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Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs For King Charles III, Vol. 3 / Christophers, The Sixteen
Coro · Sep 2020CD$20.99 -
Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs for King Charles II / Christophers, The Sixteen
Coro · May 2018CD$20.99 -
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Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs for King Charles II, Vol. 2 / Christophers, The Sixteen Choir
Coro · Sep 2019CD$20.99 -
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Monteverdi: Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria / Pearlman, Boston Baroque
Linn Records · May 2015SACD$28.99 -
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Weinberg: Symphony No 6, Rhapsody On Moldavian Themes / Lande, St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra
Naxos · Apr 2012CD$19.99 -
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Knudage Riisager: Orchestral Works / Hardenberger, Dausgaard
Dacapo Classical · Apr 2010SACD$13.99 -
Rachmaninov: Symphonic Dances / Petrenko, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic
Avie Records · Mar 2010CD$19.99
Composer's Collection - Schwantner / Corporon, North Texas
GIA
CD
$27.99
Jan 01, 2006
An excellent companion to the recent Schwantner release from Hyperion is this compendium of the composer’s music for wind symphony: four original works (composed between 1977 and 2004) plus a transcription of his sensational and justly popular Percussion Concerto. Not surprisingly, my general comments about Schwantner’s work in the review of the Hyperion release apply here as well, so I will refrain from repeating myself. The chief difference, however, is that while the orchestral repertoire, which sustains itself through an immortal canon of “masterpieces,” strenuously resists new entrants, the wind-ensemble repertoire, younger and more flexible, welcomes newcomers readily. Hence, most of the pieces featured here have already developed widespread reputations through frequent performances.
The earliest work is . . . and the mountains rising nowhere. By the time this review appears, the piece will be 30 years old. It represented an important turning point in Schwantner’s creative development as he emerged from the academic world of serial composition into his own more poetic and evocative musical language. Its premiere by the Eastman Wind Ensemble at a conference of the College Band Directors National Association in 1977 reportedly made a stunning impact on the many band conductors in attendance, and gave birth to a new approach in composing for winds and percussion, one that left the neo-Classicism of much of the mid-20th-century band repertoire far behind. James Popejoy’s program notes for this GIA release state, “This work in particular has had a profound effect on the wind ensemble movement since its premiere and is generally considered as one of the most important and pivotal compositions for winds and percussion of the last thirty years.” . . . and the mountains rising nowhere is scored for amplified piano, 50 percussion instruments, orchestral winds and brass, and tuned glass crystals. The players are expected to sing and whistle as well. So strikingly original is Schwantner’s treatment of the ensemble that one is not immediately aware of the absence of strings, or that one is listening to a band. The performance here is extraordinary and breathtaking. The amplified piano plays a strong role in the work, as it does in each of the four compositions for wind ensemble. The brilliant Polish-born pianist Adam Wodnicki is credited as soloist in mountains. It is not clear from the notes whether he fills this role in the other pieces as well.
. . . and the mountains rising nowhere is so accessible that its impact is immediate, so it’s no surprise that it spawned so many similar works in its wake. Of course, some of these similar works came from the pen of Schwantner himself. From a Dark Millennium (1980), written for the Mid-America Conference Band Directors Association, is one such, and it almost outdoes its predecessor with regard to fantastic sonic imagery. This work also exists in a reduced scoring for chamber ensemble, with the title Sanctuary.
Schwantner’s next wind ensemble effort was In evening’s stillness . . .. Composed in 1996 on commission from the Illinois College Band Directors Association, it is very much like the two preceding pieces in overall concept, although, to its credit, it remains fresh and effective. In fact, Schwantner envisions that the three pieces could be performed as a single work in three sections.
The most recent piece presented here is Recoil, composed in 2004 for the University of Connecticut Wind Ensemble. It calls for a somewhat larger ensemble than the previous works, and is also a more active, exciting piece, with lots of rhythmic energy. All four of these works are immediate in their impact and vivid in their imagery, calling to mind visions ranging from ancient rituals of mysterious sorcerers to futuristic landscapes of other worlds.
The remaining work is the transcription for band of Schwantner’s 1994 Percussion Concerto, which he had dedicated to the memory of Stephen Albert, the gifted composer who died in a car accident in 1992 at the age of 51. The work was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic on behalf of its principal percussionist Christopher Lamb, who gave the first performance, under the direction of Leonard Slatkin. The Concerto was recorded in 1998 by the celebrated percussionist Evelyn Glennie, with Slatkin leading the National Symphony Orchestra (reviewed in Fanfare 21:6) in a stupendous performance. It has since been performed numerous times throughout the world. In 1997, Andrew Boysen, Jr. transcribed the work for wind symphony, under Schwantner’s supervision, making it available for performance by the many highly proficient college wind ensembles. Like Recoil, just described, and A Sudden Rainbow (on the Hyperion disc), the Percussion Concerto displays the sense of direction and forward momentum often missing from Schwantner’s music, with the result that these three are among his most effective and fully satisfying compositions. The Concerto’s tremendously exciting first movement seems to show the influence of Steve Reich in its use of irregularly accented ostinato patterns. The elegiac second movement is the emotional core of the work—intensely evocative, conjuring an atmosphere of dark mystery, against which a soft, heartbeat-like motif grows gradually to a tremendous climax. The third movement returns to the rapid, rhythmically aggressive manner of the first movement, with a lengthy, partly improvised, cadenza. The transcription for band is highly effective on its own terms, giving no indication of anything “missing,” although I must admit to a preference for the orchestral version, when the two are placed in direct comparison. But the key factor here may not be the transcription, but, rather, the performance: although soloist Christopher Deane, a member of the percussion faculty of the University of North Texas, does an excellent job on the whole, he takes a curiously slow tempo in the finale, making that movement alone four minutes longer than in the Glennie performance, with the result that the finale seems a bit of a letdown. However, that is really the only criticism I have about any of the performances on this two-CD set. Throughout the set, the North Texas Wind Symphony plays brilliantly, and the sound quality of the recording is breathtaking.
As I stated in my review of the Hyperion release, enthusiasts of Schwantner’s music will definitely enjoy this recording, which may be ordered from www.archivmusic.com. However, some prospective purchasers may balk at being asked to pay $24 for a set that lasts only 83 minutes.
FANFARE: Walter Simmons
The earliest work is . . . and the mountains rising nowhere. By the time this review appears, the piece will be 30 years old. It represented an important turning point in Schwantner’s creative development as he emerged from the academic world of serial composition into his own more poetic and evocative musical language. Its premiere by the Eastman Wind Ensemble at a conference of the College Band Directors National Association in 1977 reportedly made a stunning impact on the many band conductors in attendance, and gave birth to a new approach in composing for winds and percussion, one that left the neo-Classicism of much of the mid-20th-century band repertoire far behind. James Popejoy’s program notes for this GIA release state, “This work in particular has had a profound effect on the wind ensemble movement since its premiere and is generally considered as one of the most important and pivotal compositions for winds and percussion of the last thirty years.” . . . and the mountains rising nowhere is scored for amplified piano, 50 percussion instruments, orchestral winds and brass, and tuned glass crystals. The players are expected to sing and whistle as well. So strikingly original is Schwantner’s treatment of the ensemble that one is not immediately aware of the absence of strings, or that one is listening to a band. The performance here is extraordinary and breathtaking. The amplified piano plays a strong role in the work, as it does in each of the four compositions for wind ensemble. The brilliant Polish-born pianist Adam Wodnicki is credited as soloist in mountains. It is not clear from the notes whether he fills this role in the other pieces as well.
. . . and the mountains rising nowhere is so accessible that its impact is immediate, so it’s no surprise that it spawned so many similar works in its wake. Of course, some of these similar works came from the pen of Schwantner himself. From a Dark Millennium (1980), written for the Mid-America Conference Band Directors Association, is one such, and it almost outdoes its predecessor with regard to fantastic sonic imagery. This work also exists in a reduced scoring for chamber ensemble, with the title Sanctuary.
Schwantner’s next wind ensemble effort was In evening’s stillness . . .. Composed in 1996 on commission from the Illinois College Band Directors Association, it is very much like the two preceding pieces in overall concept, although, to its credit, it remains fresh and effective. In fact, Schwantner envisions that the three pieces could be performed as a single work in three sections.
The most recent piece presented here is Recoil, composed in 2004 for the University of Connecticut Wind Ensemble. It calls for a somewhat larger ensemble than the previous works, and is also a more active, exciting piece, with lots of rhythmic energy. All four of these works are immediate in their impact and vivid in their imagery, calling to mind visions ranging from ancient rituals of mysterious sorcerers to futuristic landscapes of other worlds.
The remaining work is the transcription for band of Schwantner’s 1994 Percussion Concerto, which he had dedicated to the memory of Stephen Albert, the gifted composer who died in a car accident in 1992 at the age of 51. The work was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic on behalf of its principal percussionist Christopher Lamb, who gave the first performance, under the direction of Leonard Slatkin. The Concerto was recorded in 1998 by the celebrated percussionist Evelyn Glennie, with Slatkin leading the National Symphony Orchestra (reviewed in Fanfare 21:6) in a stupendous performance. It has since been performed numerous times throughout the world. In 1997, Andrew Boysen, Jr. transcribed the work for wind symphony, under Schwantner’s supervision, making it available for performance by the many highly proficient college wind ensembles. Like Recoil, just described, and A Sudden Rainbow (on the Hyperion disc), the Percussion Concerto displays the sense of direction and forward momentum often missing from Schwantner’s music, with the result that these three are among his most effective and fully satisfying compositions. The Concerto’s tremendously exciting first movement seems to show the influence of Steve Reich in its use of irregularly accented ostinato patterns. The elegiac second movement is the emotional core of the work—intensely evocative, conjuring an atmosphere of dark mystery, against which a soft, heartbeat-like motif grows gradually to a tremendous climax. The third movement returns to the rapid, rhythmically aggressive manner of the first movement, with a lengthy, partly improvised, cadenza. The transcription for band is highly effective on its own terms, giving no indication of anything “missing,” although I must admit to a preference for the orchestral version, when the two are placed in direct comparison. But the key factor here may not be the transcription, but, rather, the performance: although soloist Christopher Deane, a member of the percussion faculty of the University of North Texas, does an excellent job on the whole, he takes a curiously slow tempo in the finale, making that movement alone four minutes longer than in the Glennie performance, with the result that the finale seems a bit of a letdown. However, that is really the only criticism I have about any of the performances on this two-CD set. Throughout the set, the North Texas Wind Symphony plays brilliantly, and the sound quality of the recording is breathtaking.
