"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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Joseph Canteloube was not a composer I was looking to explore. But I noticed that one of my favorite singers, Véronique Gens, recorded a disc of his music for Naxos a few years back. So I figured why not? Canteloube is a “modern” composer in that he lived from 1879 to 1957, but the works for voice and orchestra presented in these excerpts from Chants d’Auvergne sound decidedly old-fashion. All of the works are influenced by folk-music, but all are original. Apparently, in the north of France, there were still a lot of stories about sheppards and, especially, sheppardesses early in the 20th Century, and there was a lot of focus on love songs (which I’d buy), as well as frequent use of words like la and lo.
Okay, so the song texts aren’t necessarily Profound, but they don’t necessarily need to be. And indeed, when one listens to the music, profundity would be out of place. The music is generally light, bright, and clean, with delicious wind writing. Indeed, the flute, oboe, and clarinet all get their chance to shine in different songs, and the overall orchestration is usually breezy and always beautiful. Also always beautiful is Ms Gens’ singing. Her command of French is absolute, of course, and she knows just how to deliver the words, whether strongly or with a tantalizing breathiness. I just can’t get enough of her voice. Jean-Claude Casadesus and the Orchestre National de Lille lend a satisfying Gallic touch to the music, and sound is good, but a bit brighter and glassier than Ms Gens gets from Virgin engineers. A delightful disc.
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I’ve only tried a few works by Ernest Bloch to this point, and they’ve all been quite good. So it was with high expectations that I bought this disc of his Violin Concerto coupled with Baal Shem and the Suite Hébraïque. In many ways I enjoy this disc quite a bit, but something is also just a bit askew, if you will.
The disc opens with the concerto, from 1938, and there’s much to enjoy, but also some things that detract from enjoyment. The opening Allegro deciso kicks off with music purportedly inspired by Native American music. (Not being an ethnomusicologist, I cannot say for sure if that’s the case, but it sure sounds like it superficially.) It’s really quite nice, but the music quickly transforms into an epic, music equivalent of Cinemascope®, with religious elements more obviously thrown in. It blends the sacred and profane, in other words; sure, it’s serious and perhaps even devout, but it also has a movie soundtrack quality to it. The violin writing is big, bold, and soaring, and the orchestral writing is very rich and colorful. It rather reminds me of the music of Korngold, though it’s not quite as lyrical or catchy. Bloch throws some “mystical” elements in, though those didn’t really work for me. The Andante is more mystical yet! The sound is certainly “exotic,” with perhaps hints of Scheherezade, or maybe something older tossed in. The music is leisurely, relaxed, and beautiful. It may even conjure images of lazing around in the Aegean sun. A plain old Deciso closes the work, and it’s back to soundtrack territory, though pious overtones become more evident. It manages to sound subdued yet immediately striking. There are many fine elements to this concerto, but I’m not sure how well the whole thing jells. It has something of an episodic quality, and it simply doesn’t sound as compelling as other, standard repertoire 20th Century concertos, or even some undeservedly lesser known concertos like Walter Piston’s 1st.
The next work, Baal Shem, from 1923, is more overtly religious in nature, and as such it seems a more purposeful, coherent work. The three pieces are all strongly written. Vidui is devout and very beautiful, especially the violin part. It’s a powerful, very human prayer and lament. Nigun is firm, more energetic, and almost ecstatic at times. Simhat Torah is bright cheery, yet also very formal and respectful. Taken together, the three pieces seem to fit extremely well.
The Suite Hébraïque, from 1952, again has more overt religious elements, but it also has more of that movie soundtrack quality to it, including some melodramatic sappiness in the final movement. I find the version for piano and violin to be far more satisfying. The larger forces here turn it into something too garish for my taste.
So I’m not exactly bowled over by this disc. Zina Schiff violin playing and José Serebrier’s conducting and the Royal Scottish National Orchestra’s playing is all very good, but the music is not what I had hoped for. I’ll give the disc a few more spins, but frankly I can see this one disappearing from my collection before too long.
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Songs of the Auvergne (Pierre De La Roche, Davrath), do not pass go, do not collect $200. This is a must have version
I rather enjoy Vincenzo Bellini’s opera Norma, but until now I’ve never tried anything else written by him. I figured it was time to give another work a shot, so I settled on I Capuleti E I Montecchi, here in the recording conducted by Donald Runnicles from the late ‘90s. I mean, come on, if ever a Shakespeare play screamed to be recast as an opera, Romeo and Juliet is it. Except that this version isn’t the Shakespeare version. There are a number of differences, though the same basic thrust of the story is the same, and of course both young lovers buy the farm at the end.
