Thursday, 7.17.08, 6:00 am
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 1)
"Library Building" posts are reviews of recordings I find to be essential to every good collection of classical music - recordings of interpretations that are the touchstone for their repertoire.
When Christian Thielemann conducted Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony as part of the 850th anniversary celebration for Munich – a free concert of the ‘city’s own’ orchestra, the Munich Philharmonic – he produced a performance that was as splendid as it was long (~74 minutes), and then some. Burnished, flexible, smooth, broad and unapologetically romantic without any pretense of offering something historically correct, reduced to the humble size of aspiring ‘accuracy’. It would be disingenuous for me to say that it was in the mold of Furtwängler, because I don’t know more about what that mold might be than what prevailing stereotypes and grainy recordings reveal. But I can say that it resembled the Beethoven of Barenboim. Even if that might not be a comparison Thielemann can appreciate, the emphasis on sound, transition, flexibility and tradition offers plenty – actually verifiable – analogies.
The claim may be musicologically untenable, but in listening to Thielemann’s performance, the idea that Beethoven composed the Ninth for a future orchestra and sound, rather than what he had available, becomes inevitable. The work does not suffer from the possibilities of a modern symphony orchestra, it appreciates them, it embraces them, and it blooms only further. The only proof I have to offer is the one found in the eating of that symphonic pudding, but it’s one I suspect to be convincing enough. At least when a performance like this comes along.
The first movement started soft and nebulous, the crescendo turning it quickly into something rousing and dominant. The second movement ripped through with tightly controlled force and with special care lavished on transitions; everything was homogenous and organic, nothing jerky. Thielemann works out the compelling necessity of the music, that inevitability where a composition begins to sound as though it could only be written (and played) just as it is and how every note follows necessarily from the preceding ones.
It really isn’t a secret, and it certainly can’t be one to anyone who regularly hears symphonic orchestras in concert: the bigger the orchestra and the more string players, the more subtle and softer will the pianissimos be. The size of a huge, or even just very large, orchestra is not primarily a function of loudness (pace Elektra), but softness. And 30 violins well coordinated with 30 more lower strings (in the traditional German setting, seating first violins and basses stage right, second violins and violas stage left) bring the greatest tenderness to the fore with more ease than a smaller band ever could. And if forced to chose between tenderness and authenticity, I’ll chose the former in that third movement – Adagio molto e cantabile – as was the case here. (Now if flutes and reeds had melded into another a little more, that movement – 18 luxuriously long minutes – might have come yet closer to perfection.)
No performance can win the listener over on account of a great last movement alone, but many a performance falls with a mediocre one. The Munich performance didn’t fall, but it stumbled over mere adequacy where excellence was expected. Krassimira Stoyanova (soprano), Lioba Braun (mezzo), Steve Davislim (tenor), Guido Jentjens (bass), and the Philharmonic Choir of Munich (director Andreas Herrmann) proved good enough not to dilute a great impression, but didn’t add to the ecstasy.
When it comes to recordings, there must be two to three hundred different versions available. Two dozen versions of Furtwängler and Karajan each are available on ArkivMusic alone, though many are simply different editions of the same performance. The genesis of the recordings of the Ninth Symphony doesn’t start with Furtwängler (chronologically it starts with Oscar Fried, later with Felix Weingartner and Arturo Toscanini), but he seems the epicenter whenever discussion of “great Ninths” comes up. Enthusiasts must disregard issues of sound and fidelity to listen through (sometimes excruciating) noise to dissect the genius that Furtwängler injected into his interpretations. Heated discussions can erupt over the various merits of post-war (’54 Lucerne or ’51 Bayreuth?) vs. war-performances (March 22nd or April 19th 1942?). Relaxed geniality in the former but greater intensity in the latter, are the claims. The Furtwängler-Society website gives plenty information about his available recordings, but it’s quite confusing.
Probably the most famous recording is the one from July 29th 1951 in Bayreuth. Recorded by EMI and re-issued numerous times. Every detail has been scrutinized here, the last drop of greatness wrung out, adding to the posthumous reputation of Furtwängler. It won’t hurt his, but maybe some of the critics’ reputation, that it now turns out to have been made partly with rehearsal segments and ‘improved’ on the soundboard (Henry Fogel, in Fanfare, notices an added crescendo in the fourth movement). It came out when Bavarian Radio tapes were found and compared to the well known EMI recording. A recording based on these tapes – “pure Furtwängler”, if you will – is now available through the Furtwängler Society of America, though I suspect it is identical with the new Archipel recording 0401.
I try to appreciate something in all of these recordings and, unlike with the Toscanini interpretations, I can occasionally glean their greatness. But before I or you get caught in the crossfire of the Lucerne, Bayreuth, Salzburg (October 31st, ‘51), Vienna (May 30th, ‘53) or Berlin factions, I recommend leaving the issue well behind and getting a modern recording of which there are plenty great ones, none of which the ears have to strain to get the musical essence.
You can hear the choral Finale (”Ode to Joy”) of the Ninth Symphony, conducted by Emil DeCou on July 31st at the Wolf Trap. At that concert, subtly titled “Beethoven’s Best”, you will also encounter the Fifth - “Emperor” - Piano Concerto (Joyce Yang), the Leonore Overture No. 3, and selections from Fidelio.
Sunday, 7.13.08, 6:00 am
New Releases: CDs
Seven Words, Finally
"New Releases" posts are regular columns that feature reviews of new CDs that are, for one reason or another, truly outstanding among the many I come across every month.
Heinrich Schütz* (1585-1672), Charles Gounod (1818-1893), César Franck (1822-1890), Théodore Dubois (1837-1924), Charles Tornemiere (1870-1939), Ruth Zechlin (1926-2007), Sofia Gubaidulina (*1931), and James MacMillan (*1959) all composed works based on the Seven Last Words of Christ. But the most famous version of the “Seven Last Words” is clearly Haydn’s.
