"New" Music Log
Posted by: Todd A on 31 May 2008
Here's a link to the prior thread, which itself has a link.
I find Einojuhani Rautavaara a reliable composer. I’ve picked up a number of recordings of his music over the past five or six years, and with the exception of his dull opera Rasputin, I’ve always like what I heard. So I picked up the Naxos disc of his second and third piano concertos and the small orchestral work Isle of Bliss with relatively high expectations. I was satifisfied.
The disc opens with Isle of Bliss, which is based on a poem by the Finnish poet Aleksis Kivi. (The inspiration for one of Rautavaara’s finest works, the opera Aleksis Kivi.) The compact tone poem opens vigorously and joyously, and quickly segues into a lush, dreamy, and appropriately slower sound world, with the winds carefully and delicately evoking bird calls, something so dear to this composer and critical in this work, what being based on the poem Home of the Birds. As the work continues to unfold, the work seems to take on a calm, and, well, blissful feel. It’s a fine work, and almost strikes me as something a cooler Richard Strauss may have written had he been informed by 1990s ideas.
The next work is the third piano concerto, Gift of Dreams, originally dedicated to Vladimir Ashkenazy, who has recorded it. Here the pianist is Laura Mikkola. Anyhoo, the opening Tranquillo, as the title suggests, opens calmly, with lovely, soothing string playing of a New Age-cum-Romanticism sort – but in a good way. The piano enters gently, with sparse notes, but then it picks up until a long run ushers in the winds then brass. I detected the rather obvious influence of Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto (a very good thing!) and even hints of Rachmaninov. (It was written for Ashkenazy, so that only makes sense.) The piano writing becomes dazzling, though never over the top. The Adagio assai is slow, calm, and a bit cool at the open, with the pianist this time coming right to the forefront. In such an environment excess would not do, so excess there is not. As the movement progresses the music becomes more vigorous, with especially tasty swirls in the high strings and drive in the lower strings, with rumbling timpani helping to ratchet up the intensity in the middle. Then it calms down a bit, revealing a conservative overall structure. The concluding Energico is more, um, energetic, with both the soloist and band getting to let loose a bit. With drum thwacks aplenty, and pulsing string playing, and virtuosic piano writing and playing, the work ends with a standard concerto finale, though one that fades away nicely at the end. All the while the work possesses that unique Rautavaara sound, with lush sounds informed by prickly compositional devices, all merged into a most satisfying package. Having heard all three of Rautavaara’s piano concertos, I must say that I like this one the most.
The disc closes with the fine second piano concerto. The opening In Viaggio starts of sparse, with a bass emphasized orchestra underpinning shimmering piano figurations that continue while the whole orchestra begins to play. The first solo part for the pianist isn’t much more than a continuation of the opening material, though as the orchestra reenters and the whole work develops, the piano part also develops. The orchestral writing itself becomes more potent, with prominent percussion and swelling strings. A nice, beefy opener. The Sognando e libero opens with comparatively gentle, ruminative piano playing and orchestral playing to match, though the strings sting a bit, hints of unease in the air. Then everything speeds up, building to a powerful climax before subsiding. The concluding Uccelli sulle passion finds Ms Mikkola playing knotty, almost neo-Schoenbergian piano music solo, and then when the orchestra plays, it’s in a gliding, undulating fashion, with the strings notable again for their beauty and bite. The piano plays in a similar fashion throughout, in what sounds to be challenging writing. It’s hard to tell if the soloist is now the accompanist at times, but both band and soloist take to the fore from time to time. Rautavaara’s distinctive wind writing (usually ascending solo bursts) pop up here and there, and the whole thing fades away to nothingness. This is a very knotty piece, but it’s also very approachable.
Indeed, that may be the key to the success of this disc and of Rautavaara generally. His music is both modern and respects (and borrows from) tradition. He’s not afraid to write something dense, gnarly, and rigorous. But he’s also not afraid to write beautiful music. And he has the ability to make even serial music conventionally beautiful. These three works all reinforce his talents. That’s why I find him to be one of the greatest of composers active in the last two or three decades.
As to the performers, Ms Mikkola does a superb job, and Eri Klas and his Dutch band far more than ably support her. Superb sound rounds out a superb disc.
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I find Einojuhani Rautavaara a reliable composer. I’ve picked up a number of recordings of his music over the past five or six years, and with the exception of his dull opera Rasputin, I’ve always like what I heard. So I picked up the Naxos disc of his second and third piano concertos and the small orchestral work Isle of Bliss with relatively high expectations. I was satifisfied.
The disc opens with Isle of Bliss, which is based on a poem by the Finnish poet Aleksis Kivi. (The inspiration for one of Rautavaara’s finest works, the opera Aleksis Kivi.) The compact tone poem opens vigorously and joyously, and quickly segues into a lush, dreamy, and appropriately slower sound world, with the winds carefully and delicately evoking bird calls, something so dear to this composer and critical in this work, what being based on the poem Home of the Birds. As the work continues to unfold, the work seems to take on a calm, and, well, blissful feel. It’s a fine work, and almost strikes me as something a cooler Richard Strauss may have written had he been informed by 1990s ideas.
The next work is the third piano concerto, Gift of Dreams, originally dedicated to Vladimir Ashkenazy, who has recorded it. Here the pianist is Laura Mikkola. Anyhoo, the opening Tranquillo, as the title suggests, opens calmly, with lovely, soothing string playing of a New Age-cum-Romanticism sort – but in a good way. The piano enters gently, with sparse notes, but then it picks up until a long run ushers in the winds then brass. I detected the rather obvious influence of Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto (a very good thing!) and even hints of Rachmaninov. (It was written for Ashkenazy, so that only makes sense.) The piano writing becomes dazzling, though never over the top. The Adagio assai is slow, calm, and a bit cool at the open, with the pianist this time coming right to the forefront. In such an environment excess would not do, so excess there is not. As the movement progresses the music becomes more vigorous, with especially tasty swirls in the high strings and drive in the lower strings, with rumbling timpani helping to ratchet up the intensity in the middle. Then it calms down a bit, revealing a conservative overall structure. The concluding Energico is more, um, energetic, with both the soloist and band getting to let loose a bit. With drum thwacks aplenty, and pulsing string playing, and virtuosic piano writing and playing, the work ends with a standard concerto finale, though one that fades away nicely at the end. All the while the work possesses that unique Rautavaara sound, with lush sounds informed by prickly compositional devices, all merged into a most satisfying package. Having heard all three of Rautavaara’s piano concertos, I must say that I like this one the most.