I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but perhaps after years of listening to Tristan, I wanted something extremely dramatic with a searing, emotional ending. Well, I didn’t exactly get that. The opera is in two acts, the first establishing the conflict of the two families and the complicated plot to marry the young heroine to the wrong dude. The second act leads inexorably to their demise. Should be pretty conflict ridden and intense, and so forth. Well, the first act is kind of weak. It’s got lots of choral singing, martial music, and remains reasonably clear. What’s lacking, to my ears, is sufficient drama. It is an early 19th Century, Italian opera, so it doesn’t quite pack the wallop of later, predominantly Germanic works, so it never achieves what later works achieve. I can’t hold that against the work, but it just seems too crisp, too vigorous, too upbeat at times for me. The second act, though, is good. Here is a sort of prototype for what Wagner wrote, though without the harmonic daring, sweeping scale, or perfect orchestration. (Also absent is the sometimes bloated text.) The entire mood of the work darkens as the final tragedy approaches. Bellini’s music seems to belong to a slightly later period, and it effectively communicates the action.
I can’t say that I’m particularly enamored with this work, at least as presented in this recording. Oh, sure, Jennifer Larmore and Hei-Kyung Hong are fine in the leads, and the rest of the cast seems acceptable or better, and the orchestral playing is fine, and the sound is excellent. This just never really clicked with me, even in the superior second act. Maybe a better recording would bring the score to life better, but then again maybe not. I’ll probably give this opera another go in the future, but not for a while.
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Recently, I’ve been slowly expanding my exposure to early Baroque music, and now even earlier eras, and in that vein I decided to finally try some music by Claudio Monteverdi. I didn’t feel like an ancient opera, but an ancient liturgical work, well, that’s something different. So I opted for his Vespro Della Beata Vergine from 1610. This is apparently another of those works where a lot of academic questions exist. How many voices should be in the choir – one per part, something more like a chamber choir, etc – and, more importantly, should all of the music be presented at once? There is chant mixed in, a couple magnificats, and so on. What all should be included in a performance, and in what order? I can’t say because I don’t study any music academically, let alone four hundred year old music, but I can listen to what others have decided to do. Since I’ve had uniformly positive experiences with Paul McCreesh’s recordings thus far, I decided to rely on his approach for my first outing.
Once again I’m very pleased with the results. McCreesh uses a small, light ensemble, and single voices for the choral parts, and he seems to adopt relatively quick tempi a lot of the time, though I can’t make comparisons at the current time. Whatever the merits or demerits of his approach, everything works well. I’ve never been a big fan of chant, but the passages in this work come off quite well, don’t last especially long, and are part of the work and not the only aspect of it. The choral singing is very attractive, as are the solo parts. The light, discreet continuo parts supporting the singers are all attractively ascetic, and when multiple instruments and singers all join forces, the sound they generate and the effect they create are mesmerizing. This work does sound somewhat like a hodge-podge, everything plus the kitchen sink type of work at times, but it always captivates. “What’s next?” One wonders while listening. Chant, organ, soloist with harpsichord continuo, some choral music – Monteverdi mixes things up constantly, and while obviously ancient music, the sounds one hears are surprisingly rich and varied. It’s a big work, an ambitious work, and a beautiful work.
I have but one complaint about the recording: the sound. The church used in the recording lends some authenticity to the proceedings, I suppose, but it also adds quite a bit of reverberation, which may or may not have been aided by the engineers. There’s a great sense of depth in the recording, with some voices close and some far away, but clarity suffers. On the plus side, when “large” forces play, the sound blends together fantastically, creating aural soundscapes I’ve not yet experienced. I think I need to explore some more early Baroque (and earlier music).
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I figured it was about time that I took a listen to DG’s latest wunderkind conductor Gustavo Dudamel. There are a few choices, but I decided to pass on his Beethoven and Mahler recordings and instead focus on works by, or inspired by, Latin American composers. I did this not so much because I wanted to stereotype the conductor, but more because I have very serious doubts that a twenty-something conductor, however gifted, could possibly deliver readings of core rep that rivals, say, Bruno Walter or the Kleibers or, well, you get the idea. That and the program on the Fiesta disc looked tempting: a host of short works by composers I’ve not even heard of for the most part.