Or perhaps versions would be more appropriate, since Haydn wrote “Les sept dernières paroles de notre Rédempteur sur la Croix” for orchestra first (1786/97), then later appended it with a choral part (after 1791). Presumably – though not certainly – from Haydn’s pen comes the transcription for String Quartet, which has entered the Haydn String Quartet canon without controversy. And there is a version for keyboard which isn’t Haydn’s own, but was proof-read and approved by him.
The “seven last words”, taken from the Gospels of Mark, Luke, and John and put into presumed chronological order, form a sort of short-hand interpretation of the crucifixion for Catholics. They are:
- Pater, dimitte illis; quia nesciunt, quid faciunt – “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34)
- Hodie mecum eris in paradise – “Verily, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43)
- Mulier, ecce filius tuus – “Woman, behold your son. (Behold your mother)” (John 19:26-27)
- Deus meus, Deus meus, utquid dereliquisti me? – “Eli Eli lama sabachthani” [My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?] (Mark 15:34 and Matthew 27:46)
- Sitio – “I thirst” (John 19:28)
- Consumatum est! – “It has been done!” [It has been completed] (John 19:30)
- In manus tuas, Domine, commendo Spiritum meum – “Into Thy hands I command my spirit” (Luke 23:46)
Haydn’s challenge was to compose seven meditative instrumental movements for the bishop of Cádiz, each to follow one of his contemplations on one of these words on Good Friday. Seven Adagios of just under 10 minutes each in a row – eight, if you count the Maestoso ed Adagio introduction – could make for some very turgid listening. But Haydn was well aware of that, for one, and secondly he was a master of the slow movement. The result was one of Haydn’s own proudest achievements and the enduring popularity especially of the ‘naked’ string quartet version proves him right. He created a work that defies convention and strikes as modern yet old-fashioned at once. Or neither – and instead as timeless.
No wonder a fair number of string quartets flock to this composition. The Griller, Talich, Fitzwilliam, Lindsay, and Guarneri string quartets have recorded it over their careers. In 2001 the Emerson String Quartet threw its hat in the ring with a slightly ‘enhanced’ version (the only Haydn recording of them that I like – perhaps because humor isn’t terribly important in the “Seven Words”). The Ysaÿe String Quartet put out a wonderful, slightly romantic, version interpolated with spoken mediations (in French), and my favorite quartet in Haydn, the Quatuor Mosaïque, has recorded them, too. Most recently, the Klenke Quartet(t) added their version, a live recording, for Berlin Classics.
I first noted the all-female Klenke Quartet when I came across their terrific Mozart cycle of the “Haydn-Quartets” on Profil; next to the Quatour Mosaique’s cycle now my favorite recordings thereof. It shouldn’t surprise that their latest offering convinces wholly as well, even as it will not be everyone’s preferred version. Direct comparison to a favorite version of mine – the Rosamunde Quartet’s on ECM – is telling.
Where the Klenke’s tone is flexible, offering a good amount of vibrato, the Rosamunde Quartet is more matter-of-fact, with a straight forward and unsentimental reading. The latters’ is a true lament, the Klenke’s subversively romantic. With a rounder, more luxurious sound and a touch more reverb, the live Klenke recording offers a gentler view and a bit more humanity.
Annegret Klenke’s first violin sounds more nasal than Andreas Reiner’s, and she floats above her colleagues; whereas the Rosamunde remains a tight cohesive whole, even where the melodic material is unevenly distributed. And– perhaps a matter of live recording vs. studio recording, perhaps a matter of style–the Rosamunde Quartet’s intonation is dead-on whereas the Klenke Quartet bends the sound here and there, sometimes dropping slightly flat in a flexible, bungee-like way. (Interestingly, many of the qualities that made their Mozart so irresistible are better represented by the Rosamunde Quartet in this work.)
The Klenke Quartet might not ‘indulge’ per se, but its slow tempos remind a little of the Emerson without achieving their rhythmic rigor but offering a broader flow. This is particularly notable with “Sitio”, the fifth sonata, where the Klenke Quartet takes 11:31 to the Rosamunde’s 7:57. The concluding movement depicting the earthquake – “Il terremoto” – starts out nice and dark but then fails to be, well, earth-shattering. Alas, that is a problem shared with most, if not all, versions for string quartet. It’s recommended for their flexible tone, and to those who like breath in already broad movements. Those who prefer something that lets the music speak more plainly – less an interpretation rather than musical excavation – will find more satisfaction from the way of playing the Rosamunde Quartet epitomizes.
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Thursday, 7.10.08, 6:00 am
New Releases: CDs
Aimez-vous Brahms? (Piano Concerto No.1, op.15)
"New Releases" posts are regular columns that feature reviews of new CDs that are, for one reason or another, truly outstanding among the many I come across every month.
Not liking Brahms is not an option for anyone involved in classical music – be it a musician, conductor, or critic. Brahms is always on the menu, and Brahms is permanently being recorded. A Brahms-aversion would be a little like a food critic with pronounced dislike for potatoes. And even if repeat encounters with his music don’t kindle a love with (all of) his music, they should at least lay the ground for some respect.
In the last months alone I’ve come across some two dozen recordings of his symphonies, serenades, piano works, variations, concertos, and sonatas on disc. In the concert hall I heard orchestral works of his at least seven times. With some skill one can hide from Tchaikovsky or avoid Rachmaninov – Brahms, however, is omnipresent, no matter the country or time of year.
Brahms’ first Piano Concerto op.15 is one of the perennially popular pieces. ArkivMusic currently lists over 70 different versions available on CD alone, and more, new recordings arrive every year. And if the d-minor concerto shows up less often in concert halls than you might think, it feels very present all the same.
For everyone whose love of Brahms is not yet properly developed, meanwhile, the reviewer of the second ever performance (Leipzig, 1859) has words that might ring true:
“A new composition has been carried to its grave… this invention had at no point anything arresting or soothing; its thoughts either crept along all worn-out or pallid, or they reared up in feverish anxiety only to collapse all the more exhaustedly. In one word: its feelings and inventions are unhealthy… This retching and plowing, jerking and yanking, this patching and tearing of phrases – mostly clichéd – has to be endured for over three quarters of an hour.”