The disc closes with the fine second piano concerto. The opening In Viaggio starts of sparse, with a bass emphasized orchestra underpinning shimmering piano figurations that continue while the whole orchestra begins to play. The first solo part for the pianist isn’t much more than a continuation of the opening material, though as the orchestra reenters and the whole work develops, the piano part also develops. The orchestral writing itself becomes more potent, with prominent percussion and swelling strings. A nice, beefy opener. The Sognando e libero opens with comparatively gentle, ruminative piano playing and orchestral playing to match, though the strings sting a bit, hints of unease in the air. Then everything speeds up, building to a powerful climax before subsiding. The concluding Uccelli sulle passion finds Ms Mikkola playing knotty, almost neo-Schoenbergian piano music solo, and then when the orchestra plays, it’s in a gliding, undulating fashion, with the strings notable again for their beauty and bite. The piano plays in a similar fashion throughout, in what sounds to be challenging writing. It’s hard to tell if the soloist is now the accompanist at times, but both band and soloist take to the fore from time to time. Rautavaara’s distinctive wind writing (usually ascending solo bursts) pop up here and there, and the whole thing fades away to nothingness. This is a very knotty piece, but it’s also very approachable.
Indeed, that may be the key to the success of this disc and of Rautavaara generally. His music is both modern and respects (and borrows from) tradition. He’s not afraid to write something dense, gnarly, and rigorous. But he’s also not afraid to write beautiful music. And he has the ability to make even serial music conventionally beautiful. These three works all reinforce his talents. That’s why I find him to be one of the greatest of composers active in the last two or three decades.
As to the performers, Ms Mikkola does a superb job, and Eri Klas and his Dutch band far more than ably support her. Superb sound rounds out a superb disc.
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I had immense success when I picked up the Naxos Nancarrow “sampler” and the complete works for player piano on Wergo, so I figured I might as well go for the new-ish disc of his string quartets (and other works) played by the Arditti Quartet on Wergo. While this is a fine disc it’s not quite as good as the other recordings I mentioned. The reason is plain enough; the bottom line is that Nancarrow was simply better at writing for the player piano and other small ensembles than he was at writing for the more conventional string quartet medium.
Don’t get me wrong: there’s plenty to enjoy. The music is gnarly and modern in a nice heavy duty way, but it also maintains Nancarrow’s generally lighter, sunnier overall feel. Competition for late LvB these works are not. Meticulous attention is paid to each instrument, and the musical arguments are dense. Some fun music pops up here and there – as one would expect from Nancarrow – but I guess I wanted more. The fillers, including arrangements of some of the player piano studies made by Nancarrow and others, fall into the same category. There’s a really nice, brief Toccata for violin and player piano which seems to jump to life a bit more, and the closing Trilogy for Player Piano shows where Nancarrow is most at home.
The Arditti play superbly, as one would expect, and sound is superb too. I definitely rate this disc a success and think that Nancarrow fans will like it. It just doesn’t match up to his (formidable) best works. That’s a tall order, though.
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So far in all my listening I’ve heard very little Michael Tippett – only the symphonies. I wasn’t uniformly impressed, particularly with the one with faux voices or breathing or whatever in it. (It’s been years since I listened to it.) But I figured I might as well try something else, and this disc of two of the piano sonatas and the Piano Concerto was quite handy. I enjoy John Ogdon’s pianism for the most part, so I figured he’d make the most of the works here.
The disc opens with the first Piano Sonata, and it’s quite good in a generic, modernist sort of way. It’s complex and dense, with nice contrasts in rhythm and dynamics, along with some bite, yet it retains enough traditional melodic and harmonic elements (and four movement structure), or something approximating them, to be quite accessible. It’s not of Prokofiev quality, say, but it’s a nice listen. The next work is the second Piano Sonata, which is a more complex yet, more avant garde, with harsh dissonance and ragged rhythm. A less comfortable listen, and a bit less persuasive, too. If I go this route, I’m thinking Schoenberg is more to my taste.
The disc ends with the Piano Concerto, which is the best work on the disc. Again, it’s definitely “modern,” but it’s also approachable. The overall feeling is on the upbeat side, and there’s energy aplenty. Orchestration is handled deftly, with some nifty wind writing; some rather, well, British sounding brass parts (hard to describe, but I don’t think anyone would say some of the fanfares sound French); and string writing that is both attractive and piquant. In the opening movement one can hear the influence of Bartok in places, as well as some other composers, though the Hungarian’s influence is most audible. I’ll definitely give this work a spin in the future, but I must say that it’s not quite up to the Bartok and Prokofiev level.
The 60s era sound quality is very good, and Ogdon plays with notable command of the music. Colin Davis and the Philharmonia more than ably accompany in the concerto. So, a good disc, maybe a very good one, but really one for intrepid repertoire explorers.
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Up until I bought this disc, I believe the only work by Jean Françaix I had heard was his Piano Concerto. A fine work to be sure, but surely there is more to the composer. There is! I’m not sure why this disc caught my attention – perhaps the bright colors on the cover, perhaps the unusual instrumental combinations (winds aplenty, strings, and piano) – but I’m sure glad it did because it’s one heck of a charmer.
Profound levity, that’s the best way I can describe the sound of the music on this disc. The four works – two long-ish, two short – all display the same traits: an irresistibly light, upbeat mood (for the most part); snazzy rhythms; beauty; grace; clarity; meticulousness; informal formality; and undeniable Frenchness. (No German or Briton could ever write this music!) Even the slow movements more or less convey the same things, just at a more leisurely pace. They are immediately and completely accessible works, yet they also scream out 20th Century. These could never have been written in the 19th Century, yet strident, hard, jagged music is nowhere to be found.