The disc opens with a work that I actually am familiar with, Sensemayá, by Silvestre Revueltas. I’ll just note here that this is the best work on the disc and that Dudamel leads a very fine, colorful, and vibrant reading of this Latin Rite of Spring. Esa-Pekka Salonen’s recording, due partly to how it was recorded, is more ominous and thunderous, but I’ll gladly welcome this newcomer.
Now to new works. Inocente Carreńo’s Margariteña is next, and as played here it’s a vibrant, generally upbeat dance, with some nearly pensive parts and an almost tone poem feel. Antonio Estévez’s Mediodia en el Llano is a musical evocation of Venezuela’s high plains. It’s somewhat spare and brooding, and suitably arid in some parts, and mercurial in others. It’s almost a neo-impressionist piece, if such a thing exists, and sort of has hints of Debussy in it. Arturo Márquez’s Danzón no. 2 has a slow, rich opening, but then erupts into an intensely vibrant, bright dance. Some almost obligatory introspective and sentimental music offers some contrast a few times, but this is, rightly, mostly about the dance. Aldemaro Romero’s Fuga con Pajarillo is up next, and it combines dance and fugue with a modern sensibility to create an energetic, sunny, fun, but also formal and rigorous work. It’s one of the best works on the disc. It’s not quite as good as Alberto Ginastera’s dances from the ballet Estancia, though. These four brief works are all crafted in a masterly fashion, and, along with the Revueltas work, just seem to represent a slightly higher level of composition than the others on the disc. (A few more listens may very well add Romero’s work to this list.) I’m familiar with other Ginastera works – piano concertos and string quartets – and as with them, his music just works for me. Anyhoo, the dances are fast, intense, and vibrant; slow, lilting, laid-back and lovely; fast, fiery, and potent; and vivacious and fun, in that order. The last new work for me is Evencio Castellanos’ Santa Cruz de Pacairigua, which blends “folk” elements and more elegant, formal music into a rich celebration. Both musical approaches – signifying the common folk and the rich, apparently – eventually combine into a somewhat raucous, everyone-is-welcome shindig. Some slower, more nostalgic music also makes itself known. All of the works contain instrumentation and musical styles that are identifiably “Latin,” or at least not French or German, so the music on offer is potentially refreshing to ears accustomed to nothing but Old World writing.
(Oh, the disc closes with Bernstein’s Mambo. It’s quite energetic, but I think Lenny does it better.)
The Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela (whew, that’s a name) play extremely well – this is one well-drilled group of pampered, upper class Venezuelan kids – and DG engineers deliver some fine sonics. Dudamel seems to know what he’s doing, so I look forward to hearing more from him. I probably still won’t try his LvB or Mahler, but I’d like to hear him lead some other music. Perhaps some Carter (doubtful) or, since next year is a Haydn year, some Papa Haydn. Will the A&R folks at UMG see the synergy? I hope so.
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Sergey Tanayev isn’t a new composer for me. I’d heard one work by him before – the Suite de concert for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 28 from the Oistrakh Edition a few months ago. So this is something of a Tanayev year for me. Anyway, this star-studded disc from DG, anchored by Mikhail Pletnev at the piano, seemed like a nice enough disc to sample. After listening to the Suite and these two works, one word comes immediately to mind: Brahms. The liner notes go to great lengths to point out how Tanayev isn’t merely a “Russian Brahms,” but that is in fact how the music often sounds. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Both the Piano Quintet and Piano Trio are cut from the same musical cloth. The quintet is the bigger, longer work, and the opening Adagio mesto hints at all the music to come. It’s grand in scale – it’s reminiscent of some Brahms chamber music if you will – and rich and luxuriant, and rigorous and formal, too. The Scherzo is appropriately clever and fun, and displays some sparkling piano writing which Pletnev delivers quite nicely. The grand Largo is powerful, and perhaps just a tad overly emotive (which is taste-dependent, of course), yet retains rigorous formality. The Finale is somewhat predictable in that it is large, lush, romantic and rigorous. If this all reads like faint praise, it isn’t meant to. Much the same can be written about the trio, though here there’s a variation movement thrown in, and some of the playing sounds almost schmaltzy at times.