A bit caustic, but too good not to quote at length.
A recent live experience for me was the sixth Academy Concert of the Bavarian State Orchestra, with Vladimir Fedoseyev conducting and Nikolai Lugansky* as the soloist. The first movement, despite the orchestra being at its least cohesive, was most pleasant, because it charged into the work instead of lumbering through that opening that remembers only after about four minutes that it is a piano concerto, not a symphony.
And isn’t that just the work’s problem: A concerto that so desperately wanted to be a symphony (indeed: was supposed to be a symphony), with 90 unnecessary opening bars of an overbearing, verbose maestoso that only reluctantly gives way to the sublime lyricism of the piano entry. A lyricism so divine that it doesn’t need that overblown contrast to make its delicately strong impact. But it goes on in exaggerated contrast, a musical quilt and – I repeat myself whenever writing about it – a concerto with great music, but not a great concerto. Which are all reasons why it is difficult for the concerto to retain the listener’s attention throughout.
That was true for Lugansky, too, although it is difficult to complain about anything when as fine a pianist as he handles the ivory. Everything played with feeling, panache, and elegant understatement. The unmannered and gracious contribution was very appealing – even where the music suggests that brute force might be necessary. Not so, here! Even agitated fortissimo moments were solved with stylish politeness. Not a bad choice for an interpretation, seeing that Lugansky’s tone impressed much more below forte than above. His transitions between conversational-bubbly and overtly dramatic, loud and soft were particularly high points.
On CD the Emmanuel Ax set was re-issued last year (fine, but not among the best). Notable new releases since are Cédric Tiberghien’s and Nicolas Angelich’s who both put the d-minor concerto down on disc. Tiberghien with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Jiři Bělohlávek (Harmonia Mundi), Nikolaus Angelich with Paavo Järvi and the Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra (Virgin).
Both of the latter are good recordings, and they are rather similar. The absence of exaggerations or erraticisms, a similar conception, and even similar sound quality makes pointing to distinct differences rather difficult. If it were not for Tiberghien’s ecstatic breathing in the slow movement, I might not yet - after a dozen listenings - be able to tell them apart in a blind test. There is none of the booming thickness of Ax/Levine, nor the dramatic extremes in which Bernstein and Krystian Zimerman (newly released on DVD by DG/Unitel) somehow manage to tell their story compellingly.
In that performance from Vienna (the second of Bernstein’s after the infamous collaboration with Glenn Gould where Bernstein delivered a disclaimer-speech beforehand – all caught on the live recording on Sony), and probably the slowest on record (~55 minutes), the conductor coaxes gently, thunders mightily, waxes lyrically, explodes angrily, and then bubbles along with Zimerman as if they played an episode of Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals. Bernstein/Zimerman explore extremes, pull and push, retch up the tension, then relax in the calmest possible ways. It’s Brahms in bold letters with plenty exclamation marks and it works surprisingly well.
Zimerman’s searching slow movement has the notes built upon each other as if he were carefully constructing a Bach fugue – with very little by way of horizontal line. It’s not ‘careful’ playing, but self-consciously deliberate - at least until he is caught up with by the orchestral tutti in monumental fashion. It may not be for everyone, but is distinctive and memorable.
The same cannot be said about Tiberghien or Angelich. Both accounts are plenty lovely, rousing in the final movement… and yet somewhat faceless. Their achievement might be that they resemble the Gilels/Jochum collaboration (DG). On that latter recording the contrast between the tensely wired and flowing calm, tightly aggressive and lovingly tender is Eugen Jochum’s triumphal contribution. Gilels needed some convincing before recording this concerto, but whatever his reservations were – he manages very well with the score. The album hasn’t without reason been considered a top choice for recordings of both of Brahms Piano Concertos since it came out in 1972.
Still, either of the new performances - and I’d give the Tiberghien/Bělohlávek the edge - will be more readily likable to more listeners than Zimerman/Bernstein, precisely because extremes are avoided. Both convince upon repeat listening with their cohesion of orchestra and pianist, and the BBC SO with a particularly generous sound on the Harmonia Mundi recording.
Tiberghien’s concerto is coupled with Bělohlávek taking on the op.56a Variations on a Theme of Haydn (which isn’t actually by Haydn), Angelich’s with nine Hungarian Dances for Piano 4 Hands. Both of which will find mention in a future posts on Brahms.
* Nikolai Lugansky will perform together with Vadim Repin on November 15th at the Kennedy Center.
Previous posts on Brahms have covered the Double Concerto, Symphony No.1, and Exposition Repeats.
Friday, 6.13.08, 6:00 am
New Releases: CDs
Bloch, Ernest
"New Releases" posts are regular columns that feature reviews of new CDs that are, for one reason or another, truly outstanding among the many I come across every month.
It is never too late to make good personal discoveries of great music. Indeed, there is something quite wonderful about finding these “new” gems and if there is anything regrettable to knowing more and more music it is the absence of these surprises. Just think of the envy you might feel of an interested music lover who gets to listen to Mozart’s c-minor Piano Concerto, or the Brahms Piano Quartet for the first time.
“Discoveries” that come late are no reason to be ashamed for alleged ‘previous ignorance’ (as if one could have known all the repertoire at the moment of one’s musical inception), but are to be embraced and cherished. The beauty of classical music – and in particular classical radio – is not the least due to its facilitating such discoveries.
Another way to happen upon new surprises was the act of aimless browsing in record stores, something that has become the privilege of those living in large, culture-focused cities. That’s how in 2004 I came upon what was a disc of such discovery for me: Bloch’s (four out of five) String Quartets in the superb recording of the Griller Quartet, then re-issued on Decca. (Which consequently made it onto my Best-of-2004 list.)
Ernest Bloch (1880–1959) was born in Geneva, educated in Belgium (where he was a student of Eugène Ysaÿe), and moved to the US during World War I, becoming a US citizen in 1924. He was the founding music director of the Cleveland Institute of Music. After a decade long sojourn to Switzerland he returned to the US where he spent his last 18 years in Oregon.