As I stated in my review of the Hyperion release, enthusiasts of Schwantner’s music will definitely enjoy this recording, which may be ordered from www.archivmusic.com. However, some prospective purchasers may balk at being asked to pay $24 for a set that lasts only 83 minutes.
FANFARE: Walter Simmons
Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs for King James II / The Sixteen
Coro
CD
$20.99
Sep 01, 2017
Despite being written for the celebration of royal occasions, Purcell’s Royal Welcome Songs were penned during a time of immense disillusionment with the monarchy. Filled with humour as well as an ironic detachment from the politics of the time, Ye tuneful muses and Sound the trumpet fizz with the dramatic energy which characterized his later operas and mark a crucial turning point in Purcell’s career. This programme showcases the variety and diversity of Purcell’s writing, opening with the Chacony in G minor, which is among the great glories of music for strings, and including When on my sick bed I languish- an amazingly impassioned piece in which he bares his soul… quintessential Purcell! “It’s a delicious 72 minutes of Restoration wit and lyrical charm, performed gracefully by Harry Christophers ‘The Sixteen.’” (The Times on Purcell: The Indian Queen) “A performance like this shows dimensions of Purcell’s genius that are all too rarely heard on disc.” (Gramophone on Purcell: The Fairy Queen)
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REVIEW:
Harry Christophers and the Sixteen bring to life the composer's Welcome Songs, composed, like the birthday odes, for special, mainly royal, occasions. Christophers coaxes virtuosic performances from eight members of the Sixteen, with a fine band of period instrumentalists reveling in the glories of Purcell’s unique harmonic palette. Recommended.
– Guardian (UK)
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REVIEW:
Harry Christophers and the Sixteen bring to life the composer's Welcome Songs, composed, like the birthday odes, for special, mainly royal, occasions. Christophers coaxes virtuosic performances from eight members of the Sixteen, with a fine band of period instrumentalists reveling in the glories of Purcell’s unique harmonic palette. Recommended.
– Guardian (UK)
Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs For King Charles III, Vol. 3 / Christophers, The Sixteen
Coro
CD
$20.99
Sep 04, 2020
Purcell’s genius abounds in this, the fourth volume in The Sixteen’s series devoted to the composer. Henry Purcell grew from young childhood to established professional adulthood in the service of Charles II. He identified strongly with the court, but he was well aware of Charles’s unreliability as a patron. Wisely, Purcell made an early decision to diversify, flaunting his court connections while building up the largest possible client base beyond the court. This programme shows that strategy in action and celebrates a diversity of writing for both professional Court musicians as well as amateur enthusiasts. “Christophers creates a vivid sense of celebration and occasion, conjuring blustering trumpet fanfares and drum-rolls from his ensemble.” (Gramophone)
Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs for King Charles II / Christophers, The Sixteen
Coro
CD
$20.99
May 04, 2018
Harry Christophers and The Sixteen continue their exploration of Purcell’s stunning music written for royal occasions on the second album in their new series. Charles II’s formal Restoration in 1660 marked both an end and a beginning: the end of England’s republican experiment and the beginning of a long process of monarchical reconstruction; and with a politically accident-prone king on the throne, Charles’s public relations machine could never rest. Purcell joined its small team of composer operatives just as the wave of Stuart propaganda swelled massively, and he surfed the wave with breathtaking panache, from his first court ode – the simple but rousing Welcome, Vicegerent of the mighty King – to the ambitious Fly, bold rebellion involving verse settings in up to seven parts and a six-part chorus.
Purcell: Royal Welcome Songs for King Charles II, Vol. 2 / Christophers, The Sixteen Choir
Coro
CD
$20.99
Sep 06, 2019
On this release, Harry Christophers and The Sixteen continue their exploration of Purcell’s stunning music written for royal occasions on the third album in their acclaimed series. King Charles II liked to project a strong, stable, divinely legitimated image. Whilst that image had no basis in reality, the scale of his deception and financial skulduggery did not emerge until 19th-century historians discovered secret treaty documents between Charles and King Louis XIV of France. Purcell had no idea of course, and so all of the music on this album celebrates the political triumphs that he and his colleagues thought they had witnessed. It includes the quite brilliant Welcome Songs 'Welcome to all the pleasures' (with its superb six-part fanfares to St Cecilia in the final chorus) and 'From hardy climes'.
Smyth: The Prison / Burton, Brailey, Blachly, Experiential Orchestra
Chandos
SACD
$21.99
Aug 07, 2020
The 2020 GRAMMY Award winner for Best Classical Solo Vocal Performance, honoring Sarah Brailey and Dashon Burton!
August 18th marks the 100th anniversary of the 19th Constitutional Amendment, granting women in the US the right to vote. A fitting time then for our release of the World Premier Recording of Ethel Smyth’s late masterpiece The Prison. Smyth left home at nineteen to study composition in Leipzig. In the company of Clara Schumann and her teacher Heinrich von Herzogenberg, she met and won the admiration of composers such as Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Dvorák, and Grieg. Smyth was the first woman to have an opera performed at the Met, in 1903. (The second was Kaija Saariaho, whose L'Amour de loin appeared there in 2016!) Smyth later became central to the Suffragette movement in England, writing the March of the Women. Her gender politics and sexuality were cause for attacks by critics, and she famously went to prison herself for throwing a stone through an MP’s window. Composed in 1930 and premiered in 1931 in Edinburgh’s Usher Hall, The Prison is a Symphony in two parts, ‘Close on Freedom’ and ‘The Deliverance’, set for soprano and bass-baritone soloists, chorus, and full orchestra. The text is taken from a philosophical work by Henry Bennet Brewster and concerns the writings of a prisoner in solitary confinement, his reflections on life and his preparations for death.
REVIEWS:
Ethyl Smyh's late work, The Prison (1929-30), is uncategorizable. The 64-minute “vocal symphony” for bass-baritone (The Prisoner) and soprano (his Soul), with chorus (philosophical commentary) is in two parts: Close To Freedom and The Deliverance. The heavy-ish text, by Smyth’s dear friend (and perhaps lover, though her relationships tended otherwise to be lesbian) Henry Bennet Brewster centers on the gloomy ruminations of a prisoner considering the end of his life, and his soul, which is guiding him toward peace. In Part 1, He, for instance speaks of his anxiety and inability to sleep, and wonders about immortality and if he will be emancipated; in Part 2, the Soul tells him the end of his struggle is near and he learns to “disband his ego”. The chorus has a further calming effect: immortality is everywhere, human passions remain. He finally finds peace. As you can see, a regular Offenbachian satire–not.
From the very opening moments – “I awoke in the middle of the night” – the mood is weighty with disquiet. The bass-baritone voice of Dashon Burton has both substance and gentleness, his attention to the text that of a Lieder singer. Violin and harp circle his words. Sarah Brailey’s Soul, from the start, sings with subtlety and a type of fleeting loveliness. She opens the second part with a solo on the words “the struggle is over”, intoning much of her words on one note while first a trio of winds, then a solo violin, then the full body of strings and chorus–all pianissimo–join her above and below. Chant? Hymn? Both, really. Smyth layers the orchestra; a brass choir during a passage about immortality makes a grand effect. Later, a painfully beautiful pastoral section precedes the Prisoner’s feeling of metaphysical freedom.
While much of it is gripping, its slow pacing and didacticism can dehumanize the story that the Prisoner and Soul are stuck in. The Prisoner’s “prison”, both metaphorical and real, is presented with such humanity and openness by Burton that his eventual spiritual freedom makes a glorious sound, despite–rather than due to–the orchestrally and chorally weighted underpinnings. Some Elgar shows up, and is not very welcome.
The performance, I suspect, could not be bettered. The New York City-based Experiential Orchestra and Chorus both perform with luscious tone and poise. James Blachly’s leadership brings the work’s lyricism to the forefront; it would be easy to over-emphasize passages but he works best within the dramatic arc of the narrative. Much of The Prison is gorgeous and unexpected – who does Smyth sound like? And while some moments seem inert, they are few and far between.
– ClassicsToday.com (10/10; Robert Levine)
Smyth’s haunting music, given here in conductor James Blachly’s new edition, is beautifully constructed and highly evocative (with quotes or allusions to earlier Smyth scores). Her orchestration is limpid and masterly, rendered lovingly here by Blachly with the Experiential Orchestra. The choral contribution is relatively minor, the focus rightly on the two soloists, but again superbly performed. The only miscalculation is Smyth’s use of ‘The Last Post’ in the concluding pages, adding a martial resonance that may jar to modern ears; to Smyth, a major-general’s daughter, it may just have been an echo of (her) youth which she wanted at this point. Magnificent sound from Chandos, too. Very strongly recommended.
– Gramophone
Monteverdi: Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria / Pearlman, Boston Baroque
Linn Records
SACD
$28.99
May 12, 2015
This is a lovely recording. It is always good to be reminded of Monteverdi's third extant opera and the least well known of the three. It's also a sad reminder of how much of his work has been lost. However, this recording gave me a lot of pleasure. There aren't as many recordings out there of Ulisse as there are of Orfeo or Poppea. It has structural flaws which probably place it below its two companions, but what is represented here is excellent.
Martin Pearlman has made his own performing version of the score, working from the only surviving manuscript copy. He explains his editing decisions in the booklet note, and you can also hear him talk about it at length, if you're interested. You'd need to be a greater expert than I am to pick out any major differences from pre-existing versions. Suffice to say that Pearlman makes his own decisions about how to fill in the gaps that have been left in the score.