While all the works sound different, and all have different instrumental combinations, they all occupy the same overall sound world. There’s no sense of the composer rehashing the same ideas, though, not by any means. Some may find the music and ideas too trite, and this certainly isn’t chamber music of Beethoven/Bartok/Shostakovich/<add your favorite heavyweight here> caliber, but surely one can enjoy perfectly crafted musical bon-bons every once in a while.
The Gaudier Ensemble plays splendidly and Hyperion’s sound is top-notch.
A delicious disc.
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Here’s a composer entirely new to me. Until I saw the Naxos disc of his complete solo piano music, I’d never even seen the name Dimitris Dragatakis. My curiosity was piqued, though I’m not sure why. So I have listened to the disc, and I must declare this a most exhilarating find!
The disc opens with a trilogy of shorter works from 1949 and before – meaning they’re “early” works. (The composer lived from 1914 to 2001.) They are all pleasant enough works. Nostalgia is a Greek-flavored, Iberia-esque piece, though not as complex as the Spanish masterpiece. Butterfly is a light creation featuring tasty irregular rhythms Little Ballade offers the first hints of what’s to come with a vigorous, intense, fiery, occasionally knotty and occasionally romantic sound. One can detect faint whiffs of Bartok.
The early works then give way to the meat of the disc. Dragatakis is revealed to be a thoroughly modern composer with a pronounced avant-garde streak, though he seems to be a few years behind the times with each work. The two Piano Sonatinas exemplify this. Written in the 60s, they are both angular, dissonant, driven pieces, and seem to hint at Prokofiev and perhaps Schoenberg. Then comes Antiques, a collection of eight miniatures from 1972 that are often austere, occasionally violent, and display hints of both Minimalism and Ligeti. The Anadromés are more austere yet, but somehow manage to maintain a rhythmic brio. The two Etudes carry on in a similar style. Inelia, from 1997, is a most fascinating piece. Dragatakis maintains a thoroughly modern style yet injects more accessible harmonic and melodic components in places. It’s a most remarkable piece. The disc closes with the 11-minute long Monologue No. 4, from 2001, which wasn’t premiered until after his death. It’s mostly a no-compromise type piece, knotty and occasionally unapproachable, but one hears wistfulness, and perhaps even bitterness and regret in a few spots.
Lorenda Ramou plays all of the works, and she is fully up to the challenge. She worked with the composer and premiered some of his pieces, and accordingly she seems to have the music down cold. She plays with impressive command and feeling, something not always expected in such modern works. Throw in fully modern sound, and this is one heck of a disc. If you like modern piano music – think Schoenberg, Ligeti, or Nono – then this may be one to consider.
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I’m not sure why I decided to try this disc. It’s filled with pretty much nothing but miniatures – and transcribed miniatures at that. Sure, the transcribers in question have names like Heifetz and Perlman for most of the works, but they’re transcriptions. But why not?
Anyway, the disc opens with an original work by called Four Rags by John Novacek, Ms Josefowicz’s accompanist. It’s a pretty good throwback to the early 20th Century ragtime music the rest of the disc is devoted to. After that, things move back in time to works by Charlie Chaplin (!), Scott Joplin, George Gershwin, Stephen Foster, and Manuel Ponce (?). Most are mildly entertaining but fade from memory once the music stops. Even Heifetz’s arrangement of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair, interesting though it is to hear, isn’t exactly gripping.
There are a couple interesting works. Henri Vieuxtemps’ work Souvenir d’Amérique, a set of variations on Yankee Doodle, is great fun. The main melody is given the hyper-virtuoisic treatment and it works. The Porgy and Bess suite also works well as arranged. But these two works total about 20 minutes of a 60+ minute disc. That’s not enough.
Leila Josefowicz plays quite nicely, with a pleasant but not gorgeous tone, and a slightly small sound, at least as recorded here. Novacek plays his part superbly. Sound is major-label top-flight. Even so, this is lightweight disc that doesn’t seem to be something to listen to very often.
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I’ve sampled a variety of lieder by a number of composers over the years, but until this disc I never got around to listening to the songs of Hugo Wolf. So when I stumbled on this old disc of an even older recital by that estimable duo of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Gerald Moore I figured it was time. The disc contains a recital from 1961 and has 20 of Wolf’s Mörike lieder, all penned in 1888. On the evidence of this recital, I really need to investigate more of Wolf’s music.
As I expected, Fischer-Dieskau and Moore work perfectly together, with Moore generally supplying the steady base from which Fischer-Dieskau can launch into interpretive flights of fancy. Many of the songs have a dark or somewhat dark mien, and they sound unusually rich. The texts are all quite good, and some more than that. And sometimes it’s the smaller works that hit hardest. For instance, Bei einer Trauung is extremely brief, yet it’s unsettling piano part and condensed verse describing an unhappy wedding packs a wallop. There are a number of other similar moments through the disc, and Fischer-Dieskau digs in. His mannerisms do show through here and there, and he is histrionic in the last two works in the recital (Zur Warnung and Abschied), so those who do not like him probably wouldn’t like this disc. Me, I do, and need to hear more.
Sound is definitely not modern: it sounds like a live recital recording from its time and the volume and scale of both singer and pianist varies a bit more than one would ideally prefer.
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I must confess that Resphigi is not a composer I’ve ever really cared for much. The Roman Trilogy? Rather snooze inducing if you ask me. And what else is there? Well, I also tried his opera La Fiamma. Kinda the same thing. But being at least somewhat intrepid, I figured I could try some more, and so when I stumbled upon this disc of four even lesser known orchestral works on MDG, I figured I could give it a shot.
The disc opens with a work entitled Metamorphosen mod. XII from 1930. It’s sort of a re-imagining of Gregorian Chant, if you will, one filtered through a mix of modernism and late romanticism. The late romanticism shows up in the Andante theme, which possesses a positively Korngoldian lushness, though this is married to a devout seriousness. The 12 variations, each in a different church mode, display the same traits, though they throw in hints of Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra in that each instrument gets its time in the spotlight. The music is a bit too thick, heavy and (faux-) serious to take too seriously.
The next work is Rossiniana from 1925. The four movements all evoke the namesake of the work, and that means a bright, fun, sparkling, witty sound for the most part, with just plain fun instrumentation. The second movement is a bit more dramatic, and boasts a truly thunderous bass drum, and the final movement is perhaps just a tad garish and boisterous, though it’s fun. Overall, it’s a slight work, but an enjoyable one.