I really did enjoy this disc, though I can’t say that Tanayev emerges as quite the major figure the notes try to portray. Between this and the Suite, I think it makes sense to slowly sample a few other works from this composer, though I’m not sure I’ll ever start buying multiple versions of his works. Of course, doing so may point out even greater strengths in the music. Sound is fine, and playing is generally very good, though one must wonder if chamber music specialists might make even more of these works.
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Until recently I’ve resisted the pull of early music, and in particular a cappella music, since my occasional exposure to it was usually, though not always, less than satisfying. (Of course there are more modern a cappella works, but I tend to associate the form with pre-Baroque works.) Well, last year I sampled a compelling modern a cappella work, and I decided to try something new, or rather something really old. I settled on a new disc of music by Cristóbal de Morales, a composer entirely new to me. This disc offers one of those ear-opening experiences that come along all too infrequently. The last time I stumbled across something similar is when I heard Wozzeck for the first time, and that launched me into a journey of the world of opera that has not yet ended.
The works on this disc are unfailingly wonderful. The first thing I noticed was the sheer aural beauty of all of the works. All are “small,” in that only a few voices are used, but the sound is ravishing and the music at times spellbinding. All of the singers display what sounds to my ears like mastery of their parts. The individual melodies that one can pick out are all lovely and captivating, and the mastery of polyphony Morales displays is remarkable. I enjoy all of the works on the disc, with the Magnificat and Motets all perfectly scaled, but for some unexplainable reason, it is the three Lamentations that most capture my fancy. They are, in a word, glorious.
I know essentially nothing about Renaissance music, and have heard very little of it, so perhaps this disc of Morales’ music is a fluke. (Given that I like Dowland as well, I don’t believe that to be the case.) Perhaps I wouldn’t like other music by him, or by other early composers, and maybe this is really the exception in terms of a cappella works. I know I’ll be finding out if that is the case going forward.
SOTA sound.
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I decided to take my current exploration of early music as far back as I plan on going, right to Hildegard von Bingen. Medieval music is quite old enough for me, almost assuredly, as I have no real interest in listening to how people think the Romans may have listened to music. I’ve been aware of Bingen for years of course, but the thought of near-millennium old music didn’t get my blood racing. But my recent positive experiences with Dowland and Morales led me to take the plunge. I’m glad I did.
The first thing I noticed about the music, particularly on the tracks where women sing, is the beauty of the music. It is somewhat delicate and light, with beautiful and seemingly simple melodies, and the use of only four voices brings a temptingly spare, comforting feel to the music. The female voices nearly float in the acoustic they were recorded in, and the soaring high parts, well, they soar. But not too high. The works performed by male singers fare quite well also, but the music seems better suited to female voices. (Not being an academic, I can’t say whether Bingen intended these to only ever be performed by fellow nuns or not, and frankly I don’t care.) Compared to the more advanced works by Morales, these pieces just don’t seem as compelling. Over 74 minutes of unison chant doesn’t offer the same excitement of the advanced polyphony on the Morales disc, and the melodies aren’t quite as striking. Bingen also seems to have suffered from an early, mild case of Wagneritis, in that her texts are long and rambling and indulgent. I can live with that.
Jeremy Summerly and his Oxford Camerata do a quite fine job, at least to these ears, of bringing the music to life. Sound is very good, though here the Morales disc also wins. Still, a most enlightening purchase.
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Dietrich Buxtehude is another early baroque stalwart I hadn’t yet sampled. I suppose I should have tried (and should try) his organ music, but organ music ain’t my thing, so I opted for some chamber music, namely the seven opus 1 sonatas. As played here they appear to be a precursor to the modern piano trio, with a violin, cello, and harpsichord. Apparently there are divergent performance traditions, and the music can be played with a pair of violins instead, but I think for my purposes the current line up is sufficient.
The music is nicely varied. There are plenty of nods to dance music, but there’s also more. There’s occasional fugal writing, and some music that practically seems to beg for improvisation, or at least colorful embellishment. There’s a sense of somewhat muted joy at times on this disc; the playing is generally lively, but it’s also quite proper. No one seems to really push any boundaries. That’s more an observation than a criticism, but one must wonder if a more vigorous approach would do these works some good. There’s also quite a bit of polish to the playing. Would a rougher approach make the works even better? Well, these works are quite fine, so it may be worth investigating alternative takes in the future, though I think I’ll absorb these performances a few more times before trying.