The result is a labor of love in which he has invested much of his time, energy and passion, and that comes across in what you hear. He has also assembled a team who have bought into his vision completely, performing with passion and total commitment. Central to the sound-world of the recording is the playing of Boston Baroque, Pearlman's own band. They sound as marvelous as their other recordings have led me to expect. There is a slightly acidic quality to their sound but it is very energetic and full of affection. This is a score, and an edition, that Pearlman knows well and wants to bring to life with beauty and affection. There were innumerable touches that brought it to fruition, such as the chattering brightness that the winds often brought to proceedings. Pearlman's way with the dance music is very convincing. I also loved vitality of the score for the brief pastoral scene at the opening of Act 2, full of tremendous verve. The orchestral accompaniment to the gods' scene in the third act also sounds very fine. Throughout the opera there is a focus on beauty above all. This never undermines the drama, however, and many little touches bring that to the fore over and over again.
The singing cast is excellent, too. Fernando Guimarães is magnificent as Ulisse himself. His voice is passionate, ardent and fully committed, a delight in this role which he makes sound totally human. His mannerisms are technically very impressive too. He knows and loves the style of the period, which makes him a first-rate travelling companion for Pearlman's vision. Jennifer Rivera's Penelope is, if anything, even better. Hers is a low, slightly husky voice but I fell for it completely. Her portrayal of the queen is sensual and dignified but deeply felt, and her opening lament is something that not just welcomes you into the opera but gets you hooked. She is equally fine during the climactic scene of Act 2 when she presents Ulysses' bow to the suitors for the contest, full of possibility but also ample regret. The greatest moment in the opera comes in the final recognition duet, where the voices of Guimarães and Rivera blend beautifully while the orchestra spins a beatific web of sound around them. It's a magnificent ending to the disc.
Aaron Sheehan is a dashing, youthful-sounding Telemaco, who sings with ardour and passion, linking him with but setting him apart from the sound of his father. As Melanto, Abigail Nims is energetic and skittish, a strong contrast to Penelope. Their duet towards the end of Act 1 is beautiful, not least due to the contributions of the Boston Baroque strings. Daniel Shirley's Eurimaco manages to convey much of the character's duplicity, and his voice blends beautifully with Nims'. Daniel Auchincloss is a surprisingly virile, affectionate Eumete, while Marc Molomot cuts a slightly ironic, rather unpleasant figure as Iro, but at least he knows that the part is little more than a comic caricature. The trio of suitors are surprisingly sympathetic, and their Act 2 trio with Penelope (Ama dunque, sì, sì) is very beguiling. Antinous has an eerie resonance, however, and Ulysses Thomas' resonant bass brings him to life very compellingly.
The gang of gods are also very convincing. João Fernandes is a rich, boomy Neptune - beautifully accompanied, first by the buzzing organ then by endearingly chattering cornetts - while Owen McIntosh's tenor makes a surprisingly young-sounding, vigorous Jupiter. Leah Wool is at first slightly warbly as Minerva, but she sounds more comfortable as the opera progresses. Sonja DuToit Tengblad is a bright, sparkly Juno. The Prologue, too, sets the tone for the rest of the opera to come: bouncy and full of life; not at all a mere forethought. The chorus don't have much to do, but what they have is done very well with lots of energy and bounce.
Even aside from its unique qualities, this Ulisse sits pretty close to the top of the available recordings that I've heard. Its studio perfection is more welcoming than Alan Curtis' live version, for all its merits, and, while I acknowledge his importance, I've never been able to love Harnoncourt's version which sounds paradoxically wilful and underdone in places. René Jacobs typically has his own quirks and, for once, I thought they worked rather well, but I now rate Pearlman's version very highly too. Definitely worth a look for Monteverdians old and new.
– MusicWeb International (Simon Thompson)
Martin Pearlman has made his own performing version of the score, working from the only surviving manuscript copy. He explains his editing decisions in the booklet note, and you can also hear him talk about it at length, if you're interested. You'd need to be a greater expert than I am to pick out any major differences from pre-existing versions. Suffice to say that Pearlman makes his own decisions about how to fill in the gaps that have been left in the score.
The result is a labor of love in which he has invested much of his time, energy and passion, and that comes across in what you hear. He has also assembled a team who have bought into his vision completely, performing with passion and total commitment. Central to the sound-world of the recording is the playing of Boston Baroque, Pearlman's own band. They sound as marvelous as their other recordings have led me to expect. There is a slightly acidic quality to their sound but it is very energetic and full of affection. This is a score, and an edition, that Pearlman knows well and wants to bring to life with beauty and affection. There were innumerable touches that brought it to fruition, such as the chattering brightness that the winds often brought to proceedings. Pearlman's way with the dance music is very convincing. I also loved vitality of the score for the brief pastoral scene at the opening of Act 2, full of tremendous verve. The orchestral accompaniment to the gods' scene in the third act also sounds very fine. Throughout the opera there is a focus on beauty above all. This never undermines the drama, however, and many little touches bring that to the fore over and over again.
The singing cast is excellent, too. Fernando Guimarães is magnificent as Ulisse himself. His voice is passionate, ardent and fully committed, a delight in this role which he makes sound totally human. His mannerisms are technically very impressive too. He knows and loves the style of the period, which makes him a first-rate travelling companion for Pearlman's vision. Jennifer Rivera's Penelope is, if anything, even better. Hers is a low, slightly husky voice but I fell for it completely. Her portrayal of the queen is sensual and dignified but deeply felt, and her opening lament is something that not just welcomes you into the opera but gets you hooked. She is equally fine during the climactic scene of Act 2 when she presents Ulysses' bow to the suitors for the contest, full of possibility but also ample regret. The greatest moment in the opera comes in the final recognition duet, where the voices of Guimarães and Rivera blend beautifully while the orchestra spins a beatific web of sound around them. It's a magnificent ending to the disc.
Aaron Sheehan is a dashing, youthful-sounding Telemaco, who sings with ardour and passion, linking him with but setting him apart from the sound of his father. As Melanto, Abigail Nims is energetic and skittish, a strong contrast to Penelope. Their duet towards the end of Act 1 is beautiful, not least due to the contributions of the Boston Baroque strings. Daniel Shirley's Eurimaco manages to convey much of the character's duplicity, and his voice blends beautifully with Nims'. Daniel Auchincloss is a surprisingly virile, affectionate Eumete, while Marc Molomot cuts a slightly ironic, rather unpleasant figure as Iro, but at least he knows that the part is little more than a comic caricature. The trio of suitors are surprisingly sympathetic, and their Act 2 trio with Penelope (Ama dunque, sì, sì) is very beguiling. Antinous has an eerie resonance, however, and Ulysses Thomas' resonant bass brings him to life very compellingly.
The gang of gods are also very convincing. João Fernandes is a rich, boomy Neptune - beautifully accompanied, first by the buzzing organ then by endearingly chattering cornetts - while Owen McIntosh's tenor makes a surprisingly young-sounding, vigorous Jupiter. Leah Wool is at first slightly warbly as Minerva, but she sounds more comfortable as the opera progresses. Sonja DuToit Tengblad is a bright, sparkly Juno. The Prologue, too, sets the tone for the rest of the opera to come: bouncy and full of life; not at all a mere forethought. The chorus don't have much to do, but what they have is done very well with lots of energy and bounce.
Even aside from its unique qualities, this Ulisse sits pretty close to the top of the available recordings that I've heard. Its studio perfection is more welcoming than Alan Curtis' live version, for all its merits, and, while I acknowledge his importance, I've never been able to love Harnoncourt's version which sounds paradoxically wilful and underdone in places. René Jacobs typically has his own quirks and, for once, I thought they worked rather well, but I now rate Pearlman's version very highly too. Definitely worth a look for Monteverdians old and new.
– MusicWeb International (Simon Thompson)
Humperdinck: Music for the Stage / Salvi, Malmo Opera Orchestra
Naxos
CD
$19.99
Nov 27, 2020
Engelbert Humperdinck won a worldwide reputation through his application of Wagnerian techniques to folk music in Hänsel und Gretel. But he wrote far more widely for the stage than is acknowledged, and this selection focuses on long overlooked works that reveal Humperdinck’s flair for romance, comedy and innovation. These include music for one of the first full-color silent films, the spectacular Das Wunder (1912); the passionate, ethereal small cantata Die Wallfahrt nach Kevlaar; the rich antique flavor of Lysistrata; as well as his dance-saturated and serenely beautiful incidental music for Der Kaufmann von Venedig. Dario Salvi is a Scottish-Italian conductor, musicologist and researcher who specializes in the restoration and performance of rare works. His passion is the rediscovery and performance of long-forgotten masterpieces by the likes of Suppé, Meyerbeer, Rumshinsky, Genée, Auber, and many others. He is collaborating with Naxos on recording a series on Romantic ballets, including works by Minkus, Pugni, Adam and others, and a series on Auber’s overtures and orchestral music. Two other important projects include recording the last three missing operas by Johann Strauss II and three never before recorded operatic works by Giacomo Meyerbeer.
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REVIEWS:
These incidental scores are a real find. They show that Humperdinck was far more than a one work wonder and is surely overlooked among the large number of turn-of-the-century composers who were able to turn out such highly melodic scores. The one real rarity here is the suite arranged from Das Wunder – the first full-colour silent film, made in 1912.
– Lark Reviews
Think of Humperdinck and Hänsel und Gretel immediately springs to mind, and if you dig a little bit deeper, Königskinder. Of course, he was far more prolific than that, and clearly had a rare talent for melody, vocal setting and orchestration. He is regarded as being a disciple of Wagner rather than a composer who forged a unique path, although I was interested to discover that he was the first composer to use Sprechgesang - a vocal technique halfway between singing and speaking, in Königskinder.
This most welcome, well-filled CD gives us a broad cross-section of his music for the stage. It starts with the prelude to Act II of the unknown opera Die Heirat wider Willen (The Forced Marriage), which opens with huge Wagnerian chords leading to more complex passages which quieten to harp chords then return to the opening. It is highly effective, and is probably the most instantly impactive music on the disc.