Next up is the first recording of the Burlesca from 1906. It’s a free-form fantasy, with delicate strings and slightly bombastic brass and strings. A nice enough bon-bon.
The final work is the Passacaglia in C Minor. Yes, it’s an orchestration of a Bach work. It opens darkly, with lush strings creating a rich texture as well. Once again it sounds faux-serious, but a bit too much so. And it’s gaudy. (One can only occasionally hear Bach straining through.) And it’s too long. Um, it’s not the greatest work.
So another stab at Resphigi, and it’s a decided mixed bag. A couple of the works are fun enough, but slight. A couple are heavy and overwrought. In other words, it’s not a disc to spin very often. At least it sounds magnificent! MDG’s sound is about as good as it gets, with clarity, detail, and bass of Telarc-ian quality (when Telarc is at its best). George Hanson leads the Wuppertal Symphony Orchestra far more than ably, and the band plays well. They deserve better music.
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Time for another completely new composer for me. I’ve seen the name Edmund Rubbra before, and I’ve read some positive remarks about his music, so it seemed like a good enough time to give something by him a shot. I opted for the Naxos ditty containing his Violin Concerto and other works.
First, the other works. The disc opens with the Improvisations for Violin and Orchestra, Op 89. The piece opens with the violin front and center with help only from the timps, offering for a nice contrast. It also opens rather “slow,” only gradually unfolding until the orchestra enters with a dark sound that is not so much portentous as just plain serious. About halfway in the piece begins to sound more vibrant and more extroverted before reassuming the dark mien and then back. The orchestration is rich and really quite striking, to boot. I’m not sure how improvisational it sounds, but I like it.
The next work on the disc is the Improvisations on Virginal Pieces by Giles Farnaby, Op 56. It’s a collection of five short works based on ancient, or at least pre-baroque works. They’re generally light and crisp and very much show their inspiration. It comes across as a light divertimento, though the fourth piece, Loth to depart, is a bit more serious.
The final work on the disc is the aforementioned Violin Concerto, Op 103. The first and endearing impression of the work is that it is very conservative, especially given its composition period – the late 50s. The opening movement is excellent. Its orchestration is meaty and heavy, and possesses a quasi-romantic quasi-grandeur. The writing for the violin offers some superb, not too flashy writing (a plus), and Krysia Osostowicz plays very well indeed. The winds also get some fine music to play, and the tart oboe rarely gets juicier parts. The slow second movement is rich, varied, and expansive, and, well, poetic (it is labeled ‘Poema,’ so that seems appropriate). The violin part becomes more pronounced against a calmer orchestral background, too. The final movement is the expected (almost) bravura closer, with more nifty wind writing coupled to fun percussion writing to bring the work to close. But for the obvious influences of even older music, the concerto would seem to be more from the Edwardian era than the Eisenhower era, but even so it’s a work worthy of more exposure.
As mentioned before, Krysia Osostowicz plays extremely well, and the Ulster Orchestra under Takuo Yuasa also acquit themselves superbly. Throw in world-class Tony Faulkner sound and this superb disc.
How many flute aficionados are out there? They’re there, but I don’t know of too many of them. I’m not really one, though every once in a while I like to give a listen to a flute work. Or three. Emmanuel Pahud impressed me a few years ago when I first heard his playing of Sofia Gubaidulina’s Music for Flute, Strings and Percussion, so when I saw this new-ish disc filled with three even newer works for flute and orchestra I went for it. It was a pretty good decision.
The disc opens with the Flute Concerto by Marc-André Dalbavie. The brief concerto opens with potent chords from the orchestra and flute, and then the flute is off on an extended, front and center run, rising and falling throughout, with plenty of snazzy rhythms and gobs of more than ably played notes flitting by. The orchestra offers supremely transparent support in a neo-Bartok-cum-Berg sorta way. Here and there the flute blends into the orchestra, and then after the first several minutes the whole piece slows way down, and quiets down a bit, too. At such times, Pahud displays what I can only assume is dazzling breath control (flute aficionados would have to jump in here). The piece then alternates between the two styles somewhat, though the slower music predominates. There are definitely plenty of highlights to this very well crafted work, but it will take more listens to determine whether I’d consider it of the same quality of Gubaidulina’s work.
The next work, Michael Jarrell’s …un temps de silence…, though, strikes me as the best work on the disc. The piece opens with percussion and flute offering tonal and textural contrast, and it sounds a bit more than faintly Boulezian. It’s darker, more uncompromising, and more unyieldingly avant-garde. There’s aggression in some of the writing, with grinding tuttis, and a few piercing notes from the soloist. It then cools off a bit to flute-centric writing allowing Pahud to play with as much tonal luster and beauty as he can (or maybe not!), though the music retains a slightly mysterious feel. That is, it stays on the dark side, and throws in a searching intensity. The work ends slowly, dissolving into near nothingness, with the flute and orchestra twitching near the end. This work is definitely complex and dense, but it also is surprisingly easy to listen to, at least for me. If you don’t like post-war works, it may be best to avoid it, though.
Matthias Pintscher’s Transir for flute and chamber orchestra closes the disc, and it is perhaps the most unusual work of the three. The piece opens slowly and quietly, and from very early on there’s a lot of emphasis on creating sounds out of the instrument and Pahud’s breath, by which I mean you hear both quite clearly. No more tonal luster; it’s more like parlor tricks. Anyway, after a focus on the flute, the orchestra gradually returns with a bright, clear sound permeated with unusual sounds. I don’t know if Pintscher opted for unusual instrumentation or simply combines the instrument brilliantly, but there are sounds here I ain’t heard before. The piece just seems to build tension, and Pahud really displays his ability, truly screeching out high notes in short bursts, until at about 7’30,” the full orchestra bursts into life relieving the tension. The piece then alternates and unfolds in a most intriguing manner. The piece also boasts a huge dynamic range, this slightly exaggerated by the almost unbelievably quite pianissimos Pahud delivers. Is it a great work? Don’t know, but it is an interesting one.