The ensemble Convivium plays quite nicely, with the few “too good” reservations I mentioned, and the sound is generally quite good, with all three instruments generously represented – nothing sounds recessed here.
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I believe I’ve seen York Bowen’s name mentioned a time or two in reviews or articles, and what not, but until now I’d never taken the time to listen to his music. Why I’m not sure; he was born in 1884 and there are quite a few great or at least extraordinary composers born within a matter of years either way of that particular one. So when I came across this two-disc set of works for viola and piano I figured I might enjoy what was captured on those little plastic and aluminum discs and took the plunge. What a delightful treat!
The set opens with the first of two Viola Sonatas, written when Mr Bowen was a lad of 20. It’s a vibrant, energetic, and often just fun piece. It also displays a rich, romantic feel, aided no doubt by the rich sound of the viola. It’s conventional in form, but that doesn’t mean it ain’t fun to listen to. A short Romance in D Flat follows, and it’s quite similar. Next up is a sort of string quartet, though this one is a short Fantasia four violas! I was expecting a monotonous sound, but that’s not what composer and players deliver. The versatility of the instrument is brought out, with rich lower registers supporting some higher than often heard writing for the viola. The next work is a forgettable and somewhat lamentable retake of the slow movement of Beethoven’s Pathetique with viola obbligato. Next. The Phantasy in F Major closes the first disc, and this returns to the same sound world and approach of the first two works, though it’s generally slower and more languid. The second disc opens with the second Viola Sonata, and it is stylistically similar to the first, though if anything it’s even happier and brighter. Heck, it’s just plain old good fun. The next four works all offer much the same style of music, either plucky and fun (in the Allegro de Concert) or a bit more languid and overtly “romantic” (the Romance and two Melodies). Only the concluding Rhapsody in G minor from the late date of 1955 offers something a bit mote challenging, dense, and complex, though it never quite sheds the earlier traits. All told, with the exception of the LvB work, all of the pieces work very well.
Sound is absolutely top-flight, and all artists involved acquit themselves most expertly. Lawrence Power is a heck of a violist, and Simon Crawford-Philips is a fine accompanist. Indeed, his playing shows that the accompaniment isn’t meant to be pushed to the background and that Bowen was a creative and intriguing author for 88 keys. A superb set.
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Thus far in my listening I’ve only made time for one work by Charles Wuorinen, and that was when I was fortunate enough to attend the world premiere of his Fourth String Quartet years ago. I enjoyed it and decided I should listen to more of his music, but I just never got around to it. Now I have, and I must say I waited a bit too long.
This outstanding disc opens with a single movement string sextet that sounds unequivocally “modern,” no doubt unpleasantly so to some, but at the same time it is really rather accessible. Harsh dissonance and jagged rhythmic changes are kept somewhat at bay, and a smooth, appealing, at times attractive, almost traditional sound emerges. I mean this in relative terms; this is modern music, but one can almost hear the tradition of pre-war composers shining through. This isn’t radicalism for the sake of radicalism. It’s almost contemporary Brahms. Anyway the music unfolds nicely, is tightly constructed, and has interesting musical ideas popping out throughout, with some exciting, vigorous, rhythmically catchy portions.
The Second String Quartet is similar in most ways, though it’s in four movements, labeled movements 1-4, and displays the same traditionally modern sound. The opening movement alternates between fast and slow, and has a nifty ticking sound at the start, and some infectious, vibrant, slashing playing throughout. The second movement is somewhat deceptive. It starts slow, much of the movement is quiet, with tasty tremolos and plucky pizzacatti, but it also continuously evolves. The third movement is more vigorous, and deliciously dissonant. The final movement starts slow but quickly evolves into a more striking, intense, satisfying conclusion.
Next is the single movement Divertimento for string quartet, and it’s apparently the same music as Wourinen wrote for piano and saxophone. The overall tone and feel of the work is light and fun – a heavy divertimento would seem a bit unusual – but the music is nicely tense and propulsive.
The disc ends with a Piano Quintet that sounds like a standard “modern” work, by which I mean it displays much of the difficult, knotty goodness of, say, some of Schoenberg’s works. It’s less accessible, perhaps, but it’s no less satisfying. There are some standard elements. The long second movement is the slow movement, and it offers a sonic and (perhaps also) an emotional element not present in the other movements. This first, by contrast, is a somewhat standard, nicely driven opener, the third movement is an intermezzo, and the fourth movement is swift, rapidly changing, and vigorous, with audience-pleasing elements.