Now, knowing Bloch for more than just his exceptionally beautiful Schelomo concertino for cello and orchestra (or “Rhapsodie hébraïque pour violoncelle et grand orchestre”), I keep a keen eye out for any new Bloch CD to cross my desk. Hyperion’s recording of Bloch’s two Piano Quintets with the Golder String Quartet and Piers Lane is one such disc, as is Jenny Lin’s Hänssler Classic recording of Bloch’s quasi-Piano Concertos.
Jenny Lin plays these rarely heard works with the SWR Radio Orchestra Kaiserslautern (since merged with the RSO Saarbrücken and now operating as the German Radio Philharmonic Saarbrücken Kaiserlautern) under Jiři Stárek (a student of Ančerl and Talich). What thankful material this is.
Much of Bloch is woefully underrated – perhaps because of his seemingly erratic – back and forth – changes in style. There is no “early” or “late” Bloch in any meaningful way; he’s always bound to be neo-classicist here (enough to offend the apostles of modernism) and harmonically bold there (enough to drive away the champions of post-romantic tonality). Bloch’s idiom covers anything from romantic lyricism (aforementioned Schelomo being the best example) to neo-classicism (which, for highest possible terminological confusion combines an essentially romantic sound with baroque structure) to an acerbic, Shostakovichean, bite.
At once reminiscent of Ravel’s piano concerto, Miklós Rózsa, and Prokofiev, the 1949 Concerto Symphonique for Piano & Orchestra is a substantial piano concerto exceeding 40 minutes and chock full of intriguing ideas and moods. A very lively Allegro vivace is surrounded by those domineering outer movements that exude rambunctious force, puffed cheeks and all.
From 1925 comes the Concerto Grosso No.1 – and it’s a more modest work, perhaps didactical in intent, though not sound. Prelude, Dirge, Pastorale and Rustic Dances, and Fugue follow another in highly accessible order and form. I am reminded – especially in the Dirge – of English pastoralism (Vaughan Williams, perhaps), but that’s not to say that the almost 25 minutes are not well worth listening to.
The Scherzo fantasque for Piano & Orchestra finally was written for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and premiered in 1950 – part of the 70th birthday celebrations of the composer. Ravel is near, again, as is Gershwin and an early touch of Mussorgsky (via Ravel).
It took quite a bit longer than expected (too high expectations?) to take to the Quintets where Piers Lane joines Dene Olding (first violin), Dimity Hall (second violin), Irina Morozova (viola), and Julian Smiles (cello) of the Goldner String Quartet.
Easily appreciable though, and perhaps the ‘secret’ highlights of the Hyperion release, are the small, mostly early pieces for string quartet that are programmed between the two substantial quintets.
The Impressionistic works “Night” (about three minutes) and, also from 1923, “Landscapes” (a miniature three movement string quartet) are in the lyrical camp. “Night” gently rocks back and forth; a lullaby fit for cradling figures sprung from Tim Burton’s mind.
Paysages – “Landscapes” starts with a similar, all-pianissimo movement depicting, in the phrase of Glenn Gould, ‘the idea of north’; it had been inspired by Robert Flaherty’s film “Nanook of the North” . The second movement is fare meatier: Alpestre is a homage to his Swiss homeland that gives the viola juicy material to work with. Tongataboo, with faux-naïve stomping and entrancing rhythmic repetitions, is to evoke that tribal dances of Tonga and in doing so comes the closest to evoking the driving energy of Bartók in his string quartets.
The “Two Pieces” – a two movement string ‘quartetlet’ dedicated to the Griller Quartet – really consists of two very different and separate movements, composed in 1938 and ’50, respectively. Zany lyricism turns into astringency in the Andante moderato, before running out of steam in contemplative C-major. The Allegro molto is a vibrantly vivacious piece, moving along busily except for a little lyrical lacunae at its center, as if a structural inversion of the Andante.
Bloch was 33 years old when he composed the Piano Quintet no.1 – begun just after he started his position in Cleveland. At well over thirty minutes, it towers over the little string quartetlets and is nearly twice the length of his 1957 Piano Quintet no.2. It’s dark, wildly chugging along in whirls, and employs quarter tones. The second movement (Andante mistico) is more romantically inclined than the first, and cut from longer swaths of music that lead right into the third movement. That Allegro energico calls to memory the beginning of the opening Agitato, the rippling current running through it at a fast clip, sweeping and powerful, with the piano working in atmospheric ways underneath the busy, thorny passages of the strings. It peters out gently, consolingly – like the first of the Two Pieces – on a very deliberate, reiterated C-major chord.
Bloch composed the second Quintet for the opening of the Alfred Hertz Memorial Concert Hall at Berkeley and only two years before he died of colon cancer. A calmly, perhaps aimlessly, ruminating Andante sits between agitated, aggressively pulsing Animato first and Allegro third movement. Twelvetone-rows work within a tonal/modal language that no one would ever think of calling “a-tonal” just from listening to it. Rising figures buzz along, accompanied by little shrieks in the violins, doing their part to give the slow movement its serene, mystical quality. It moves attacka into the finale, an assertive movement similar to the first – before its last two of almost eight minutes end the Quintet very softly, in contemplative pp.
Sunday, 6.8.08, 6:00 am
Why Haydn Should be Mandatory
Haydn must not be given up to period specialists. Symphony orchestras more and more tend toward a niche program of exclusively romantic and post-romantic repertoire: from Beethoven to Sibelius and everything in between, with extra stops at Mahler and Shostakovich and occasional excursions to Philip Glass or John Adams.
But baroque music and increasingly classical period music as well are left to the devices of specialized performance groups – usually those that offer some form of Historically Informed Performance Practice (HIP).
The proliferation of original instrument – and modern instrument HIP – groups is a boon to music, generally. Ever since their performance quality has improved from questionable to outstanding, they offer musical joys that delight over and over again, quite regardless of performance ideology.
But if their prominence in Monteverdi, Marais, and even Mozart comes at the expense of important composers and periods being part of the repertoire of ‘regular’ symphony orchestras, then alarm bells should ring for two reasons.