So, here’s a disc with three contemporary works that is quite listenable, as far as avant-garde type discs go, and Emmanuel Pahud shows that he’s got some serious chops. Throw in some superb modern sound, and amazingly precise playing from the Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France under three conductors – Peter Eötvös, Pascal Rophé, and Matthias Pintscher for his own piece – and one has a surprisingly effective collection of modern works for flute. Not everyone will like it, though. Adventurous sorts very well may.
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Time for some decidedly Heavy Duty, High Art-type music. Hans Werner Henze should work. I’ve had mixed feelings about the Henze works I’ve heard, but I figured he was worth another shot, and this Naxos disc of two of his violin concerti and a work for violin and piano seemed a good bet. I was right.
The disc opens with the First Violin Concerto, from 1946, and the very young Mr Henze displays some great skill in this composition. The opening movement, designated Largamente, rubato – Allegro molto starts off with a searching violin part contrasted with a hefty, clangorous, spiky orchestral part. The continued interplay between these two parts is quite intriguing, and better than any 20-year-old ought to be able to write. (Mozart obviously excluded.) The movement tapers off near the end, with slow, austere, and haunting music. Yes, the influences of Berg and Bartok are obvious, and he seems to channel the Hungarian almost directly in places, but what better composers to imitate? Anyway, the Vivacissimo second movement is more vibrant and energetic, with a more prominent orchestra playing along with an incredibly slick, piercing soloist. The Andante con moto opens with beautiful dodecaphonic music – yes, it’s possible – and as the movement unfolds the soloist flits near the upper reaches of the instrument at one point, and slashes at his fiddle violently, and that’s before the music transforms into something almost ugly and oppressive, while maintaining a dark, funereal mien. The concluding Allegro molto vivace explodes angrily into being, with a slight grotesqueness to it. But Henze knows to offer something else, so some nearly serene, almost beautiful music arrives just in time. The juxtaposition of the two styles continues on throughout, for the most part.
The second work is the much later Third Violin Concerto, from 1997. Apparently inspired by Thomas Mann’s Dr Faustus, the work again offers many contrasts. The first movement, Esmerelda, opens very slowly, quietly, and almost mournfully: astringent, sorrowful music nearly pours out of the violin. When the orchestra finally enters full force at around 2’20” or so, it’s in a deliciously dissonant, almost harsh, yet smoothly crafted way. There’s some manipulation going on, and Henze’s orchestration is rather impressive. Das Kind Echo is next, and it’s light in texture to start, but becomes playful and robust in short order. A few moments of sorrow creep back in, but the most impressive aspect of the music is the masterful pianissimo writing, with some notes hanging on endlessly into silence. The work closes with Rudi S., which opens with a soaring solo line before coming back to earth. Some of the music sounds simultaneously confused and contemplative, and once again I was reminded of Berg’s Violin Concerto as I listened.
The disc ends with the brief Fünf Nachtstücke, from 1990, for violin and piano. The brief pieces all sound unique and strongly characterized: Elegie is slow and elegiac, and heavy on the violin until the coda; Capriccio is lighter and prodding fun; Hirtenlied I is potent yet sorrowful; Hirtenlied II offers more of the same in a more poignant package; and Ode is relaxed yet extroverted, with a few hard-hitting passages thrown in.
So, here’s a disc comprised of more or less High Art. I’d be surprised if musicologists found many hints of folk music in any of the pieces. It’s a bit abstract, if you will, and a bit difficult. It may even be “intellectual” music. But whatever else it is, it is also more than a little enjoyable. Not, perhaps, listen-every-week enjoyable, but enjoyable nonetheless. Violinist Peter Sheppard Skærved plays brilliantly, and Christopher Lyndon-Gee leads the Saarbrücken Radio Symphony Orchestra more that ably. My only quibble is with the sound quality: it can be a little glassy during tuttis. Otherwise, another winner from Naxos.
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Time for another work of High Art! After such a success as the Henze disc, another heavy-duty, intellectual, superbly crafted work should be the ticket. There are many choices out there, of course, but I determined that I should try an opera this time around (for no particular reason), and that something by Ferruccio Busoni would be nice (again, for no particular reason). This led me to Kent Nagano’s late-90s recording of Doktor Faust. Would musical lightning strike twice in succession? No.
I’ll just offer my verdict right now: this opera is too slow, too long, and boring. Why, you ask? Well . . .
First off, the opera has a decidedly unusual structure. Rather than Acts, this one is carved up into an opening Symphonia, a long, spoken introductory poem (with Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau almost inevitably the speaker), then two Prologues, an Intermezzo, and then the principal action, divided into three scenes, with a spoken Epilogue to wrap it all up. Whew! Novel structures are neither here nor there for me, but it’s clear from the opening Symphonia what this will be like. The music is somewhat subdued for a dramatic work, but it’s rich, fastidiously constructed, rather attractive in parts – and ultimately a bit boring. It never really grabbed my attention the way it should. The spoken dialogue is well delivered, but the text (or at least the translation of it) is heavy-going: it’s definitely “intellectual,” and perhaps just a bit ponderous. Busoni himself wrote the text – shooting for the Gesamtkunstwerk thing of course – so this is his take on the legend, not Goethe’s or Marlowe’s. Let’s just say that Busoni isn’t quite the literary talent of those two. The Prologues and Intermezzo offer a mixture of rarely compelling, occasionally interesting, and often boring music paired to mostly uninteresting text that doesn’t really roll of the tongues of the singers in the same fashion as, say, something written by Hugo von Hofmannsthal.
The Principal action, well, it offers more of the same. Plus an organ solo! As to the plot, well, it’s a convoluted take on Faust. Mephistopheles – he’s there. (Beelzebub, too.) Faust makes his bargain. There’s Faust’s love interest – here the Duchess of Parma. There are singing students, soldiers, a philosopher, and an assistant named Wagner. Truth to tell, I found the plot a little too plodding even for a slow opera.
Back to the music: though written mostly in the 1920s, it’s not modern in the sense of Wozzeck or Jonny spielt auf or other works of the era. There are definitely some “modern” elements, but it sounds rather formal and somewhat conservative most of the time. Hints of Mahler, Wagner, and even Dvorak (in one place) can be heard, and no doubt others if one listens closely enough. I couldn’t and didn’t.