It is followed by his incidental music to the play Der Kaufman von Venedig (The Merchant of Venice). There are seven sections, the longest being the accompaniment to Act V Scene 1, “The moon shines bright: in such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees”.
At over ten minutes, it is as long as the previous six episodes put together, and, perhaps unsurprisingly given the word painting to inspire him, Humperdinck produces some magical orchestral effects, employing the harp lavishly to illustrate the moon (with a gentle horn accompanying the harp); the same combination is used at the outset, as the lovers begin their conversation. It is the sort of luscious orchestral sound which lulls one into floating along with it. There are vocal parts in the earlier sections, nicely sung by the tenor, soprano and contralto. The next longest scene at just under four minutes is the masked procession. Once again, the composer uses the harp quite prominently when the music quietens. As with all such incidental music, very short sections (three of the seven are each under one minute) can lead to a rather bitty impression, but Humperdinck manages to keep one’s interest - for example, the Casket Song (soprano, chorus, orchestra and harp again) is a 2:45 highlight.
Das Wunder (The Wonder), is music he composed for a British silent film from 1912 made in colour(!). It was presented at the Royal Opera House in 1912, the film being projected on to a screen with the full orchestra and chorus accompanying. The suite here begins with a prelude for solo organ, leading into a Procession and Children’s Dance, which begins with grand pageantry then quietens down for a rustic dance. The longest sections are the last two, the March of the Army and the Death Motif and the Christmas Scene and Finale. The first is quite memorable with flutes, piccolos, fifes and drums, leading to portentous brass chords for the Death Motif. The Christmas music and finale form a much more serene, ten-minute affair, with the orchestra producing a chiming effect for Christmas bells without orchestral bells being employed. I don’t think that the whole piece shows Humperdinck at his most memorable, but it is enjoyable, nonetheless.
Die Wallfahrt nach Kevlaar – Ballade (The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar) is a setting of three poems by Heinrich Heine, and Humperdinck uses soprano, tenor and chorus with orchestra. The songs tell of a journey made by a mother and her sick son to the shrine of The Virgin Mary at Kevelaer. The first song – At the Window stands the Mother - is a 3’30” narrative between soprano and tenor with the chorus commenting leading to an impressive, very Wagnerian crescendo, followed by the soloists combining with the chorus in a long, sustained note at the end. The second song, at just over seven minutes, depicts the visit to the shrine with a processional quality which slowly gathers strength. The tenor sings some very passionate music, somewhat reminiscent of Tanhauser’s Rome Narration, in which the boy and his mother are described. The last section at 4’33” – The Sick Son and the Mother – describes the death of the child, and, as one might expect, is duly solemn. The horn accompanies the soprano in dramatic declamation as the boy dies, and the chorus provide a swelling epilogue, with the soprano and harp softening things in a brief threnody at the very end. The work is set in a most sympathetic manner by Humperdinck.
The CD ends with his incidental music to Aristophanes’ Lysistrata. The composer tries to capture the antique nature of the play through his instrumentation, but even so we can hear Tristan during an extended cor-anglais solo. It is an attractive short suite.
As I mentioned at the outset, I have found this CD to be a welcome issue, and the last three items are all world premiere recordings. The booklet is informative about the composer and the music, and although texts to the sung parts are not provided, they are available from the Naxos website.
The performances are excellent in every respect, as we have come to expect from Malmö, and the recording is well balanced and natural.
– MusicWeb International (Jim Westhead)
-----
REVIEWS:
These incidental scores are a real find. They show that Humperdinck was far more than a one work wonder and is surely overlooked among the large number of turn-of-the-century composers who were able to turn out such highly melodic scores. The one real rarity here is the suite arranged from Das Wunder – the first full-colour silent film, made in 1912.
– Lark Reviews
Think of Humperdinck and Hänsel und Gretel immediately springs to mind, and if you dig a little bit deeper, Königskinder. Of course, he was far more prolific than that, and clearly had a rare talent for melody, vocal setting and orchestration. He is regarded as being a disciple of Wagner rather than a composer who forged a unique path, although I was interested to discover that he was the first composer to use Sprechgesang - a vocal technique halfway between singing and speaking, in Königskinder.
This most welcome, well-filled CD gives us a broad cross-section of his music for the stage. It starts with the prelude to Act II of the unknown opera Die Heirat wider Willen (The Forced Marriage), which opens with huge Wagnerian chords leading to more complex passages which quieten to harp chords then return to the opening. It is highly effective, and is probably the most instantly impactive music on the disc.
It is followed by his incidental music to the play Der Kaufman von Venedig (The Merchant of Venice). There are seven sections, the longest being the accompaniment to Act V Scene 1, “The moon shines bright: in such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees”.
At over ten minutes, it is as long as the previous six episodes put together, and, perhaps unsurprisingly given the word painting to inspire him, Humperdinck produces some magical orchestral effects, employing the harp lavishly to illustrate the moon (with a gentle horn accompanying the harp); the same combination is used at the outset, as the lovers begin their conversation. It is the sort of luscious orchestral sound which lulls one into floating along with it. There are vocal parts in the earlier sections, nicely sung by the tenor, soprano and contralto. The next longest scene at just under four minutes is the masked procession. Once again, the composer uses the harp quite prominently when the music quietens. As with all such incidental music, very short sections (three of the seven are each under one minute) can lead to a rather bitty impression, but Humperdinck manages to keep one’s interest - for example, the Casket Song (soprano, chorus, orchestra and harp again) is a 2:45 highlight.
Das Wunder (The Wonder), is music he composed for a British silent film from 1912 made in colour(!). It was presented at the Royal Opera House in 1912, the film being projected on to a screen with the full orchestra and chorus accompanying. The suite here begins with a prelude for solo organ, leading into a Procession and Children’s Dance, which begins with grand pageantry then quietens down for a rustic dance. The longest sections are the last two, the March of the Army and the Death Motif and the Christmas Scene and Finale. The first is quite memorable with flutes, piccolos, fifes and drums, leading to portentous brass chords for the Death Motif. The Christmas music and finale form a much more serene, ten-minute affair, with the orchestra producing a chiming effect for Christmas bells without orchestral bells being employed. I don’t think that the whole piece shows Humperdinck at his most memorable, but it is enjoyable, nonetheless.
Die Wallfahrt nach Kevlaar – Ballade (The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar) is a setting of three poems by Heinrich Heine, and Humperdinck uses soprano, tenor and chorus with orchestra. The songs tell of a journey made by a mother and her sick son to the shrine of The Virgin Mary at Kevelaer. The first song – At the Window stands the Mother - is a 3’30” narrative between soprano and tenor with the chorus commenting leading to an impressive, very Wagnerian crescendo, followed by the soloists combining with the chorus in a long, sustained note at the end. The second song, at just over seven minutes, depicts the visit to the shrine with a processional quality which slowly gathers strength. The tenor sings some very passionate music, somewhat reminiscent of Tanhauser’s Rome Narration, in which the boy and his mother are described. The last section at 4’33” – The Sick Son and the Mother – describes the death of the child, and, as one might expect, is duly solemn. The horn accompanies the soprano in dramatic declamation as the boy dies, and the chorus provide a swelling epilogue, with the soprano and harp softening things in a brief threnody at the very end. The work is set in a most sympathetic manner by Humperdinck.
The CD ends with his incidental music to Aristophanes’ Lysistrata. The composer tries to capture the antique nature of the play through his instrumentation, but even so we can hear Tristan during an extended cor-anglais solo. It is an attractive short suite.
As I mentioned at the outset, I have found this CD to be a welcome issue, and the last three items are all world premiere recordings. The booklet is informative about the composer and the music, and although texts to the sung parts are not provided, they are available from the Naxos website.
The performances are excellent in every respect, as we have come to expect from Malmö, and the recording is well balanced and natural.
– MusicWeb International (Jim Westhead)
Kagel: Duodramen, Szenario, Liturgien / Saarbrucken, Et Al
Naxos
CD
$19.99
Dec 12, 2006
Knowing his earlier work, one might expect a certain amount of ironic and subversive wit with any of Mauricio Kagel’s pieces, but this new Naxos issue is full of deadly serious stuff, and all the more welcome for it.
There was always more to Kagel’s art than just jokes, and this set of works show him in the context of broad canvasses, from the Mahlerian orchestral song-cycle form of Duodramen, to the double chorus and full orchestra of Liturgien. Szenario was conceived as a stand-alone concert piece, but has since become associated with the Luis Buñuel/Salvador Dalí silent film Le chien andalou of 1928. The tape part of the score consists of animal noises, with of course a whining, and later a barking dog. These sound samples could have been better, coming over rather distorted and tinny, rather than threatening and aggressive where required. The juxtaposition of sometimes eloquent strings and animal sounds is a little uneasy as well, with the extra noises only cropping up now and again – their relevance not entirely clear without any visual references. Nevertheless, there is an unremitting and pungent weight to the march-like rhythm which is a constant backdrop to some colourful string writing. Kagel can’t resist the occasional Wagner quote, but this work has all of the pregnant atmosphere one should expect from good film music – intentional or not.
Duodramen opens immediately with a post-romantic, operatic sense of drama. Looking at the libretto (available online via a link provided on the CD label) one receives the impression less of a coherent story, more an association of ideas and disparate characters – names such as Casanova, Alma Mahler, Henry Ford and Cosima Wagner inhabiting the score and meeting each other in strange and impossible relationships. The text is in German, but has an English translation on the web-page. There is a great deal of complex detail and dramatic context from beginning to end in this piece, giving it an intensity and resonance which I found quite stimulating. That is not to say that there are no moments of repose, and there are indeed some passages of remarkable orchestral colour – chillingly suggestive or vibrantly picturesque – no doubt helped by the addition of percussion and winds, I found the images conjured in this score in many ways to be far more vivid than the previous Szenario. The brutal intimidation of male over female doesn’t make for easy listening, but then, neither is Wozzeck.
