feels resigned: “But I cannot compose…I lack all talent for it.” Only after the wedding did Clara return to composing. As long as her father or husband encouraged her to do so, in her consummate adaptability she did so with joy. But after Robert’s death in 1856, Clara stopped composing entirely.
It does not appear that the Mendelssohns were able to enjoy Heine’s kinder side. Although Heine was sometimes a visitor at their home in Berlin, somehow friendly relations did not develop. However, the poet Heine held Fanny in high regard. She had already set his poems “Was will die einsame Träne” (Why this solitary tear) and “Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen” (On a radiant summer morning) to music in 1827/28. Her song setting of Heine’s “Schwanenlied” (Song of the swan) – was her first published work, but this only happened in 1846. At first Fanny chose to set poems by her bridegroom Wilhelm to music, of which she had already composed “Lebewohl” (Farewell) the same year they met and before the wedded couple were separated for a long period. Upon getting married she, too, began a busy and fruitful artistic collaboration that involved the daily morning ritual of Wilhelm leaving poems on the piano for her to set to music.
Gustav Mahler: Symphonie Nr. 6 - Mariss Jansons
Habanera - Music for Eight Cellos & Voice
Mahler: Symphony No. 9 / Rattle, Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra
Named Gramophone Magazine Editor's Choice for December 2022!
For the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, the performances on November 26 and 27, 2021 in the Isarphilharmonie marked the beginning of a new chapter in its Mahler interpretation: with its designated new principal conductor Simon Rattle, the orchestra is now headed by a Mahler admirer every bit as ardent as his predecessors Mariss Jansons, Lorin Maazel, and Rafael Kubelík. The musicians dedicated the benefit concert on November 26 to the memory of conductor Bernard Haitink, who died in October 2021 and was associated with the renowned orchestra for 61 years. The very long silence after the final chord was one of those “goosebumps moments” that one goes to concerts for – and for which music is made in the first place.
Gustav Mahler’s Ninth Symphony, in particular, is understood as the composer’s reaction to a heart ailment that was diagnosed shortly before he wrote the first drafts in the summer of 1908. He was in deep despair, but still scarcely aware of how few years he actually had left to live. With Mahler, it was always in and through music that he tried to come to terms with his life experiences and such topics as farewell, the meaning of existence, death, redemption, life after death and love. He wrote his Ninth Symphony in Dobbiaco, in a kind of creative frenzy, between 1909 and 1910. Its premiere took place in Vienna on June 26, 1912, when the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra performed the work under Bruno Walter. Mahler did not witness the premiere of his last completed work – he had already died on May 18, 1911.
REVIEW:
I would rank Rattle's performance here with the best of the competition and would add that even the classic recordings of Bernstein, Giulini, and Karajan have no significant advantage over Rattle's. In the end Rattle would be my top choice among newer versions and probably the equal of the classic performances on disc.
-- MusicWeb International (Robert Cummings)
If he has always shown very sensitive affinities with Symphony No. 9, Simon Rattle delivers his most accomplished recording to the Bavarian Radio. Recorded live between November 24 and 27, 2021, at the Isarphilharmonie im Gasteig in Munich by Winfried Messmer, [this] powerful orchestral mass presents both great volume and precise definition of timbre and range.
-- Diapason (citation for a Diapason d'or)
The Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra and its designated principal conductor dedicated one of the two concerts used for this recording to the conductor Bernard Haitink, who died in October 2021. It is a great tribute to this outstanding Mahler conductor, and Rattle once again proves what a major Mahler interpreter he is as well.
Right in the first movement, he succeeds in drawing the whole Mahler world in its gripping originality with magnificent breath. Rising and collapse are always close together, and the exciting alternation between tension and release is maintained throughout the symphony. At the same time, this reading is not lacking in sensuality. There is both lyrical beauty, full of abyss, and the light-hearted (and artfully illuminated) play of sound and movement. The three-movement back-and-forth of emotions leads to the Adagio finale, which Rattle conducts thoughtfully and in moderate tempo. The music dies away in a deeply moving 24 minutes with nostalgia, sadness and also some thoughts of hope.
The orchestra is brilliantly disposed and fascinates with both differentiated coloration and the greatest possible transparency. Under Rattle’s direction, Mahler, the orchestral musicians, and he himself merge into a single instrument.
-- Pizzicato
Superbly played and recorded, from November last year (Isarphilharmonie im Gasteig), a memorial concert for Bernard Haitink, Sir Simon’s third recording (following Birmingham and Vienna, both EMI/Warner) of Mahler Nine sports a first movement, if not without a few cosmetic touches, that is a flowing and feisty affair, defiant, better to be alive than not, with impassioned fortissimos, and only in the concluding few minutes does the music issue calmness as well as bittersweet sentiments, although it seems too sudden as well as much too soon – bearing in mind how the Symphony will end, spare and fading to nothingness. The second movement, with its competing waltz and ländler, has its tempo contrasts well-managed, but is perhaps a little too manicured – it needs to be rougher, more rustic and pesante. Poker-faced sophistication suits the ensuing ‘Rondo-Burleske’, its counterpoint wonderfully clear (antiphonal violins swirl either side of the podium) albeit greater bite is sometimes required, and it’s a surprise that Rattle doesn’t linger more in the central section (his is a tempo-related ‘trio’), and the conclusion is thrillingly fast and rendered with A+ virtuosity – the abyss awaits. The final Adagio follows more or less attacca (I can vouch for such a joining from an LSO concert years ago) and is a dignified if intense leave-taking, powerful (vibrant strings, eloquent woodwinds) and ethereal, with a cathartic climax and a hypnotically controlled paring down of resources as expression becomes more and more off the radar.