I really wanted to like this work, but it ended up missing the mark for me. Others may find it more compelling, and I can certainly see some reasons why, but I just can’t see myself listening to this again.
Sound is quite fine and Kent Nagano, his band, and the singers all acquit themselves nicely.
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I’ve never been a huge fan of Camille Saint-Saëns. His music is often pleasant enough, or at least what I’ve heard of it is, and it can be exciting at times, but at least some of it is too slight for my tastes. I’ve mentioned before that I find him the finest fourth rate composer. Well, I’ve never tried his big ol’ honkin’ opera Samson et Dalila before, so I figured I might as well give the guy another shot.
As with Busoni’s disappointing Doktor Faust, I’ll just come out and offer my verdict: I thoroughly enjoy this opera, and the few quibbles I have are related to the recording and cast and not the work itself. And really, what’s not to like? The story is pretty well known, of course. The mighty Samson manages to slay the governor of Gaza and free the Hebrew slaves from the Philistines. The sultry and vengeful Delilah seduces the big lug and determines that his hair is the source of his strength and chops it off. The Philistines plan on killing the strongman, but after repenting for his lusty ways, God imbues him with enough strength to destroy the temple and all the Philistines there gathered, along with himself. Really, it seems the perfect type of story for an opera.
And, perhaps almost ironically, Saint-Saëns seems the perfect man to set the story. The music for this story could easily have been Very Dramatic, thick, even ponderous. While there’s more heft than I associate with Saint-Saëns in places, he keeps things generally brisk, reasonably clear and transparent, and at times light and crisp. There are (light) hints of earlier Wagner, a bit more obvious influence of Verdi, and even perhaps some Berlioz, but what strikes one is the music’s innate Frenchness. The instrumentation is dazzling and sparkling at times, especially in the third act instrumental interludes, and everything sounds elegant and well proportioned, especially given the subject matter. The whole thing fairly breezes by. The first act, in particular, even though it’s around 45 minutes, seems over almost as soon as it starts. The second act, with the seduction scene, could have been a bit more sultry, I suppose, but it’s quite attractive as is. And the extended celebration in the third act is just plain good stage music. Beyond that, the text is quite good. No, it’s not Da Ponte or Hofmannsthal good, but Ferdinand Lemaire’s libretto works well.
Now my quibbles. To the sound: 1962 was a long time ago now, and this recording can’t hide its age. It’s very good, as many similar vintage recordings are, but the dynamic range is limited, there’s some congestion during the loudest passages, and there’s some breakup in the loudest sung passages, especially those where Jon Vickers is at the center of the action. Rita Gorr, while her French is superb and her tone very attractive, sounds a bit too rich and mature for my ears; her tone isn’t seductive enough. (Perhaps a recording with Veronique Gens could be made; she jumped immediately to mind while listening.) Vickers is perhaps just a bit too rough at times, too. I’ve no issues with the conducting and orchestral playing, both of which seem quite fine. I may very well end up buying a newer recording in better sound to meet my needs, but this is a surprisingly good opera and one to which I know I shall return. No, it’s not quite a work at the same level as, say, Tristan or Otello or Les Troyens, but it’s quite fine. Saint-Saëns has moved up the compositional ladder a rung or two.
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Who doesn’t like some syrupy, late Romantic music every once in a while? I know I do. And rarely have I heard composers who took this art form to such exalted heights as Erich Wolfgang Korngold. Some of the man’s music is so aurally gooey and rich that I think you can gain weight just by listening. For whatever reason, I never got around to listening to this disc with Leon Fleisher and friends playing music for the piano left hand and strings until now, a full decade after its release. (Since the project took seven years for Sony to publish, I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad.) In addition to what is essentially a piano quartet from the Wunderkind, the disc also boasts a piano quintet by Franz Schmidt, who makes his first appearance in my collection.
The disc opens with the Korngold work, and it’s a doozy. Thick, rich harmonies. Glorious, rich melodies. Beautiful, rich slow passages. Vibrant, rich fast passages. This work embodies Korngold’s writing. The first two movements in what is called the Suite for 2 Violins, Cello, and Piano Left Hand, Op 23, display large-scaled, expertly crafted string writing, where the players get to (almost) let loose, and strong, nicely articulated writing for the pianist. (Both works, like most works for piano left-hand, were penned for Paul Wittgenstein.) Fleisher more than holds his own with the string players, and the lushness of the music is intoxicating. The third movement – Groteske – is more biting and purposely over the top, though even it has an achingly beautiful middle section. The last two movements more or less continue on the basic approach as the first couple movements. This is definitely syrupy and Very Romantic music, but it is also tinged with modernity. There’s more to it than just beauty, but beauty sticks in the mind’s ear. Be careful, though: if you have high cholesterol, this may be one to steer clear of.
Franz Schmidt’s Piano Quintet isn’t quite as good, but it’s good nonetheless. For the most part, it reminds me a lot of Brahms. It’s somewhat formal and meticulously crafted, though it lacks Brahms’ genius. But there’s more to it. It’s even more romanticized. If one could take a work from Brahms, throw in some works by other late romantics, let the whole thing ferment for a couple decades, then one might end up with this work. It’s a bit languid, more than a bit lovely (especially the gorgeous Adagio), and rather comfortable sounding. And perhaps just a bit predictable, too. Still, it ain’t shabby.
The artists all play quite well. Fleisher, in his pre-Botox resurrection days, delivers some exceptionally fine piano playing. Joseph Silverstein, Jaime Laredo, and Joel Smirnoff deliver fine fiddling, and Michael Tree is very good on the viola. Yo Yo Ma is predictably good on the cello. The only thing I should say is that these decidedly modern players still make the music sound rich and gooey. I can only imagine what it would sound like if a good old-fashioned, portamento-loving ensemble were to tackle these works. It’d be something to cherish, I think.
Sound is essentially SOTA, even though the oldest recording is seventeen years old now. Were that all recordings this nice sounding.
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Time to give Leonardo Balada another listen, this time in the realm of opera, or rather operetta. This disc contains two brief operettas, one being a sequel to the other. Generally, when I go in for opera, I like ‘em big (Wagner or Berlioz, say), or I like ‘em to pack a wallop (Wozzeck or King Roger), and little itty bitty ones generally don’t do it for me. Alas, these two fall into this category.