Playing, singing and recordings are all excellent on this disc, and this remains true of the final live performance of Liturgien. Referring once again to the online page, the words are all taken from existing religious texts, the source for each of which also being included in detail. The language used is Latin, which for many will soften the impact of having ‘Alleluia’ standing close to ‘Allah is great!’ There is a ritual nature to the music which suits this intentional levelling of symbolism, and I sense traces of Britten, Martin, Stravinsky, Penderecki, Szymanowski – names whose stamp on religious musical expression, if not necessarily as ambiguous as here, at least invariably bears a strong humanist element.
This piece has an other-worldly, magical quality which is something I have always valued in Kagel, and am delighted to find existing in his larger-scale work. If Duodramen is a drama on a private, intimate scale, Liturgien is very much a public statement. No-one can ignore the significance of religious text, and neither is it possible to ignore the idea of effectively taking religion and mixing its writings in the waste-bin of a shredder. This music has all of the seriousness and weight to carry Kagel’s message of homogeneity. While revelling in this work’s spell it was also nice for me to come across some familiar names to one who works at the Royal Conservatoire in The Hague – I shall never forget Wout Oosterkamp’s warm encouragement as a teacher, or some performances and workshops by Romain Bischoff’s amazing Vocal Laboratory.
Originally recordings by Saarbrücken Radio, Naxos has made a sound move in releasing these recordings – conducted by the composer, and unlikely to be repeated or bettered any time soon. 2006 is Kagel’s 75th jubilee, but no mention of this is made in the booklet, neither is there any suggestion that this is to be part of any series or collection. I would say there is room for such an edition – especially on the strength of this release.
-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International
There was always more to Kagel’s art than just jokes, and this set of works show him in the context of broad canvasses, from the Mahlerian orchestral song-cycle form of Duodramen, to the double chorus and full orchestra of Liturgien. Szenario was conceived as a stand-alone concert piece, but has since become associated with the Luis Buñuel/Salvador Dalí silent film Le chien andalou of 1928. The tape part of the score consists of animal noises, with of course a whining, and later a barking dog. These sound samples could have been better, coming over rather distorted and tinny, rather than threatening and aggressive where required. The juxtaposition of sometimes eloquent strings and animal sounds is a little uneasy as well, with the extra noises only cropping up now and again – their relevance not entirely clear without any visual references. Nevertheless, there is an unremitting and pungent weight to the march-like rhythm which is a constant backdrop to some colourful string writing. Kagel can’t resist the occasional Wagner quote, but this work has all of the pregnant atmosphere one should expect from good film music – intentional or not.
Duodramen opens immediately with a post-romantic, operatic sense of drama. Looking at the libretto (available online via a link provided on the CD label) one receives the impression less of a coherent story, more an association of ideas and disparate characters – names such as Casanova, Alma Mahler, Henry Ford and Cosima Wagner inhabiting the score and meeting each other in strange and impossible relationships. The text is in German, but has an English translation on the web-page. There is a great deal of complex detail and dramatic context from beginning to end in this piece, giving it an intensity and resonance which I found quite stimulating. That is not to say that there are no moments of repose, and there are indeed some passages of remarkable orchestral colour – chillingly suggestive or vibrantly picturesque – no doubt helped by the addition of percussion and winds, I found the images conjured in this score in many ways to be far more vivid than the previous Szenario. The brutal intimidation of male over female doesn’t make for easy listening, but then, neither is Wozzeck.
Playing, singing and recordings are all excellent on this disc, and this remains true of the final live performance of Liturgien. Referring once again to the online page, the words are all taken from existing religious texts, the source for each of which also being included in detail. The language used is Latin, which for many will soften the impact of having ‘Alleluia’ standing close to ‘Allah is great!’ There is a ritual nature to the music which suits this intentional levelling of symbolism, and I sense traces of Britten, Martin, Stravinsky, Penderecki, Szymanowski – names whose stamp on religious musical expression, if not necessarily as ambiguous as here, at least invariably bears a strong humanist element.
This piece has an other-worldly, magical quality which is something I have always valued in Kagel, and am delighted to find existing in his larger-scale work. If Duodramen is a drama on a private, intimate scale, Liturgien is very much a public statement. No-one can ignore the significance of religious text, and neither is it possible to ignore the idea of effectively taking religion and mixing its writings in the waste-bin of a shredder. This music has all of the seriousness and weight to carry Kagel’s message of homogeneity. While revelling in this work’s spell it was also nice for me to come across some familiar names to one who works at the Royal Conservatoire in The Hague – I shall never forget Wout Oosterkamp’s warm encouragement as a teacher, or some performances and workshops by Romain Bischoff’s amazing Vocal Laboratory.
Originally recordings by Saarbrücken Radio, Naxos has made a sound move in releasing these recordings – conducted by the composer, and unlikely to be repeated or bettered any time soon. 2006 is Kagel’s 75th jubilee, but no mention of this is made in the booklet, neither is there any suggestion that this is to be part of any series or collection. I would say there is room for such an edition – especially on the strength of this release.
-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International
Mayr: Saffo / Hauk
Naxos
CD
$14.99
$29.99
Save 50%
Jan 08, 2016
A MusicWeb International Recording of the Month!
As an opera-lover with a particular interest in the ways opera developed and proliferated over the centuries, I’ve sometimes dreamt of a world in which every important composer’s first opera was available to listen to. It’s a fantasy: first operas are seldom as good as later ones and the recording industry, quite naturally, tends to seek out the best, not the earliest. Nevertheless, to anyone like me, first operas always have an intrinsic fascination, for they mark the point at which a particular individual talent joins the larger tradition. They often have much to say about a young composer’s influences and aspirations as well as the standards and expectations of those for whom the opera is written.
Johann Simon Mayr’s Saffo (1794) is a superlatively good and superlatively interesting first opera. Mayr wrote some seventy operas in the course of his three-decade operatic career and the vast majority have not been recorded, nor indeed performed since he enjoyed his final premiere in 1824. Franz Hauk’s decision to excavate the very first is thus both enterprising and unexpected, yet the results fully vindicate the project and the efforts of those involved. Saffo is revealed as an extraordinarily confident and masterful work with the composer’s mature personality already largely developed. A major reason for this, no doubt, is its comparative lateness: Mayr was already thirty when it received its premiere at the Teatro La Fenice, Venice. It is hard to think of any other important opera composer from this era, Beethoven always apart, who waited so long before seeing his work on stage. Cimarosa, the leading Italian opera composer when Mayr’s career commenced, composed fourteen operas before he was thirty; Rossini, the dominant presence at the end of Mayr’s career, managed over twice as many as that.
Delay, in Mayr’s case, appears to have been all to the good. There is something very deliberate about Saffo, a work bearing none of the signs of haste and inexperience that mar so many composers’ first operas. It is carefully planned and beautifully composed with a strong feel for the dramatic potential inherent in Antonio Simeone Sografi’s fine libretto. Gluck was surely a powerful influence and it is easy to suppose that Mayr, a German, may have dreamed of being a second Gluck. A more immediate influence was no doubt Ferdinando Bertoni (1725-1813), Mayr’s teacher in Venice, who was himself influenced by Gluck – to the point where Gluck did not scruple quietly to ‘borrow’ some of Bertoni’s arias. Then there was the larger influence of the Venetian operatic world which had become a hotbed for experimentation with the forms of opera seria – with Paris in turmoil, there was surely no better city for a composer of Mayr’s originality to be making his debut.
Sografi’s libretto is in two acts; as Marion Englhart points out in the Naxos notes, this was itself unusual, as three acts were standard. As each act of Saffo lasts almost exactly an hour on this recording, we thus have the distinctively modern shape of a two-hour opera with a single interval. Nothing seems hurried, yet there are no longueurs either; the pacing and overall dramatic arc of the opera are finely judged. The story is simplicity itself. Saffo, Alceo, Faone and their attendants have come to the Greek city of Leucadia to hear the Pythia, or High Priestess, pronounce an oracle inspired by Apollo. Saffo, the legendary poetess (known in English as Sappho) loves Faone, but it is not reciprocated; he is mourning the death of his wife Cirene. Alceo, a poet, loves Saffo. This much is established in Act One. In Act Two, the oracle is finally pronounced, and as was often the case with oracles, it is not perfectly clear:
Saffo ardisca! Saffo dare!
Alceo, gemi! Aleco groan!
Tremi Faone! Faone tremble!
(The Naxos translation gives ‘Saffo ardisca!’ as ‘Saffo bears it’, which is surely an unfortunate mistake.) This winds the emotional situation up to a higher pitch. Saffo, with some encouragement from the Pythia, believes she should commit suicide by undertaking the famous Leucadian leap. However, at the last moment the tragedy is averted by Faone, encouraged by Alceo, showing some sympathy for Saffo’s sufferings.
I must say this ending came as a complete surprise, and not a welcome one. It has the sort of tacked-on happy ending quality found in so many earlier opere serie — and beautifully sent up in The Beggar’s Opera — but this was certainly not a requirement in Venetian operas of the 1790s. I was taking it for granted that the opera would end with Saffo’s spectacular suicide, in the manner of Giovanni Pacini’s much more famous Saffo of 1840. Interestingly, another Sappho opera of 1794, Jean Paul Égide Martini’s Sapho, did end tragically. The general dramatic movement of Mayr’s opera seems to be towards tragedy, and the sombre colouring of his music prepares one for it. Perhaps, for some reason, he was not allowed to compose the ending he would himself have chosen.
This was my only disappointment with this really exciting release. At no point does Mayr’s score sound routine or turgid, nor is there any of the fluff and padding that make so many eighteenth-century operas much longer than they need be. His recitative is incisively dramatic; his arias strongly shaped, brief and to the point; his choruses noble; his use of the orchestra colourful and inventive. One feels throughout that the subject and libretto were very congenial to Mayr, allowing him to play to his strengths in the alternation of grand ceremonial scenes with the emotionally-fraught conflicts between, and within, the three principal characters. In his 1989 book on Mayr, John Stewart Allitt refers to Saffo briefly as ‘a block-buster of an opera’. He does not elaborate on his grounds for that judgement, but now the evidence is here, such an accolade seems fully justified.