The first is that the audience would lose much fine music played by what remains the primary musical body of a city. Mozart and Haydn and Bach sound different when a large symphonic orchestra (even with reduced forces) is at work. But that isn’t bad at all, it’s desirable diversity. HIP is to add to our enjoyment by offering comparison and choice – not by replacing the way we’ve heard this music for so long. As much as can be learned from small groups led by gut-strung violins, be it the Freiburg Baroque Orchstra, Academy of Ancient Music Berlin, or the Musica Antiqua Cologne, we can also learn and take away something from an orchestra that plays Ein Heldenleben in one half of a concert and then Mozart’s Jeunehomme Concerto or a Bach Orchestral Suite or a Haydn Symphony in the other.
To illustrate the high quality of music-making that can result from this (one we might run the danger of losing), nothing serves better than Josef Krips’ recordings of the Mozart Symphonies with the Concertgebouw Orchestra from 1972 and 73. This is Classical Music at its very finest. You won’t find Mozart anywhere else that is played with such lightness, radiating joy, and so being the epitome of musical tip-toeing. Yes, it sounds very different – luxuriously so – than Mozart coming from smaller, HIP groups, but not heavier per se, nor swooningly romantic.
Krips covers symphonies 21 to 41 and they are finally available separately again after having long shared box-set space with the unnecessary Neville Marriner-conducted early symphonies. Even with the excellent, moderately HIP Charles Mackerras / Prague set (Teldec) available, Krips should still be the first choice of any collection’s allotment for Mozart symphonies.
So much for the first reason, the possibility of delight that we deny ourselves when classical period music is ceded largely to small and specialist groups. The second and more important reason – and it cannot be made often enough – is that if a large, ‘generalist’ orchestra doesn’t play enough classical music on a regular basis and play it well, eventually it won’t be able to play romantic (much less baroque) music well anymore, either. The orchestra’s sound coagulates. Thickness enters in place of luxurious sonority; agility gives way to rigidity. A conductor will still be able to make the orchestra sound passable, but the orchestra won’t likely be able to adapt to a conductor’s particular conception of a work.
The Munich Philharmonic, known for its romantic, “old-Europe” sound that makes it stand out even among European orchestras that are more often said to be in the orchestral elite, is a good example of an orchestra that is – rightly – aware of the danger but also willing to something about it. Most recently Haydn’s Symphony No.80, nickname-less yet no less lovely than its more famous brethren, showed up on the program when Hartmut Haenchen took on the orchestra. Generous and lively, with expressive silences and delicacy amid the inevitable heft, this was nicely done, even if the third movement was perhaps a little heavy footed. It may well have been the ‘warm-up’ for the orchestra, but at least it didn’t sound like one.
Elsewhere in their 2007/2008 Season there was some Haydn under Markus Stenz, a Mozart Symphony under Thomas Hengelbrock, and a planned Mozart Piano Concerto to end the season with. Even under Hengelbrock, where the results were very fine, it was audible that this simply isn’t the MPhil’s natural strength. But knowing that without it their Bruckner (recently a brilliant Fourth with Thielemann) wouldn’t be their strength for much longer, either, it’s very much music to my ears.
The second part of that Haenchen concert, by the way, was given to Bartók’s Bluebeard – more of which later in the week, when I use it as an excuse to write about Marin Alsop’s recently issued recording of that opera.
Tuesday, 6.3.08, 6:00 am
What Not To Miss:
Washington’s Music Season 2008/09
(September - January)
Some time after the dearth and heat of Summer will have passed us, and life begins to blossom tenderly again in Washington, the 2008/2009 culture season begins – offering a tonic of delights and diversion. Here are then some of the most promising events of the first half of the season, between October and January. Since not everybody can or wants to go to a live performance every week, I have tried to be as selective as possible; concerts not mentioned here are not given short shrift, they will receive attention in monthly looks at WETA’s classical calendar.
Culturally things aren’t quite under way in September yet – except Marin Alsop conducting the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra in Mahler’s and Bernstein’s First Symphonies. Cross-connections abound: Bernstein and Mahler the conductor-composers, the latter one of the great interpreters of the former, now interpreted by one of Bernstein’s favorite students. Easily worth the trip to Strathmore on September 25th.
October is when things start moving in DC again, and the smart people return, having fled the unbearable climate. The NSO opens with a string of very promising concerts under then Principal Conductor (expanding from his position as Principal Guest Conductor until a successor to Leonard Slatkin is found) Iván Fischer. The most exciting of them is that of Mahler’s longest and most complex Symphony – the slightly strange yet awe-some Third. With his recordings and performances of Mahler having won great accolades so far, this series of concerts in the Kennedy Center’s Concert Hall between the 16h and 19th should not only attract every last Mahler-head in the region but everyone who goes in for orchestral (and choral) grandeur and splendor.
Marin Alsop and Leonard Bernstein once more: On October 26th she will bring her BSO down to Washington to present Lenny’s Mass (“A Theater Piece for Singers, Players, and Dancers”) at the Kennedy Center for the opening of which it was commissioned and where it was premiered in 1971. Great music? Maybe not – but certainly an enthralling amalgamate of styles and a musical event worth experiencing.
WPAS will already have presented András Schiff in Beethoven earlier in October, and while no piano-friend will miss that, it is Maurizio Pollini who should attract everyone’s attention. Even those who may not find all recordings equally great or think of him as an unemotional player really ought not to miss this. I’ve never heard Pollini live without it being a highlight of the season, and I have no reason to think it would be different now. The program hasn’t been announced yet – but who cares… it’s Pollini. He will play at the Strathmore Music Center on October 29th.
In November, one concert – a recital – looms above all others: Vadim Repin and Nikolai Lugansky will perform a program of Beethoven, Stravinsky, and Debussy at the Kennedy Center’s Concert Hall and if you go only to one more concert this year, you might as well make it that. Repin isn’t the most famous violinist because he isn’t the fanciest. He’s not a showman, nor into gimmicks or PR stunts. Worst of all, he’s fairly unassuming. And yet, if one had to give the hyperbolic title of “World’s Best Violinist” to any fiddler, he would be the least controversial choice. It is, I believe, the first time that he will play in Washington (he had played a concert and recital in Baltimore in 2005 and 2006), courtesy of WPAS. Tone, color, taste, and musical sensibility make hearing this violinist one of the most rewarding experiences Don’t miss him on November 15th.