The first work is Hangman, Hangman!!, from 1982, a work purportedly based on a cowboy folk-song. (I’d like to hear said song.) Here, the main character Johnny is slated to hang until dead for the ghastly crime of horse theft. Poor Johnny, he don’t want to die, y’see, so he hollers out for his mother, his father, and finally his Sweetheart. He begs to know whether they brought silver or gold. (If this sounds rather like Led Zeppelin’s more famous song Gallows Pole, it is, it’s just ten times longer.) But here things are different. A rich, slick Irishman (in the Old West?) ends up literally buying the town and freeing Johnny. No satisfactory explanation for said actions is given. Not that one is needed, I suppose. The music is surreal and modern, with twisted attempts at American “folk” music, and it’s definitely got rhythmic verve, but it’s a bit slight and the English doesn’t fall very well on the ear, especially when it takes on a sort of Sprechstimme. This ain’t no world class stage work.
Neither is its sequel, The Town of Greed, from 1997. Here the story picks up twenty years later. Now Johnny’s a big shot, y’see, and somehow he uses his Sweetheart, along with his mom and pop, to cut exciting, lucrative business deals. To maintain a proper operatic façade, there is a love duet between Johnny and his Sweetheart, but the special appearances of Ford and Toyota let you know the point of this work. Rather like Weill’s The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahogany and Luigi Nono’s Al gran sole carico d’amore, Capitalism and greed are the big villains. Also, like in those two works, the idea is presented just a bit too obviously. Balada does take things a bit further, though. In this opera there’s a recession! As a result, the previously beloved big shot Johnny falls from favor, and the townsfolk want to – wait for it – hang him! But as in the first opera, a magic man comes along to save the day. But this one is from Wall Street! And he shoots Johnny! And he turns the town into a toxic dump! Johnny’s Sweetheart, well, what do you think happens? The moral of the story: Money corrupts. (Wow!) Given the continuity of the story, it should come as no surprise that the music is very similar, mixing the obviously modern and the supposedly folksy in an especially adroit way. However, both works fall short of what Mr Balada is capable of in his best works. His strictly orchestral works are far better.
Sound is quite good for both works, with a suitably small venue obviously the setting, and the conductor and band and singers all do well enough. Alas, the music and storylines just don’t do it for me. Social critique is fine – hell, it needs to be encouraged – I just want something better.
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ECM released a rather lovely CD of Feldman viola works earlier this year:
My only complaint is that it's too short at barely 40 minutes, but if you're lookoing for an accessible route into Feldman, I warmly recommend it.
Regards
Nigel
My only complaint is that it's too short at barely 40 minutes, but if you're lookoing for an accessible route into Feldman, I warmly recommend it.
Regards
Nigel
I so enjoyed my first disc of music by Stephen Hartke that I determined I should try another. Alas, there aren’t tons of recordings, but a decent selection is out there. I decided to go “safe” and go with more orchestral music, so I settled on his Violin Concerto, nicknamed Auld Swaara, paired with his Second Symphony on New World Records. ‘Twas a wise choice.
The disc opens with the concerto, and right from the start it is fresh and individual. Drumsticks striking each other offer the only support to the swaying violin at the start, while the orchestra enters in bursts. Tart dissonances and surprising tunefulness combine with an infectious, throbbing, subtle rhythm to keep the listener involved. As the piece unfolds a bit, one gets the sense that this is something of a pastiche, in a Stravinskian sort of way: rude blasts from the brass, a chaotic cacophony of percussion, and a Copland-on-narcotics string sound blend in a modern sonic cauldron. And that’s just the first section of the opening movement. The middle section is dominated by the violin, and the music takes on a brooding feel. The third section offers something of a return to the first section, but it also sounds more like a “conventional” concerto in that the violin and orchestra have obviously contrasting parts. The second movement is actually a Fantasy tacked on to the first movement, and it’s a fantasy on an old Shetland fiddle tune called, not surprisingly, Auld Swaara. It’s a lament for a lost fisherman, and so it only makes sense that the music is slow, rich, and more than slightly mournful. Strings dominate the proceedings, but winds peek through here and there, and then the soloist enters to play the main theme. It’s definitely sad, and at times intense and vibrant, and to keep the mood appropriate, the movement is slower than most concerto closers. Michelle Makarski was the dedicatee of the work, and she plays it extremely well here.
The disc closes with the (chamber) symphony, which is dedicated to the composer’s memory of his father (this distinction is italicized in the notes), and it is also something of a slow, mournful piece. The work opens with an Andante con moto that kicks off with searing strings that quickly transition to a bright, biting, confused sound world. It’s a subtly angry pavane. (It’s a pavane per the composer; the subtle anger is my take.) As the piece develops, percussion and winds dance in and out of the music, but once again the strings form the intense core. (And can one detect hints of Berg?) Next up is the Scherzo, and it jumps into being. Bright, punchy, and “chunky,” it is indeed something of a twisted joke, and the music contains transfigured elements from the first movement. Somehow it sounds a bit grotesque, in the most satisfying way. The work closes with an Adagio sostenuto, and here the percussion starts things off, with the winds following shortly thereafter. Not too long into it, the strings lurch into the sonic picture, and the music assumes a dark, mournful tone; it’s quite moving. A little further in the strings sound searing once again, in a Mahler 10th sort of way. (Hartke never apes anyone or anything, though; the influences are more discreet than that.) As the work winds down there is an extended piano-horn duo that plays up the emotional content of the music before finally giving way to a resigned ending.
Once again, I must report that I really dig the music Mr Hartke writes. This time the music is more abstract than on the prior Naxos disc, but it seems even better constructed. There are a lot of musical ideas packed into these conventionally timed works, but the ideas are not conventional. Modern they may be, but they also respect the past, and most important of all, they are original. I’m definitely going to be sampling more of this composer’s music.
As to the sound, well, it’s very good if perhaps a bit bright. The conducting and playing offer nothing to quibble about. The Riverside Symphony apparently relies on soloists from New York to fill its ranks, and New York obviously has a deep talent pool. George Rothman does a fine job conducting, too. A winner.