The Naxos studio recording is bright and forward to the point of occasionally being a little claustrophobic, but there is something gripping about its immediacy. Franz Hauk, who has done so much for Mayr (see below) and is surely the greatest living authority on the composer, conducts with authority and panache. The singers are uniformly impressive, with the principals entering into the drama of the opera rather than just singing beautifully.
What’s not to like? Well, you have to download the libretto, which always annoys me, but I haven’t enjoyed a first opera so much for a long time, nor felt so enlightened by the experience of listening to one. Saffo will be an essential acquisition for anyone who loves Mayr’s music and, at Naxos prices, it should prove very attractive to anyone interested in the way opera developed in the crucial period after the French Revolution and Mozart’s death.
– MusicWeb International
As an opera-lover with a particular interest in the ways opera developed and proliferated over the centuries, I’ve sometimes dreamt of a world in which every important composer’s first opera was available to listen to. It’s a fantasy: first operas are seldom as good as later ones and the recording industry, quite naturally, tends to seek out the best, not the earliest. Nevertheless, to anyone like me, first operas always have an intrinsic fascination, for they mark the point at which a particular individual talent joins the larger tradition. They often have much to say about a young composer’s influences and aspirations as well as the standards and expectations of those for whom the opera is written.
Johann Simon Mayr’s Saffo (1794) is a superlatively good and superlatively interesting first opera. Mayr wrote some seventy operas in the course of his three-decade operatic career and the vast majority have not been recorded, nor indeed performed since he enjoyed his final premiere in 1824. Franz Hauk’s decision to excavate the very first is thus both enterprising and unexpected, yet the results fully vindicate the project and the efforts of those involved. Saffo is revealed as an extraordinarily confident and masterful work with the composer’s mature personality already largely developed. A major reason for this, no doubt, is its comparative lateness: Mayr was already thirty when it received its premiere at the Teatro La Fenice, Venice. It is hard to think of any other important opera composer from this era, Beethoven always apart, who waited so long before seeing his work on stage. Cimarosa, the leading Italian opera composer when Mayr’s career commenced, composed fourteen operas before he was thirty; Rossini, the dominant presence at the end of Mayr’s career, managed over twice as many as that.
Delay, in Mayr’s case, appears to have been all to the good. There is something very deliberate about Saffo, a work bearing none of the signs of haste and inexperience that mar so many composers’ first operas. It is carefully planned and beautifully composed with a strong feel for the dramatic potential inherent in Antonio Simeone Sografi’s fine libretto. Gluck was surely a powerful influence and it is easy to suppose that Mayr, a German, may have dreamed of being a second Gluck. A more immediate influence was no doubt Ferdinando Bertoni (1725-1813), Mayr’s teacher in Venice, who was himself influenced by Gluck – to the point where Gluck did not scruple quietly to ‘borrow’ some of Bertoni’s arias. Then there was the larger influence of the Venetian operatic world which had become a hotbed for experimentation with the forms of opera seria – with Paris in turmoil, there was surely no better city for a composer of Mayr’s originality to be making his debut.
Sografi’s libretto is in two acts; as Marion Englhart points out in the Naxos notes, this was itself unusual, as three acts were standard. As each act of Saffo lasts almost exactly an hour on this recording, we thus have the distinctively modern shape of a two-hour opera with a single interval. Nothing seems hurried, yet there are no longueurs either; the pacing and overall dramatic arc of the opera are finely judged. The story is simplicity itself. Saffo, Alceo, Faone and their attendants have come to the Greek city of Leucadia to hear the Pythia, or High Priestess, pronounce an oracle inspired by Apollo. Saffo, the legendary poetess (known in English as Sappho) loves Faone, but it is not reciprocated; he is mourning the death of his wife Cirene. Alceo, a poet, loves Saffo. This much is established in Act One. In Act Two, the oracle is finally pronounced, and as was often the case with oracles, it is not perfectly clear:
Saffo ardisca! Saffo dare!
Alceo, gemi! Aleco groan!
Tremi Faone! Faone tremble!
(The Naxos translation gives ‘Saffo ardisca!’ as ‘Saffo bears it’, which is surely an unfortunate mistake.) This winds the emotional situation up to a higher pitch. Saffo, with some encouragement from the Pythia, believes she should commit suicide by undertaking the famous Leucadian leap. However, at the last moment the tragedy is averted by Faone, encouraged by Alceo, showing some sympathy for Saffo’s sufferings.
I must say this ending came as a complete surprise, and not a welcome one. It has the sort of tacked-on happy ending quality found in so many earlier opere serie — and beautifully sent up in The Beggar’s Opera — but this was certainly not a requirement in Venetian operas of the 1790s. I was taking it for granted that the opera would end with Saffo’s spectacular suicide, in the manner of Giovanni Pacini’s much more famous Saffo of 1840. Interestingly, another Sappho opera of 1794, Jean Paul Égide Martini’s Sapho, did end tragically. The general dramatic movement of Mayr’s opera seems to be towards tragedy, and the sombre colouring of his music prepares one for it. Perhaps, for some reason, he was not allowed to compose the ending he would himself have chosen.
This was my only disappointment with this really exciting release. At no point does Mayr’s score sound routine or turgid, nor is there any of the fluff and padding that make so many eighteenth-century operas much longer than they need be. His recitative is incisively dramatic; his arias strongly shaped, brief and to the point; his choruses noble; his use of the orchestra colourful and inventive. One feels throughout that the subject and libretto were very congenial to Mayr, allowing him to play to his strengths in the alternation of grand ceremonial scenes with the emotionally-fraught conflicts between, and within, the three principal characters. In his 1989 book on Mayr, John Stewart Allitt refers to Saffo briefly as ‘a block-buster of an opera’. He does not elaborate on his grounds for that judgement, but now the evidence is here, such an accolade seems fully justified.
The Naxos studio recording is bright and forward to the point of occasionally being a little claustrophobic, but there is something gripping about its immediacy. Franz Hauk, who has done so much for Mayr (see below) and is surely the greatest living authority on the composer, conducts with authority and panache. The singers are uniformly impressive, with the principals entering into the drama of the opera rather than just singing beautifully.
What’s not to like? Well, you have to download the libretto, which always annoys me, but I haven’t enjoyed a first opera so much for a long time, nor felt so enlightened by the experience of listening to one. Saffo will be an essential acquisition for anyone who loves Mayr’s music and, at Naxos prices, it should prove very attractive to anyone interested in the way opera developed in the crucial period after the French Revolution and Mozart’s death.
– MusicWeb International
Weinberg: Symphony No 6, Rhapsody On Moldavian Themes / Lande, St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra
Naxos
CD
$19.99
Apr 24, 2012
WEINBERG Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes. Symphony No. 6 • Vladimir Lande, cond; Glinka Choral College Boys’ Ch; St. Petersburg St SO • NAXOS 8572779 (61:02)
Mieczysaw Weinberg’s sad and tortured life is described in the liner notes. The fate of his impressive and unjustly neglected music is explained by the fact that he was kept under wraps by his Soviet masters while others were given all the international glory. Naxos’s series of Weinberg releases, which so far includes three CDs of his cello music, is augmented here with this release of his wonderful Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes and innovative Symphony No. 6.
The Rhapsody begins softly, mysteriously, but builds into an impressive musical structure in which the music almost morphs from one section to another rather than sounding forcibly juxtaposed. These Moldavian themes have a certain Sephardic quality about them, a soulful minor-key tendency that influences one’s emotional reaction to the music even in the most energetic passages. Wisely, too, Weinberg does not over-write, so the piece doesn’t overstay its welcome.
The Sixth Symphony, composed in 1963, is a more mature and reflective work. Divided into five movements, it begins quietly, but this initial Adagio sostenuto does not stay quiet for long; rather, it breaks out into louder, yet no less somber, moods in which the brass and winds combine with the strings in a mode that tends toward the minor. Basses (and possibly cellos) sustain quiet chords while a solo flute plays with great anxiety above them; the solo role then passes on to horn and clarinet. A group of winds, including clarinets, plays a mysterious and restless melody above growling basses; another, quieter eruption with horns ensues; then it ebbs into a soft, unresolved dissonance for the finale.
The second movement includes the chorus of boys’ voices, singing a Lev Kvitko poem about a boy who makes a violin from scraps which he then plays to an audience of animals and birds. (Unfortunately, no texts are included, nor does Naxos direct you to a translation on its website.) The music is bitonal and polyrhythmic, in fact producing at times an almost purposefully uneven, galumphing gait. The music for the boys’ chorus is almost a chant, covering perhaps six tones that are played against the ever-changing harmonies of the orchestral background. A solo violin, emulating the boy’s homemade violin, plays plaintively, then the chorus returns while low wind, string, and brass chords play below them.
The third movement, marked Allegro molto, sounds almost hectic in its fast-forward motion, brass and percussion dominating the soundscape in a more mature and advanced sort of Khachaturian style. An almost klezmer-style clarinet solo interacts with glockenspiel and woodblocks, slurred trombones, and tubas. The fourth is described as a subtle reworking of one of Weinberg’s Jewish Songs from 1944, a rather ominous poem by Samuil Galkin in which the place where a home once stood is now a graveyard for murdered children, which will serve in the future as a memorial. The movement begins in a loud and ominous mood, with crashing timpani, but the chorus enters here in a softer, more conciliatory mood. Its song is a little more involved melodically here, written in C Minor and with the boys often singing in their lower range. Even the clarinet is pitched low, and the basses continue to pursue an ominous mood with occasional outbursts by the horns and low trumpets over percussion. Eventually, what sounds like very low, soft trombones underscore the boys’ song, occasionally colored by glockenspiel and oboe. Oddly, Weinberg ends the symphony with yet another slow movement, marked Andantino. It is based on a poem by Mikhail Lukonin in which “children of the present and future, from the Mississippi to the Mekong, are bid sleep in the confidence of a bright and productive tomorrow.” Appropriately, the music itself is like a lullaby, with wistful choral passages sparsely accompanied, first by the winds and then by lower strings. Certain elements heard earlier make tentative reappearances here, then the choir stops singing in order to give way to a solo violin playing a plaintive melody. The ending is a quiet, unresolved dissonance.