Also not really to be missed is another WPAS concert, also at the Kennedy Center Concert Hall, just three days later: Gustavo Dudamel conducts the Israel Philharmonic in Mendelssohn’s and Brahms’ Fourth Symphony. Perhaps this will be the opportunity for Brahms-doubters to be swept away – because that’s what Dudamel does best. Even with orchestras that are not necessarily the crème de la crème, he can conjure excitement, momentum, and white heat that makes his concerts so memorable. Since it’s difficult – maybe impossible – to catch that presence on record, the live experience would be just the thing to check out what the talk about the LA Philharmonic’s next music director is all about.
Chamber music couldn’t be in eight better hands than the Takács Quartet, and the Corcoran Gallery in any case the best place to hear them. You can do so on November 9th.
That the concerts at the National Gallery are free of charge doesn’t keep them from being among the most valuable musical events of the season. It’s one of the reasons why Washington, a modestly cultured city when it comes to music, is a Mecca of great chamber music. Consider at least Till Fellner’s appearance on Sunday December 7th where he will continue to work on a Beethoven Sonata cycle-in-progress. Fellner is considered among the very finest Austrian pianists of his generation – not the least since his Bach recording of the Well Tempered Klavier (Book 1) for ECM became a runaway success. His Beethoven Cello Sonatas with Heinrich Schiff (Philips 1998, now part of Brilliant’s Beethoven Box) went unnoticed then, but provides more than a glimpse of his Beethoven-excellence.
In an otherwise thin month (unless you count Messiah performances as musical must-goes), the WPAS recital of Daniel Müller-Schott and Angela Hewitt stands out. Their target are those just mentioned Beethoven Cello Sonatas (nos.4 & 5) interspersed with Gamba Sonatas of Bach (nos.2 & 3). The latter corresponds with an Orfeo recording of the two artists that came out a year ago. The recital takes place at Sidney Harman Hall on December 15th.
For lovers of the voice one of the most attractive concerts in the first half of the 08/09 Season might well be Alessandra Marc’s at the National Gallery on December 21st where she will undoubtedly attempt to bring down the West Garden Court again – possibly literally and hopefully metaphorically.
If we consider January also to be part of the first half of the season, the events not to be missed are probably Ilan Volkov’s three all-20th-century concerts with the NSO from the 15th to the 17th. Leiv-Ove Andsness will play Rachmaninov’s barn-storming Third Piano Concerto surrounded by Stravinksy’s Jeu de cartes and – most tantalizing – George Crumb’s 1984 A Haunted Landscape. One of the great living American composers, Crumb’s musical idiom cannot be considered easy listening, but neither is he an unapologetic apostle of noise. Just a little bit of active interest in contemporary music should make his music a welcome challenge to the ears. Highly recommended to all those with a curiosity about 20th century music beyond Rachmaninov.
Even with Schiff and Pollini offering their art, I am even more intrigued by the WPAS organized recital of Yevgeni Sudbin on the 24th. Not just because of a wonderfully diverse and interesting program of Scarlatti, Haydn, Medtner, Chopin, and Ravel – but also because the opportunity of hearing him at the Kennedy Center’s Terrace Theater. Catch him there while he still ‘fits’ into such relatively small and intimate (and acoustically fabulous) venues!
Wednesday, 5.28.08, 6:00 am
New Releases: CDs
Schumann and Gerhaher at Home in the Lied
"New Releases" posts are regular columns that feature reviews of new CDs that are, for one reason or another, truly outstanding among the many I come across every month.
Before I will turn to orchestral Schumann again (the Fourth Symphony in particular), a new Schumann release merits attention that deals with the genre in which no one would ever attest Schumann anything less than complete mastery: that of the Art Song. After composing exclusively for the piano, Schumann hit upon the Lied in 1840 and produced nearly 170 songs in just that year, exceeding in quantity all that had come before. Only after that song-phase did he tackle other genres. In 1841 he started Das Paradies und die Peri, wrote his first Symphony, and began with the Piano Concerto. in 1842 he wrote the three String Quartets and the Piano Quintet.
If I were to agree with the sentiment that above all those other genres (except the works for solo piano) stand Schumann’s songs, then only because they are so extraordinary - not because his other work is inherently lacking. That the songs are truly great is exemplified by the latest Schumann release on RCA.
“Especially late Schumann! The darker, the better.” That’s – roughly – baritone Christian Gerhaher’s musical preference. “Gruftmusik (Crypt-music) is what it’s really at, ain’t it” was Heinz Holliger’s comment in coy approval to his friend’s, Gerhaher’s, predilection for the torn, near-demented, struggling, and often morbid songs that came from periods in Schumann’s life that must have known harrowing darkness.
In an interview from last year he admits that this is not (at) all audience-friendly material and he won’t likely be able to throw together a program only of favorite songs if tickets are to be sold. But RCA, his record company, has indulged him – and very tellingly produced a marvelous and marvelously dark recording that opens with Melancholie op.74/6 and closes with Der Einsiedler (“The Recluse”) from Drei Gesänge, op.83 and Tief im Herzen trag’ ich Pein (“Deep within, my heart contains anguish”), from Spanische Liebeslieder op.132.
Between these two capstones is a very generous recital (73 minutes, total) of the Eichendorff Liederkreis op.39, the five op.40 songs on H.C.Anderson and Chamisso poems, Sechs Gedichte aus dem Liederbuch eines Malers op.36, and three rarely found selections from the “Songs from Wilhelm Meister” op.98a. The only section I half expected to find and didn’t, is op.64, no.3 – Tragödie.