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I’ve generally steered clear of “early” music in my exploration of the classical canon. I start off with early baroque figures like Louis Couperin, and then rarely. I’m familiar with some early music via the excellent syndicated radio series Millenium of Music, and while I find some interesting, until now I’d never dropped a dime on a CD. But I was milling around a (most likely) soon-to-be toast Borders and a four CD set of John Dowland’s complete solo lute music caught my eye. Four CDs of BIS engineered music on Brilliant Classics for a paltry $14 – how could I go wrong?
Well, I couldn’t, and I didn’t. The set contains 92 individual works, so I shan’t really delve into detail, but the overall impression the music made on me was hugely positive. I don’t think I can say solo lute music is quite as compelling as solo piano music, but there’s enough variety and, especially, beautiful melodic content here to compel me to return to this set again and again. A good number of the pieces are spritely dances or dance-like pieces full of charm. Some are simple, short little trifles, as titles like Lady Hunsdon’s Puffe and Mrs White’s Nothing might imply. But an even larger number of works are more serious, more introspective, and more melancholy, all while being supremely melodic. Again, titles like Forlorn Hope Fancy or the better known Loth to depart give away the essence of the music. It’s in these pieces that Dowland reveals his musical skill. Many pieces don’t sound especially complex (of course I don’t play lute), but the music effectively conveys what words cannot. It’s quite possible to simply plop on one of the CDs, press play, and then just let the whole disc run though while one savors every nugget. And though Dowland’s music often possesses a certain Renaissance-y sound, there’s a timelessness to much if it. The beautiful musical line of many pieces could be lifted whole and used by a folk or rock band today. Indeed, I believe I’ve heard modern music inspired by A Musicall Banquet and Come Away before.
This set originally coming from BIS, the sound quality is stupendously good. The lute always comes across with wonderful clarity and, with the instruments using all gut strings, with amazing warmth and body. One gets the sense of a lutenist sitting right between one’s speakers happily (or perhaps slightly morosely) plucking away. Jakob Lindberg plays splendidly, and his three instruments all sound exquisite. I do confess a preference for the all gut-stringed instruments, though the wire stringed instrument is necessary for some works. For some reason this set reminded me of the distinctly dissimilar “jazz” disc Beyond the Missouri Sky by Charlie Haden and Pat Metheny; there’s a simplicity and unaffected directness to the music that cuts through labels and genres and time and just sounds comfortable and right. It’s as though I’ve heard this music forever, and yet the joy of discovery remains. A superb set – I may have to investigate more Dowland.
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It’s been a while since I picked up the Danel Quartet’s excellent traversal of Ahmed Adnan Saygun’s string quartets, and it’s been years since I picked up the Koch recording of Saygun’s piano concertos, so I figured another dose of the Turk’s music was due. CPO appears to be in the midst of releasing a good number of his works, so I opted for a mixed program disc – the Fourth Symphony combined with the Violin Concerto and an orchestral suite.
The disc opens with the symphony, and in many respects it’s a conservative work for its time – 1976. Hardly an avant-garde or even advanced fusion style work like, say, works from Ligeti or Rautavaara, it instead looks back to the inter-war era. Saygun, as is his wont generally based on my listening, seems to mix in some “folk” influences, though not directly, and a traditional, fast-slow-fast overall structure. The robust Deciso opening movement seems almost overstuffed at times. Hordes of instruments blaring out, occasionally thick orchestration, vibrant and intense rhythmic drive, and grand scale all mix together effectively enough, and Saygun even allows for some lighter moments and some individual instruments to take center stage. The Poco Largo is a melancholy movement, but again its orchestration at times is a bit thick, and the overall forward momentum never really lets up here, either. (That’s a nice trick in slow movements.) The concluding Con anima e molto deciso offers even more vibrant music than the opener, with blatting brass and more overtly eastern influences. (And one simply cannot escape the influence of Bartok and other inter-war era composers.) There’s much to enjoy here, but this does not enter the canon alongside Beethoven’s Fourth. That written, it’s even better the second time around.
The Violin Concerto is next, and it, too, harks back in time from its 1967 provenance. (Many people will find this a good thing, of course.) Again using a moderately-fast-slow-fast approach, the piece opens with a large-scaled, long Moderato. Flexible, inventive orchestration, and a generally lighter feel than with the symphony, makes this a smoother, gentler (though not gentle) work. Brief dreaminess is brought on by some expertly deployed harps, and various instruments again come to the fore. Most to the fore is the violin, of course, and Saygun offers something a bit unexpected. Nary an overtly virtuosic flourish occurs; rather, the soloist plays more slowly, serving up some rich, thoughtful music, and near the last part of the movement, an extended, careful, searching cadenza of no little attractiveness. The Adagio is an attractive but notably mournful movement, sort of an extended, rich dirge. Not too thick and heavy, though some brass shows up, it is quite fine. The concluding Allegro is brief, quicker, again rhythmically incisive, and massive. It also possesses stereo-testing bass. Not Gee-Whiz!, chest pounding bass, but bass drum filling the hall from the ground up and out type bass. (Saygun also makes sure to offer some bass drum thwacks in the symphony.) There’s a “chunky” feel to some of the music, but that’s quite alright with me.
The disc closes with brief, three movement suite. This is unabashedly folk-music influenced, the composer’s Turkishness not subsumed by anything. Yes, he blends these influences with Occidental devices, but the attractive thematic material is as distinctive as any I’ve heard. The opening Meseli, in particular, offers a rhythmically arrhythmic (in a PVC sorta way) theme. The slow second and faster, bolder third movement likewise tickles one’s ears with new, bold ideas.
I enjoyed this disc quite a bit, though I can’t really say that the two main works will enter the standard repertoire. Enjoyable as they are, they aren’t quite inventive or catchy enough to become concert or recording mainstays. That written, I do believe I need to investigate yet more music by Mr Saygun. As to sound, well, it’s extremely good, though a minor, slightly glassy sheen is present in the loudest passages. Ari Rasilainen and his Staatsphilharmonie Rheinland-Pfalz handle the music extremely well. Of particular interest to me is the violinist Mirjam Tschopp. She plays the concerto extremely well and possesses a rich, always attractive tone. She never really gets to display her chops in a flashy sort of way, but I want to hear more from her.
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