This is remarkable music, excellently played and sung by the various forces involved. As usual, Naxos’s over-reverberant sound blurs the clarity of certain instruments, but in the more atmospheric movement of the symphony this works to its advantage. There’s another recording of the Rhapsody available, conducted by Gabriel Chmura with the Polish National Philharmonic on Chandos 10237, which received a good review in these pages from Barry Brenesal, and both the excellent Kiril Kondrashin and Vladimir Fedoseyev have recorded versions of the Sixth Symphony that I haven’t heard, but taken on its own merits, Vladimir Lande’s performance is very fine.
FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley
Knudage Riisager: Orchestral Works / Hardenberger, Dausgaard
Dacapo Classical
SACD
$13.99
Apr 27, 2010
RIISAGER Slaraffenland (Fools’ Paradise): Suites 1 and 2. Tolv med Posten (12 by the Mail): 6 Dances. Concertino for Trumpet and Strings. Darduse: Suite • Thomas Dausgaard, cond; Hakan Hardenberger (tpt); Ars Nova Copenhagen; Helsingborg SO • DACAPO 6.220584 (SACD: 72:35)
Knudåge Riisager is certainly not the only composer who had a career in an unrelated field. He is more unusual in the recognition that he received, for his compositions and his musical advocacy, during his lifetime. After working as a civil servant for much of his life—he was educated in political science and was, in the last decade of his career, a department head in the Danish Ministry of Finance—he retired in 1950 and turned his full attention to music. This was not where it started, though, as his most productive years as a composer—and the ones chronicled here—paralleled his government career. He began his music education as a teenager. Then, before beginning his office job, he took a study trip to Paris, became a pupil of Albert Roussel—himself a latecomer to music—and Paul Le Flem, fell under the influence of Les Six, and experienced the new music of Prokofiev, Honegger, Bartók, and Stravinsky. He returned to successfully champion new music—his own and other’s— in Nielsen-besotted Denmark, achieving what near-contemporary Rued Langgaard had failed to do during the same period. Of course, Riisanger had charm and a sense of humor, and wrote beautifully crafted and easily appreciated neoclassical works inspired by his French mentors and Russian muses. Such was his success that in 1937 he was named the chairman of the Association of Danish Composers, a position he held for 25 years. In 1956 he began an 11-year tenure as director of the Royal Academy of Music in Copenhagen. He died in 1974, a revered and popular artist.
I’m not quite sure what all of this research, and a passing familiarity with the Trumpet Concertino, led me to expect, aside from formality and clarity of texture mixed with, perhaps, some French nonchalance. I was not prepared for the first three ballet suites on this release. There is an appealing surface artlessness to the Fool’s Paradise suites and the six dances from Twelve By the Mail that suggests, in their hidden sophistication, the musical revels of Les Six. They are otherwise reminiscent of English light music of the period. Riisager’s orchestrations are uniformly brilliant, his lovely melodies charming or nostalgic. Their obvious popular appeal—almost movie score-like at times—is spiced with some piquant, though subtly applied, dissonances and occasional forays into polytonality. It is all very pleasant, generally bright and cheery, though perhaps best taken in smaller doses to prevent overdose.
The Trumpet Concertino is a more substantial work, very much influenced by Stravinsky’s neoclassical style, though with little of the Russian composer’s occasionally chilly perfection. The opening and closing movements are, in fact, decidedly quirky, almost a parody of a classical concerto. The central movement is notable, however, for a depth of feeling unique among the works on this disc, though the first movement of the suite from Darduse comes close. In this latter piece, one hears the influence of Roussel’s tutelage most clearly, and more than a bit of the Impressionism that his teacher had eventually rejected. Thereafter, we are back to the lighter music, depicting cock fights and wedding processions. What sets this suite apart is the darker orchestral palette, more dissonant language—though still relatively mild—and the innovative use of chorus. The voices are used to suggest the violent wind of a Grofé-like dust storm (uncharacteristically forbidding, though all, including the chorus, ends peacefully) and the singing of the participants in the folk-inspired Women’s Dance.
Paul Snook welcomed this release in these pages ( Fanfare 21:6) in its 1998 CD incarnation. This SACD rerelease restores it to the catalog. While I cannot say I am quite as enthusiastic as my colleague—he included it on his Want List for that year—I certainly enjoyed the disc. Thomas Dausgaard and his fine Swedish orchestra are eloquent advocates. Håkan Hardenberger is luxury casting for the not terribly challenging trumpet solo, as is the superlative Ars Nova Copenhagen (as it is now known) in the choral segments. The sound is very fine in stereo, though a quick check of the multichannel layer reveals little information in the rear. Those who missed this on the first go-around will be pleased, as will students of Danish music, and fans of well-made lighter music.
FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames
Rachmaninov: Symphonic Dances / Petrenko, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic
Avie Records
CD
$19.99
Mar 01, 2010
Vasily Petrenko (b. 1976) has been leading the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra since September 2006 and has recently extended his contract until at least 2015. His work on Merseyside has been drawing many very enthusiastic notices, including several on MusicWeb International. However, until now, with the exception of his recording of Sir John Tavener’s recent Requiem (see review) I’ve not heard any of his performances. If this thrilling disc is anything to go by then I’ve been missing something.
I’ve long thought that Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances ranks among his finest works but this new recording really made me sit up and take fresh notice. For that Petrenko and his orchestra must take a huge amount of credit. However, the quality of the recording itself also has much to do with it. I can only describe the sound on this CD as stunning. By chance, immediately before I put this new Avie disc in my player I’d been listening to Vladimir Ashkenazy’s 1983 Decca recording of Symphonic Dances and The Isle of the Dead. Those are extremely fine performances, splendidly recorded by Decca in the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. On that disc the sound is warm, yet very clear and there’s a good deal of space round the orchestra – I strongly suspect the orchestra was set out on the auditorium floor in the empty Concertgebouw. This Avie recording offers a very different experience for the sound is closer – though not oppressively so – and very present.
Producer John Fraser and Engineer David A. Pigott have produced here one of the best recordings of a symphony orchestra that I’ve heard in a very long time. The orchestra is, as I said, very present yet very natural also. The recording offers a wide side-to-side perspective and also very good front-to-back definition. There’s an abundance of detail to hear – the percussion thrillingly reported and the brass impressive without ever sounding domineering – yet without any sense of artificial spotlighting of sections or individual instruments. With a satisfyingly rich bass foundation and an impressive dynamic range this recording presents the orchestra in a most exciting and very musical way. The sound has terrific definition, not least in the quiet passages, and packs a real punch at climaxes. Best of all, the recording lets you hear just how impressive the performances are. For the orchestra there are few hiding places in Symphonic Dances, especially when the sound is as clear and detailed as this, but the RLPO are consistently sure-footed.
The quality of the recording and Petrenko’s care over balance got my attention from the first bars of Symphonic Dances. The very opening is light, crisp and delicate after which the bold string chords have a most impressive weight. Petrenko drives the music forward with vigour but never overplays his hand. The saxophone solo (from 3:26) is lovingly phrased, imparting just the right feeling of wistful nostalgia. In the succeeding passage (to 5:46) there’s some excellent woodwind playing – and not for the last time on this disc, either. When the strings take up the melody it sings gloriously – and between them Petrenko and the engineers balance the accompaniment of harp and piano perfectly. The eventual return to the movement’s opening material is at first suspenseful and then very exciting. Rachmaninov’s self-quotation from his First Symphony is warmly delivered but without any over-indulgence.
If I have a small criticism it concerns the brevity of the gaps between the movements. There’s a mere two seconds between the first and second dances – the Ashkenazy disc has some six seconds – and only three seconds between the second and third movements. Just a little more time would have been welcome. The second movement is a spectral, awkward waltz: in the memorable phrase of annotator Anthony Bateman “Evening has brought its ghosts”. Petrenko shapes the music with great imagination, conjuring up for this listener at least an image of a dimly lit and faded ballroom that has rather gone to seed. The RLPO strings play splendidly, with plenty of body to their tone – and their woodwind colleagues offer equally fine playing. Petrenko is alive to all the nuances and subtle inflections of Rachmaninov’s music. His is a colourful and well-imagined reading and he draws really responsive playing from his orchestra. Among many details that I relished is the nutty tone of the violas between 7:05 and 7:23 followed by the sound of really hushed violins and a doleful bassoon.
Once Petrenko reaches the main material of the third dance his reading has abundant energy but, rightly, there’s more than a sense of foreboding as well. As a sample of the impressive way in which soft passages are handled, sample the rather sinister passage introduced by the bass clarinet (5:04). Shortly afterwards (6:60 – 9:55) the long, brooding string paragraph, in which the RLPO players excel, is surely Rachmaninov revisiting his Second Symphony but with a melancholy air, knowing that those days are gone for ever. In the last five or six minutes Petrenko urges his players on to an exciting yet darkly-tinged conclusion. In these pages the tambourine, tam-tam and xylophone contributions are magnificently caught by the microphones and the dramatic last few bars bring a superb performance of the work to a tumultuous conclusion.
Recently, I was greatly taken with a live performance of The Isle of the Dead conducted by Evgeny Svetlanov (see review). I found that reading enthralling but its very expansiveness probably courts controversy and will not be to all tastes. Petrenko’s reading is more mainstream, if I may put it that way, in terms of pacing. His account, at 20:58. lasts for almost the same time as Ashkenazy’s (20:52) and is similar in length to several other recordings on my shelves. Mind you, it is salutary to note that the composer’s own 1929 recording with the Philadelphia Orchestra lasts a “mere” 18:05 and even after eighty years that recording still sounds well – and packs a real interpretative punch!