Other than that, Gerhaher didn’t skip very many gloomy minutes of Schumann – and if you didn’t think of some of the included songs as particularly grim – An den Sonnenschein (“To Sunshine” or Nicht’s Schöneres (“Nothing More Lovely”) – you will, after hearing Gerhaher’s interpretation.
He does grim better than anyone, he is the master of bleak, a prince of austerity. All along he also has a voice that, the more I hear of it, the more it seems absolutely made for Lieder. It is never casual (a quality I also like) but it is very natural, strong enough when necessary yet gentle, relaxed, not dense. It’s just a little ‘learned’, but not the kind of professorial singing that seems to communicate: “This is how Schumann ought to be sung.” Intellectually stilted pathos isn’t his métier, and if his singing sounds rather serious, it’s essence is a pleasant humility.
It’s titillating how successful this combination of “high art” and naturalness is. Tastes change – but for the time being I find his singing (rather than just “his voice”) more attractive than that of Goerne, Quasthoff, Höll, Terfel, and – yes – Fischer-Dieskau. The only singer I might currently prefer in this territory is a tenor – Werner Güra (who may not have had much opportunity to shine in a Matthew Passion I’ve heard him in this Easter, but who has recorded a nice little Mozart CD recently. You can hear them together in Harnoncourt’s 2007 Christmas Oratorio – studded with the best available singers and one of the better recently released recordings of that work).
The choice of songs and their order is fine and – forget the ‘gloomy-talk’ for a second – make for happy listening in one sitting. And hitting the repeat button a few times, too. Lesser known pieces are dotted between ‘standards’. (If Dichter’s Genesung (op.36/5) seems familiar, it’s probably because it is very similar to Die beiden Granadiere and Belsatzar.) As on his previous CDs or in recital, Gerhaher forms one logical and expressive unit with Gerold Huber whom Gerhaher accompanies. He ‘disappears’ in the music – not because he is timid but because he inseparably a part of it, a Lieder-pianist: decidedly not a mere accompanist and neither intruding on the songs with self-conscious flashes of virtuosity.
Saturday, 5.24.08, 6:00 am
Aimez-vous Brahms? (Double Concerto, op.102)
"Library Building" posts are reviews of recordings I find to be essential to every good collection of classical music - recordings of interpretations that are the touchstone for their repertoire.
When Renaud (violin) and Gautier (cello) Capuçon presented Brahm’s Double Concerto in Washington in February of 2007, they played it so well – a burnished sound, swift execution, musically sensitive, and with such a complete understanding of each other – that at least for the duration of the performance I thought that the “Double must be Brahms’ best concerto. As if I needed to be disabused of that notion, I recently heard a performance with Daniel Hope and Antonio Menses that was in equal measure appalling as the Capuçon’s was delightful.
Brahms’ last concerto – op.102, in a-minor, written in 1887 – may not exceed his other four concertos in popularity, but when it is played by artists who pull off intimate chamber-music cooperation as well as grand romantic gesture, it attains a measure of greatness that would have me at least rank it above both Piano Concertos – not the least because it sounds so much more coherent than they, especially that (genial) quilt that is the d-minor Concerto.
The Double Concerto started out as a cello concerto for Robert Hausmann, cellist in the Joachim Quartet. At the time of writing it, there had been a painful silence between Brahms and his good friend Joseph Joachim (the violinist for whom and with whom the Violin Concerto was written and a tireless champion of Brahms) because Brahms sided with Joachim’s wife during the couple’s 1880 divorce. Uncomfortable with this unwanted cooling of their relationship, Brahms thought it might be considered a further slight if he wrote a concerto for Hausmann – also a friend of Joachim’s – while ignoring Joachim, who had always wanted another violin concerto from him
Solving the dilemma, Brahms added the violin to Hausmann’s cello concerto and turned it into the unique form of concerto for Violin, Cello, and orchestra*. A construct with few precedents – namely Beethoven’s Triple Concerto, Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante (essentially a double concerto for violin and viola), the Bach Double Concertos (variously for violin and harpsichord) and possibly Haydn’s Sinfonia Concertante (for violin, cello, oboe, and bassoon). In writing to Hausmann of the violin ‘intrusion’ on his concerto, Brahms expressed his hope that Hausmann wouldn’t “ungraciously [take] offence at the fact that [he, Brahms, had] added a violin part to a violoncello concerto.” Hausmann didn’t mind, and the Cello remains primus inter pares in this concerto in any case – notable right from the opening cello cadenza. But as often as not, the two instruments are used as if an extension of each other, which lead Max Kalbeck, Brahms friend and biographer, to speak of an “8-stringed mammoth-violin” when referring to the Double Concerto’s solo parts. The concerto took Brahms plenty effort and wasn’t very well received at its premiere. A fact that pained Brahms. But it was worth it alone for bringing him and Joachim back together.
Not unlike the Violin Concerto, the Double Concerto is very ‘symphonic’ – dominated by the orchestra with interludes for soloists. The excessive amount of double stops for both solo instruments contributes, at anything less than the most lucid level of performance, to a grating impression, rather than a lyrical one.
Since there are around six dozen performances available on CD, with almost any combination of great cellists and violinists, the Double Concerto can be enjoyed at its best in a variety of ways. Classic recordings are Heifetz / Piatigorsky – Wallenstein, RCA (Heifetz sadly rushing Piatigorksy around, essentially hijacking the concerto), Milstein / Piatigorsky – Reiner, RCA (now the gruff nobility of Piatigorsky’s really comes through), Oistrakh / Fournier – Galliera, EMI (probably overrated, but Fournier’s most melodic take of the concerto), and Oistrakh / Rostropovich – Szell, EMI (the better half of the famous-if-flawed Beethoven Triple Concerto recording).
But most intriguing are perhaps two recent issues: Julia Fischer in her second-to-last recording for Pentatone (she’s since become a Decca artist) together with Daniel Müller-Schott (who appears to be the go-to cellist for any variety of great musicians: Fischer previously, Mutter, Hewitt, and Steinbacher) – and Le Frères Capuçon with the Gustav Mahler Youth Orchestra (GMJO) under Myung-Whun Chung on Virgin Classics.