This is extraordinarily fine CD. I enjoy every work on the disc completely and have already played it a couple times and plan on doing so a couple more times in the next couple days. Charles Wuorinen writes some mighty fine music. I really need to investigate his output a bit more.
Sound is excellent, and all of the players are far more than up to the challenge.
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It’s been years since last I bought a disc of music by William Alwyn, so I decided to try his string quartets, a medium I often find composers give their best effort to. Perhaps that’s the case with Alwyn, perhaps not, but one thing’s for sure, this is a nice disc.
The disc opens with the First String Quartet naturally enough, and it at once seems an anachronism. It was written in the 1950s but it sounds more like a work written a half-century to three-quarters of century earlier. It’s decidedly “romantic,” and it’s lush at times. It also sounds more than faintly Czech, though nowhere near as much as Bax’s First Quartet. There’s a bit more to it. Some of the music is perhaps a bit more acidic than works from the time frame it alludes to, and the more than occasional peppiness keeps one listening closely, as does the overtly old-fashion slow movement.
The Second Quartet, subtitled Spring Waters, is from the mid-70s, and while it sounds much more modern, it’s still behind the times. That’s quite alright. More astringent, more challenging, it still sounds attractive, as though Alwyn didn’t want to write ugly music. The first movement is constantly changing with some nifty rhythmic changes; the second movement, a scherzo, sounds somewhat like a lighter and less serious Bartok; and the final movement is mostly slow, brooding, and serious. Not having read Turgenev’s novel of the same name, I can’t say that Spring Waters evokes any imagery from the book or even is supposed to.
Next is the Third Quartet from 1984, and it’s both “modern” and “romantic” at the same time. In its two movements it manages to blend gentleness and contemplation, frisky dances, intensity, abstract harshness, and syrupy sentimentality into a cohesive whole. It seems somewhat personal, if you will, or at least more so than the prior two works, and it’s the most compelling work on the disc. The disc closes with a Novellette that’s fun and brisk and offers a nice contrast to the final string quartet.
The Maggini play well, as always, and the sound is excellent. I don’t think I can say these are among the great string quartets of the last century, but they are very good and will receive future spins.
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I so enjoyed my first disc of Morales’ music that I decided to try another post-haste. Whilst browsing the local classical specialist I came upon this disc, with the Requiem a 5, or Missa Pro Defunctis, along with some shorter motets on the Spanish label Cantus. In short, it’s another stunner.
The Requiem is the main work, and what a glorious one it is! Once again the melodies are stupefyingly gorgeous, and the polyphony beyond masterful. The entire work unfolds in a most, well, natural way. Everything fits perfectly, and nary an ugly sound or misplaced note can be heard. The liner notes state that the work evokes terror. I don’t really hear that, but mixed in with the astounding beauty is profound sorrow and solemnity. Is this not what a requiem should be? This work does have five voices, allowing for even more interesting interactions than on the Hyperion disc, and the soprano generally leads the melodies. In addition, there is an organ accompaniment. It’s quite effective; sometimes voices and instrument blend together in perfect harmony and produce a larger, more beautiful sound. The three, multi-part motets all occupy a similar sound-world and all depend to an extent on the organ. I’d say the Requiem is my favorite work on this disc, and probably my favorite work so far from the composer, but all of the works are simply marvelous.
Sound and performance standards are extremely high. I’d probably give a slight edge in both instances to the Hyperion recording, but make no mistake, Raúl Mallavibarrena and the Musica Ficta do exceptionally well. I’ll definitely have to explore more music by Morales, and given my prior antipathy regarding these types of works, that’s quite something.
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Missing Ravel piano concerto discovered! That’s what I thought a few times while listening to Ned Rorem’s Second Piano Concerto from 1951. It’s a decidedly “French” sounding work, with a light, clear, at times almost delicate sound and feel. The work never becomes heavy or opaque, which allows some rather nifty wind writing to show up, and the piano writing is often dazzling and fun. The long opening movement seems like a concerto in itself, with some fast, vibrant sections and slow, (almost) contemplative ones. I guess that makes sense given that the movement is labeled “Somber and Steady.” I’ll leave it to the reader to guess what the second movement, labeled “Quiet and Sad” sounds like, but that Gallic flair is still there. Ditto the concluding “Real Fast!” movement. Okay, maybe I was too hard on Rorem for ripping off Ravel; it also sounds like he knew his Poulenc, too. But he also knows how to write some attractive, fun, creative orchestral music, even if it ain’t the Deepest Music Ever Written.