Petrenko isn’t in the Svetlanov league when it comes to expansiveness but his interpretation is still full of brooding power – and his performance affords better playing than we hear on the Svetlanov disc and, as you’d expect, comes in much better sound. This Liverpool account establishes a very potent atmosphere right from the outset. There’s dark grandeur in the playing – and in Petrenko’s conception of the work. As in Symphonic Dances the excellence of the sound supports Petrenko’s balancing of the orchestra magnificently. Between 7:22 and 7:44, for example, the balance between the cello tune and the woodwind decoration round it is outstandingly successful. Later on (8:04 – 9:40) the ear is impressed mightily by sonorous brass, pounding timpani and weighty strings.
Petrenko builds the piece to an impressive and potent central climax, thrillingly reported by the recording, but the way he winds the tension down in the following bars is just as noteworthy. Later on, he invests the urgent, surging string passage (11:23 - 12:59) with real ardour and the main climax of the piece (around 15:30) is shattering in its intensity. As Charon, the boatman, rows back across the Styx from the Isle, his work done for now, the opening music returns and Petrenko controls the sombre conclusion very effectively.
In a way I wish the disc had ended there; the piece that’s placed last would have been a more satisfying opener, I believe. The Rock is a youthful work but a significant achievement nonetheless by the twenty-year-old composer. Apparently Tchaikovsky admired the piece and it’s not hard to see why for the scoring is attractive and the invention is strong. For much of its course the nature of the music is much lighter than that of the other two works on the disc. Petrenko conducts with grace and affection but also does the powerful stretches towards the end very well. In the first few minutes the principal flute, Cormac Henry, has a lot of demanding solo work and he shines under the spotlight that Rachmaninov trains on him. Another example of finesse that caught my ear was the exquisite passage of string tremolandi between 7:04 and 7:39 – it’s details such as this that puts the stamp of distinction on this release. As a piece The Rock may not be the equal of the other works on this disc but it has many attractions and it receives a very fine performance here.
As I hope I’ve conveyed, this is an exceptional disc in every way. It’s one that I’ve enjoyed enormously but I also admire it greatly as an achievement both on the part of the musicians and of the engineers. If you’ve wondered why so much fuss is being made about the work that Vasily Petrenko is doing with the RLPO then this superb CD should provide the answer. Already, in early February, this disc is on my shortlist of Recordings of the Year.
One final thought. Could Avie be persuaded to record this team in Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony? If Petrenko and the RLPO could recapture in a recording of that great, sweeping symphony the form shown on this disc then the result would be a serious challenge to the longstanding hegemony of André Previn’s 1973 recording with the LSO (EMI). Meanwhile, don’t wait to see if that disc appears. Buy this one – now! I doubt you’ll regret it and I hope it will excite you as much as it has excited me.
-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International
I’ve long thought that Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances ranks among his finest works but this new recording really made me sit up and take fresh notice. For that Petrenko and his orchestra must take a huge amount of credit. However, the quality of the recording itself also has much to do with it. I can only describe the sound on this CD as stunning. By chance, immediately before I put this new Avie disc in my player I’d been listening to Vladimir Ashkenazy’s 1983 Decca recording of Symphonic Dances and The Isle of the Dead. Those are extremely fine performances, splendidly recorded by Decca in the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. On that disc the sound is warm, yet very clear and there’s a good deal of space round the orchestra – I strongly suspect the orchestra was set out on the auditorium floor in the empty Concertgebouw. This Avie recording offers a very different experience for the sound is closer – though not oppressively so – and very present.
Producer John Fraser and Engineer David A. Pigott have produced here one of the best recordings of a symphony orchestra that I’ve heard in a very long time. The orchestra is, as I said, very present yet very natural also. The recording offers a wide side-to-side perspective and also very good front-to-back definition. There’s an abundance of detail to hear – the percussion thrillingly reported and the brass impressive without ever sounding domineering – yet without any sense of artificial spotlighting of sections or individual instruments. With a satisfyingly rich bass foundation and an impressive dynamic range this recording presents the orchestra in a most exciting and very musical way. The sound has terrific definition, not least in the quiet passages, and packs a real punch at climaxes. Best of all, the recording lets you hear just how impressive the performances are. For the orchestra there are few hiding places in Symphonic Dances, especially when the sound is as clear and detailed as this, but the RLPO are consistently sure-footed.
The quality of the recording and Petrenko’s care over balance got my attention from the first bars of Symphonic Dances. The very opening is light, crisp and delicate after which the bold string chords have a most impressive weight. Petrenko drives the music forward with vigour but never overplays his hand. The saxophone solo (from 3:26) is lovingly phrased, imparting just the right feeling of wistful nostalgia. In the succeeding passage (to 5:46) there’s some excellent woodwind playing – and not for the last time on this disc, either. When the strings take up the melody it sings gloriously – and between them Petrenko and the engineers balance the accompaniment of harp and piano perfectly. The eventual return to the movement’s opening material is at first suspenseful and then very exciting. Rachmaninov’s self-quotation from his First Symphony is warmly delivered but without any over-indulgence.
If I have a small criticism it concerns the brevity of the gaps between the movements. There’s a mere two seconds between the first and second dances – the Ashkenazy disc has some six seconds – and only three seconds between the second and third movements. Just a little more time would have been welcome. The second movement is a spectral, awkward waltz: in the memorable phrase of annotator Anthony Bateman “Evening has brought its ghosts”. Petrenko shapes the music with great imagination, conjuring up for this listener at least an image of a dimly lit and faded ballroom that has rather gone to seed. The RLPO strings play splendidly, with plenty of body to their tone – and their woodwind colleagues offer equally fine playing. Petrenko is alive to all the nuances and subtle inflections of Rachmaninov’s music. His is a colourful and well-imagined reading and he draws really responsive playing from his orchestra. Among many details that I relished is the nutty tone of the violas between 7:05 and 7:23 followed by the sound of really hushed violins and a doleful bassoon.
Once Petrenko reaches the main material of the third dance his reading has abundant energy but, rightly, there’s more than a sense of foreboding as well. As a sample of the impressive way in which soft passages are handled, sample the rather sinister passage introduced by the bass clarinet (5:04). Shortly afterwards (6:60 – 9:55) the long, brooding string paragraph, in which the RLPO players excel, is surely Rachmaninov revisiting his Second Symphony but with a melancholy air, knowing that those days are gone for ever. In the last five or six minutes Petrenko urges his players on to an exciting yet darkly-tinged conclusion. In these pages the tambourine, tam-tam and xylophone contributions are magnificently caught by the microphones and the dramatic last few bars bring a superb performance of the work to a tumultuous conclusion.
Recently, I was greatly taken with a live performance of The Isle of the Dead conducted by Evgeny Svetlanov (see review). I found that reading enthralling but its very expansiveness probably courts controversy and will not be to all tastes. Petrenko’s reading is more mainstream, if I may put it that way, in terms of pacing. His account, at 20:58. lasts for almost the same time as Ashkenazy’s (20:52) and is similar in length to several other recordings on my shelves. Mind you, it is salutary to note that the composer’s own 1929 recording with the Philadelphia Orchestra lasts a “mere” 18:05 and even after eighty years that recording still sounds well – and packs a real interpretative punch!
Petrenko isn’t in the Svetlanov league when it comes to expansiveness but his interpretation is still full of brooding power – and his performance affords better playing than we hear on the Svetlanov disc and, as you’d expect, comes in much better sound. This Liverpool account establishes a very potent atmosphere right from the outset. There’s dark grandeur in the playing – and in Petrenko’s conception of the work. As in Symphonic Dances the excellence of the sound supports Petrenko’s balancing of the orchestra magnificently. Between 7:22 and 7:44, for example, the balance between the cello tune and the woodwind decoration round it is outstandingly successful. Later on (8:04 – 9:40) the ear is impressed mightily by sonorous brass, pounding timpani and weighty strings.
Petrenko builds the piece to an impressive and potent central climax, thrillingly reported by the recording, but the way he winds the tension down in the following bars is just as noteworthy. Later on, he invests the urgent, surging string passage (11:23 - 12:59) with real ardour and the main climax of the piece (around 15:30) is shattering in its intensity. As Charon, the boatman, rows back across the Styx from the Isle, his work done for now, the opening music returns and Petrenko controls the sombre conclusion very effectively.
In a way I wish the disc had ended there; the piece that’s placed last would have been a more satisfying opener, I believe. The Rock is a youthful work but a significant achievement nonetheless by the twenty-year-old composer. Apparently Tchaikovsky admired the piece and it’s not hard to see why for the scoring is attractive and the invention is strong. For much of its course the nature of the music is much lighter than that of the other two works on the disc. Petrenko conducts with grace and affection but also does the powerful stretches towards the end very well. In the first few minutes the principal flute, Cormac Henry, has a lot of demanding solo work and he shines under the spotlight that Rachmaninov trains on him. Another example of finesse that caught my ear was the exquisite passage of string tremolandi between 7:04 and 7:39 – it’s details such as this that puts the stamp of distinction on this release. As a piece The Rock may not be the equal of the other works on this disc but it has many attractions and it receives a very fine performance here.
As I hope I’ve conveyed, this is an exceptional disc in every way. It’s one that I’ve enjoyed enormously but I also admire it greatly as an achievement both on the part of the musicians and of the engineers. If you’ve wondered why so much fuss is being made about the work that Vasily Petrenko is doing with the RLPO then this superb CD should provide the answer. Already, in early February, this disc is on my shortlist of Recordings of the Year.
One final thought. Could Avie be persuaded to record this team in Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony? If Petrenko and the RLPO could recapture in a recording of that great, sweeping symphony the form shown on this disc then the result would be a serious challenge to the longstanding hegemony of André Previn’s 1973 recording with the LSO (EMI). Meanwhile, don’t wait to see if that disc appears. Buy this one – now! I doubt you’ll regret it and I hope it will excite you as much as it has excited me.
-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International