The Fischer and Müller-Schott Double Concerto with the Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra Amsterdam under Yakov Kreizberg might be overshadowed by the excellent Brahms (which I had promised to write about in October and will finally get to in the next few weeks) that comes first on this CD, but it shouldn’t be. Fleet and clean, with perfection delivered from both soloists (so very important in all the exposed and double-stop enriched passages) and genial, supportive playing from the orchestra. Fischer and Müller-Schott truly work together as equals. A particular joy is the similarity in their approach: a virile flexibility that’s never thick and always impeccable, the light buoyancy in the third movement. None of the performers linger at any point – not even those where one might reasonably milk a little from the romanticism. Especially for those who find the concerto to have inapproachable or joyless moments (Richard Specht, after its Cologne premiere), that’s only a plus. This is easily one of the finest recordings of the work to date.
Unfortunately the recording of the Capuçon brothers, much as I was looking forward to it, doesn’t quite live up to the same standard – perhaps because Virgin relied on live performances. Critical response to this has varied wildly. On the positive side an Editor’s Choice Award in the February issue of Grammophone (Fischer’s was the Recording of the Month in August 07) and MusicWeb International’s Tim Perry raving about outer movements that “surge with wild abandon” and a central movement that “heaves and sighs with passionate longing. Every phrase is surprising here, emerging with the freshness of new adventure.”
On the negative side Jerry Dubins in Fanfare calls Gautier’s opening lines “the most protracted and misshapen interpretations” he’s ever heard, “his intonation unbelievably off center [–] just listen how sharp he goes on the second and third notes.” Perry’s ‘Surge and wild abandon’, to Dubbin’s ears, are instead indicative of “both players scrambling for notes and messing up badly.” Nor is Dubbins much enamored by the “soft-centered and flabby” orchestral contribution.
If only it were either: quite so bad, or truly marvelous.
Perhaps I’ve been hardened against players ‘messing up badly’ in the double stops (courtesy Meneses/Hope), but Gautier isn’t “unbelievably off”, he’s slightly off. Unfortunately he’s also slightly off – together with his brother – in the third movement. That’s easier to ignore live, where the moment passes once and forever, but on recording it reoccurs on every listen. At some point the anticipation of it becomes worse than the actual flaw.
The grittier style of the Capuçon’s emphasizes the broad, romantic body of the concerto, but not the contrasts between orchestra and chamberesque soloists. The two play well together, but the harmony I remember from their appearance with the NSO is not as notable. The wonderful GMJO is surprisingly bland under Chung, but they audibly try to get something going. If this performance (coupled with a marvelous Clarinet Quintet, by the way) is a disappointment, then only as set against the high expectations – not as set against most of the competition. I only wish that Virgin had splurged on a studio recording with them, or at least live recordings not played ‘on the road’ (Salzburg, Graz, Vienna). It could have been so marvelous.
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Proving that it is difficult to get this work done without flaws when played live are Gidon Kremer and Mischa Maisky who performed this in September 1982 as part of Leonard Bernstein’s Brahms cycle recorded for Deutsche Grammophon and filmed for Unitel. The recordings were re-released in the “Bernstein Collector’s Edition” in 2004 and are now available on DVD through DG/Unitel.
The entire series is interesting not the least because of Bernstein’s variously extensive talks about the pieces he performs,. These talks are are in equal measure charming, insightful, and touchingly outdated. Watching Bernstein conduct his thoughts with a cigarette is, in any case, a encouraging antidote to the antiseptic political correctness that fears all exposure to ‘vice’ must be carefully excised from our lives and our little ones. The performances are bold Brahms with the Vienna Philharmonic, emphasizing the disparate elements of the melodic and the torn. (Bernstein takes care to emphasize the “duality” in Brahms – that of bourgeois, even hedged romanticism and vigorous anger.
Maisky and Kremer (who is more compelling in his remake with Clemens Hagen and Harnoncourt) fit themselves nicely into Bernstein’s broad Brahms, his generous Andante and the expansive Vivace non troppo. Especially that latter is a curious joy for taking the cautionary “non troppo” serious as regards timing (9:21 in telling contrast to Kreizberg’s 8:16) and yet offering unbridled liveliness. There are a few sour violin moments in the Finale, largely on Kremer’s part: present enough to bother if being bothered is what one wants, subtle enough to overlook, otherwise.
I never much cared for orchestra-only DVDs, in part because I get restless and impatient watching them. The visual of the concert experience without actually experiencing it is as useful to me as watching a documentary about the smell of flowers. Does anyone else feel similarly? For those – and given that the sound comes from the stereo and not (presumably) tinny TV speakers – the trick might be to treat the picture as a nice ‘feature on the side’, ignorable and enriching the aural image with the visual element whenever glanced at.
To whom the image isn’t important, nor the introductory talks essential, Bernstein the passionate Brahmsian is more economically discovered through the $40 5-CD set. $120 more will get you the DVD box (also available in four separate units) which adds the picture, introductions, both piano concertos with Krystian Zimerman, and the Second Serenade.
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* Brahms has found many imitators in the hundred-some years since. Notable double concertos for Violin and Cello include those of Kurt Atterberg, Richard Danielpour, Fritz Delius, Tigran Mansurian, Ned Rorem, Alfred Schnittke, and Ellen Taaffe Zwilich.
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About Brahms so far:
Aimez-vous Brahms? - Symphony No.1
Monday, 5.19.08, 5:55 pm
Schumann, Incompetent Genius?
The old canard is that Schumann knew a thing or two about melodies, songs, and the piano, but when it came to orchestrating his ambitious symphonies, he was out of his depth. Admittedly he wasn’t a master orchestrator, simply for lack of experience and training. But as early as the 1950’s, as part of the Music Appreciation Series analyses, Leonard Bernstein felt compelled to defend Schumann against the happily parroted accusation of his alleged clunky and thick scoring. (It’s easier to answer the ‘clunky’ charge than that against the texture, which can be dense.) Schumann, played just right, can develop an inner glow - radiating from the strings and brass outward - that is unique and wonderful, whether he had intended it so or not.