The second work on the disc is his much more recent Cello Concerto, from 2002. This work strikes me as altogether more substantive and serious, but not a whole lot “heavier.” (This is definitely not DSCH’s third cello concerto.) It’s also more unabashedly “modern.” One thing I enjoy about Rorem is his ability to write nearly harsh, dissonant music that still sounds attractive, and this works offers up some of that. There’s also a sparser overall feel, using less to somehow evoke more. The work is more probing, more intense, yet it’s also a bit subtler. Rorem’s influences are also a bit less obvious – perhaps a bit of Liszt, maybe some Prokofiev, and almost certainly some Messiaen – and his writing more sophisticated. The multiple, brief movements also keeps the piece moving right along, not dwelling on anything. I really enjoy this work.
As with much Rorem, I find much to admire. Perhaps these works aren’t the greatest in their respective genres, but they are by no means lightweight works, the Cello Concerto especially. The disc reminds me why I like to pick up a Rorem disc every now and again: he writes really good music. As to performers, Simon Mulligan does a fine job tickling the ivories and Wen-Sinn Yang does an excellent job on the ‘cello. José Serebrier and the Royal Scottish National Orchestra do some fine work as well. Superb sound rounds out an excellent disc.
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Having enjoyed all of the recordings of music by Ahmed Adnan Saygun, I figured I could go for another one, and I settled on a CPO disc devoted to his Third and Fifth Symphonies. It’s another winner.
The disc opens with the Third, and it’s got all manner of Saygunian goodness in it. There’s the “exotic” writing, with novel orchestration creating ear-tickling effects. There’s an astringent, muscular sound to much of the music – no wimpy symphony this. There’s an affinity for low strings that regularly crops up. There are brilliant fanfares. There are attractive melodies intermingled with knottier fare. One can hear folk influences, but this ain’t no paean to folk music. There is some ever so slightly eerie quiet music; some cool, manly marches; some nice little parts for bassoon. It’s Big, it has a nice 38 minute length. It sounds swell.
So does the Fifth. The work is both quite similar and quite a bit different. It occupies a similar overall soundworld as the Third, with comparatively exotic music and novel orchestration, but it is also more refined, less folk-inspired, and more ethereal. The work unfolds in an almost Sibelius-like way, and it’s sparser and more austere much of the time. It’s more “abstract,” as well, not that the Third can be described as a programmatic piece. It just seems more accomplished and more assured overall. And it’s better than the Third, too.
Ari Rasilainen does an excellent job directing, and the Staatsphilharmonie Rheinland-Pfalz do an equally excellent job playing. Excellent sound, too.
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I had a hankerin’ for some more Early Music, and given my success with Morales, I figured I might want to try another 16th Century Spanish polyphony master, so I turned to one of Morales’ students, Francisco Guerrero. Again, I knew nothing of the composer or his music going in (and barely more than nothing now), but once again I have to rate my exploration a success, if not quite as much a success as my forays into the music of Morales.
At the core of the this disc is the Missa Super flumina Babylonis. It’s a large scale work, relatively speaking, and comprises all of the main elements of a mass – the Kyrie, Gloria, et al. Also thrown in are brief Aleluya and Ofrenda movements. Much like the works of Morales, beautiful melodies and masterful polyphony permeate the music, as does some masterful antiphony. The Aleluya and Ofrenda are plainchant interludes. Also thrown in is some fine music making by sagbutt and cornett players. Everything is very good, but I just never got as caught up in the music as I did (and do) with the works of Morales. The older Spaniard’s melodies are just more beautiful, his polyphony more bewitching. It’s just that simple, at least for me. Others may feel differently.
The disc also contains other works, including a couple of nice, brief instrumental pieces performed by the sagbuttists and cornettists (?), and some more substantial pieces. The opening Ave virgo sanctissima is superb, for instance, and the moderately large-scaled In exitu Israel is also quite captivating.
Given the nature of the works, two different choral ensembles were used for the different works, the British Ensemble Plus Ultra taking the mass and some other works, the Spanish Schola Antiqua taking some of the smaller works. Both perform admirably, if not quite to the same standards as the Brabant Ensemble on the Hyperion Morales disc. His Majesty’s Sagbutts and Cornetts play well enough, as well, but are there better ensembles out there? I don’t know. Michael Noone seems to have a firm grasp of the music and conducts well, and the sound is excellent.