-- Colin's Column
Korngold: String Quartets 1-3, Piano Quintet Op 15 / Sigfridsson, Aron Quartett
KORNGOLD String Quartets Nos. 1-3; Piano Quintet 1 • Aron Qrt; 1 Henri Sigfridsson • CPO 777 436-2 (2 CDs: 103:24)
“I feel it—and can’t comprehend it—can’t retain it—and yet can’t forget it; and if I grasp it all, I can’t measure it. … No rule would fit it, and yet there was no error in it.”
Hans Sachs’s rumination from the act II “Fliedermonolog” of Die Meistersinger is a perfect summation of Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s music. At once gay yet wistful, familiar yet elusive, inviting yet unsettling, it aurally distilled all the complex contradictions of fin de siècle Vienna, preserving it for generations to come and carrying it into exile in America after the debacle of World War I. If the waltzes of Johann Strauss Jr. embody a carefree present moment, the works of Korngold preserve and nurture nostalgic memories of a lost past, ardently clinging and seeking to re-create those, that it might still dwell in them rather than an alien present.
The four works in this set, spanning almost a quarter-century from 1921 to 1945, offer refractions of those memories over a generation. The Piano Quintet and First String Quartet, composed almost simultaneously, present two decidedly different faces. The Quintet acts as if nothing has been lost; it is gay and brilliant, with unabashed romantic ardor emphasized by sweeping runs in the keyboard part. The outer movements are energetic, while the lyrical second movement employs an utterly haunting, gorgeous theme from Korngold’s song “Mond, so gehst du wieder auf” (Moon, Thus Risest Thou Again) from his op. 14 song cycle Lieder der Abschied (Songs of Farewell); once heard, it simply won’t leave one’s head. The First Quartet, by contrast, is more introspective and even melancholic at points; its backwards longing has a certain assertive determination to it. A far greater reliance on chromaticism and freer employment of spicy dissonance give it a constantly edgy, unsettled character, with an antsy, off-kilter Intermezzo and quirky Finale that includes a jaunty, almost Vaughan Williams-like march fragment as a second subject (Korngold inscribed the movement’s opening page with a quote from Shakespeare’s As You Like It ).
The Second Quartet dates from the summer of 1933, near the close of a period of several years’ involvement by Korngold with operetta, and just before his first visit to Hollywood. It is a microcosm of melodic and harmonic devices that Korngold would employ so brilliantly in years to come as a composer of film scores. Given Hitler’s recent assumption of power in neighboring Germany, the first, second, and fourth movements would almost seem to be a perverse denial of reality. The opening Allegro epitomizes the skittish music of the Hollywood light romance; the Scherzo is all charming, gently smiling bustle; the Finale is, improbably, a witty, chatty waltz, but one of a decidedly un-Straussian character. All the more surprising, then, is the third-movement Larghetto, beginning with open harmonics like an icy chill (almost hinting at the Second Viennese School), eventually succeeded by a melody of melancholic yearning that seeks to cling to a wistfully remembered but unrecoverable comfort and security.
The Third Quartet dates from 1945, at a juncture in Korngold’s Hollywood exile when, dispirited by academic critical disdain and convinced his film scores were destined for oblivion, he had secretly decided to turn back to composition in more “serious” genres. Dedicated to a longtime friend and near neighbor in exile, the conductor Bruno Walter, it shows Korngold adopting a leaner, more astringent melodic and harmonic language. The melodic material is more fragmentary and questioning; the dissonances more frequent and unresolved. The scherzo has a jittery, almost neurotic character to its outer sections, as short, choppy interjections repeatedly disrupt an incipient moto perpetuo , from which a brief lyrical interlude provides only momentary relief. The slow movement bespeaks stifled grief and haunting bitterness over shattered hopes, with searing pain expressed by violins playing in the higher register as the viola and cello grind out clashing chords below. Only the finale, with its Stravinskian flavor and vigorously offbeat cascades of 16th notes, offers a somewhat hesitantly upbeat finale.
The only other complete set of the quartets is by the Flesch Quartet, originally recorded for ASV and now available on a budget reissue from Brilliant Classics. In Fanfare 23:2 Martin Anderson had high praise for its rendition of the Third Quartet and Sextet (the filler there instead of the Piano Quintet here). If those performances were more competitive, the budget price would tilt a recommendation toward the older set. However, the new cpo set completely outclasses its predecessor at every level, both interpretively and sonically. The Aron Quartet plays with immaculate ensemble and intonation, with far richer tone and irresistible zest and tenderness; the Flesch ensemble is almost lethargic in comparison, with its overall timings averaging almost 15 percent slower. (For example, the respective timings for the First Quartet movements are 7:26, 7:41, 4:42, and 8:07 vs. 8:47, 9: 56, 4:37, and 9:09.) Although its spirit may be willing, the Flesch is relatively weak. Henri Sigfridsson is a perfect teammate for the Aron players in the Quintet, which is likewise far ahead of rival versions such as the uninspired Marco Polo recording. The recorded sound is exemplary in every way. One complaint: This is shockingly short timing for a two-CD set. There is no reason that all three quartets could not have been put on a single CD, and another work such as the Piano Quartet included on the second disc. Nevertheless, this album is a stellar contribution to the ongoing and much needed Korngold renaissance, and is urgently recommended for all devotees of that once unjustly maligned but now belatedly appreciated master of late Romanticism.
FANFARE: James A. Altena
Jon Lord: To Notice Such Things / Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra
If you have heard the Durham Concerto or the zanily named Boom of the Tingling Strings you will know that since departing Deep Purple in 2002 Jon Lord has been gripped by classical composing. The earliest stirrings of this hunger go back to the 1969 and his Concerto for Group and Orchestra. It was premiered, filmed and recorded live at the Royal Albert Hall with Deep Purple and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Sir Malcolm Arnold. The next year the BBC commissioned The Gemini Suite. In 1974 Sarabande followed and in 1997 came Lord’s solo CD Pictured Within.
To Notice Such Things is clearly a very personal and affecting portrait of Lord’s friendship with John Mortimer, CBE, QC (1923–2009). It traces its origins to the affectionate stage show, Mortimer’s Miscellany. The title of the score is from the Thomas Hardy poem Afterwards which ended the show. The first movement, As I Walked Out One Evening is from the W.H. Auden poem and relates to the music that opened the revue. At Court picks up on Mortimer’s days as the darling of the combative anti-establishment in the 1960s and 1970s. Turville Heath is where Mortimer lived and we are told that the movement gives an impression of Mortimer in his beloved garden. In extreme old age his legs began to fail him. Stick Dance is said to portray our hero’s appreciation of a female companion jiving while Mortimer leans on his walking stick. Mortimer chose the dormouse to figure in his coat of arms. The Winter of a Dormouse is an attempt to describe Sir John's final months. It’s an affectionate and poignant farewell. The friendship throughout is echoed in the flute which voices Sir John. Lord is reflected in the solo piano role. These figures are played by the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra’s principal flautist Cormac Henry and by the composer’s piano.
Counter-intuitively As I Walked Out One Evening has all the warm vernal freshness of the morning of the world. This is coupled with a peculiarly English contentment – an ecstasy in being there. The language is caught between the pastoral Vaughan Williams of the 1910s and 1920s and the Copland counterpart. At Court is part lightly serene and partly rushing cut-and-thrust carried by the flute with brusquely joyous strings. Turville Heath hints at a Gallic-Delian influence although the presence of the self-effacingly supportive piano pulls the rug out from under the comparison. This movement could easily join the host of short piano and orchestra miniatures by Bax, Milford and Armstrong Gibbs. Towards its close the gentle muse dances with an innocent smile. In Stick Dance there is a Shostakovich-like caustic serration to the string writing though this does relent to make way for curvaceous gliding and dancing of the flute. The Winter of a Dormouse touches on desolation but from its chilly shores the flute sings, invoking and reviving the delights of years gone by and of the changes wrought by the passage of the years. Interesting how the flute line remains succulent in tone but it is now more pensive. The flute solo curves down a gentle gradient into silence. Afterwards is the final movement for piano and orchestra though the flute also plays its part. The writing has a distinctly Finzian poignant reflective quality - the drowsy heat-haze of a summer’s eclogue into which this sweetly tempered work fades.
The other four tracks are occupied by short pieces. Evening Song is for piano, alto flute, french horn and orchestra. Starting out as one of the pieces in Lord’s Pictured Within, it lays convincing claim to the sentimental congeries entwining that ideal English sunset. This is a place in space and time where contemplation is by itself fully satisfying. The solo violin part reminded me of Finzi’s Severn Rhapsody. For Example is a piece for string orchestra and flute. Its origins lie in a small piano piece dedicated to Lord’s friends the Trondheim Soloists and their Artistic Director and Principal Cellist, Øyvind Gimse. It’s a pensive essay with just that tincture of Grieg – a composer who was one of Lord’s earliest favourites. Air on the Blue String is for flute and strings –a contented essay with a few gently stern moments to provide backbone. This too had its genesis in a piano solo. The disc ends with Jeremy Irons’ undemonstrative reading of Hardy’s melancholic-fatalistic poem, Afterwards. The poem registers with even more depth. It is clothed with Jon Lord’s piano line which provides a symbiotic modest commentary.
This is a well presented, recorded and annotated album and one that will please those who respond to Finzian pastoral melancholy. Quite an achievement.
-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International