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Time to move forward in time a little, but not really too much. I’ve long enjoyed Heinrich Ignaz Biber’s Rosary Sonatas, so I though I ought to try something a bit bigger. I settled on his Missa Christ resurgentis in a recording by Andrew Manze and the English Concert and The Choir of the English Concert. What a splendid disc!
The disc opens with a brief, snazzy, well played fanfare before moving into the mass itself. And the mass itself is really rather spiffy. Biber, or Manze and his band, or both, inject a rhythmic life into the music. It’s not like the music is jazzy, but it moves forward with inexorable drive, and I swear it sounds groovy at times. It’s also superbly orchestrated, with crisp cornets and trumpets cutting through ensemble from time to time, and sweet strings. The standard texts come to life as well. So far, so good, but then some additional instrumental music is thrown in, in the form of some sonatas, as well as one sonata attributed to Johann Heinrich Schmelzer. Why this was done, I don’t know, but it blends in nicely enough. To wrap up the work another snazzy fanfare is played. The cumulative effect of the mass is to perk the listener up – or this listener at any rate.
Once the main work is done, the disc moves on to instrumental works, particularly four sonatas from Fidicinium sacro-profanum. These works not too surprisingly display many of the same traits as the instrumental pieces used within the mass, which means they are quite fine.
Manze and his band play splendidly, and the chorus certainly sings well enough. No complaints about sound quality, either. A superb disc.
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So far I’ve tried two Morales discs, and so far I’ve had two big successes. This one makes it three for three. This is simply a marvel of a disc. The disc opens with a smaller but still substantial work by Morales, and ends with a short work by Alonso Lobo, but the core of the disc is the great Missa pro Defunctis, written for the funeral of Philip II. It’s just under an hour long as presented here, and is austere, serious, profoundly solemn and breathtakingly gorgeous. By ‘breathtakingly gorgeous’ I mean that this listener found himself breathing a bit shallower than normal so as not to sully the wonderful sounds falling on my ears. Gone is the almost dazzling, in a Renaissance sorta way, polyphony of the earlier Morales pieces, but in it’s place is something perhaps even better. Here is a blend of voices and sole instrument to create an otherworldly, dare I write heavenly, masterpiece. It’s the cumulative effect that matters. Throw in a truly marvelous setting of the ancient plainchant Dies irae (think the tune from Liszt’s Totentanz), and one can easily be transported to a different, better world. The work is, I believe, written for five voices and bajón, but it appears from the notes that eleven different singers are used during the mass. Perhaps they are alternated, but whatever the case, the spacious venue adds a certain heft to the singing, and the emphasis on lower voices adds a richness and seriousness that can never be accomplished with higher voices. The bajón accompaniment is discreet and effective.
The opening Officium defunctorum: Invitatorium is another masterful work, more in line with some earlier Morales works, and the closing piece by Mr Lobo is quite fine as well.
Sound is spacious, allowing for superb blending of voices, and suits the music perfectly.
A great disc.
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Exploring the Renaissance a bit more, I figured I should listen to Giovanni Pierluigi de Palestrina. I’ve read about him, of course, and seen reference to his works, and I even worked my way through Hans Pfitzner’s deadly dull opera Palestrina, but I’d never tried his music. Perhaps waiting was needed for me, I don’t know, but the music is worth the wait. This is music on pat with Morales, and no doubt many might say it is better than Morales. (They’d be wrong, but you get the idea.)
In many ways, all the praise I’ve heaped upon the works of Morales applies here. The polyphony is masterful, the melodies gorgeous, the harmonies enthralling. But there are critical differences. Whereas Morales strikes me as more adventurous in some of his works, Palestrina strikes me as more conservative and concerned with mastery of existing forms. His works are also even clearer, and often lighter than the works of the Spanish master. Too, they sound even more devout, more spiritual, if that’s possible. They also have a more soothing effect, at least for me. All of the works in this two-disc set are wonderful, but special mention must be made of the Missa Papae Marcelli, which is a work of such quality that it surely ranks alongside the greatest liturgical works ever written.
The Tallis Scholars sing splendidly, and sound is generally very good, though there is a slight digital glare at times in some of the recordings. More great stuff.
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