"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.
--
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.
--
Continuing on with yet more Cristóbal de Morales finds the first disc that if it doesn’t exactly disappoint, then it surely doesn’t live up to high expectations. But I think I know why. It’s not the music. The collection of works on the disc – five motets and the Missa Queramus cum pastoribus by Morales, and the brief Queramus cum pastoribus by Jean Mouton – are all quite nice, and all of those traits that I of Morales’ music that I so enjoy are still there: the beautiful melodies, the striking harmonies, the brilliant polyphony. It’s the performance. Two things stand out. First, the music is never taken too fast, yet it all seems to be pushed forward a bit too much. It doesn’t sound as controlled and smooth and relaxed as the other discs I’ve tried. This is because, second, the singers, as a whole, don’t sound quite as good as the singers I’ve heard thus far. They’re not bad, but compared to the Brabant Ensemble or Gabrieli Consort, they don’t have the degree of refinement and tonal grace I prefer. A somewhat glassy and hard recorded sound doesn’t help things, either. I’ll listen again, no doubt, but I need to look elsewhere for my ultimate Morales fix.
--
Continuining on with more Renaissance music, I decided to move north a bit and try some Orlande de Lassus. (Though not the recording recommended earlier in this thread.) Philippe Herreweghe has recorded enough music by Lassus to seem a safe bet, and so I grabbed his latest offering, the Cationes Sacrae for six voices. The recording is both spectacular and a bit disappointing. Let me ‘splain.
To the spectacular parts: the sound is as close to perfect as can be imagined. Voices are ideally clear and still blend beautifully. If only all recordings could sound as good. The quality of the singing is also quite extraordinary. Collegium Vocale is an exceedingly talented ensemble, no doubt of that.
But these two positives can’t make up for music that, while incredibly beautiful much of the time, isn’t quite as good as what I’ve heard from Palestrina and, especially, Morales. The fourteen works are mostly sacred, though the opener is not, and the polyphony is nearly as masterful as Morales’, and the melodies as beautiful as anything either Morales or Palestrina conjured. For reasons I just can’t explain adequately, it just doesn’t hit the spot. I will definitely give this disc several more listens on top of the ones it has already received, and I most certainly will explore more Lassus, but this disc just didn’t wow me.
--
After listening to so much ancient liturgical music, it seemed time to move forward in time a bit. I decided to move all the way to the present – well, the early 90s at any rate – and sample Sven-David Sandström’s High Mass, with Herbert Blomstedt conducting the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra. The work is a large scale, nearly 90 minute long work, with vocal parts for three sopranos and two mezzo sopranos, in addition to a massive chorus, orchestra and organ.
Sandström’s work offers quite a contrast to the works I’ve been listening to. Gone is the beautiful polyphony, and in its place is a hardened, modern sensibility, though one informed by Romantic impulses. The Kyrie eleison erupts violently, with piercing percussion, and a foreboding and ominous feel, only to be followed by a calmer, dreamier Christe eleison where the ladies come to the fore. But that darkness never fully dissipates. In stark contrast, the long Gloria is ecstatic and celebratory in a Messiaen-meets-Glass sort of way. I wouldn’t have though I’d like such a mixture, but it ain’t half bad. The Credo, while maintaining its modernity, also infuses a bit more traditional beauty and solemnity into the mix. The Sanctus, with its bright opening fanfare, and jubilant chorus, is more in the celebratory vein. The Agnus Dei is solemn and devoutly respectful and possessed of not a little beauty. These summaries of course offer only the briefest description of what the work is like, but it seems that there is more life in the old mass, even after all these years. That written, I cannot say that this compares to, oh, say, Bach’s towering masterpiece, or to Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, or to the best of the ancient music I’ve been listening to lately.
But that’s not the only work in this two-disc set. Ingvar Lidholm’s brief Kontakion is also included. Apparently inspired by an ancient Orthodox rite, and written for performance in the Soviet Union in the late 70s, the work opens with a screechy, decidedly “modern” sound before gradually and gently moving to a slower, sometimes quieter, and occasionally prettier sound world, though astringent strings are never far away. Delius this not, though; it could be tough going for those not enamored of post-war music. The work is a bit harder to get into, and while inspired by events of the day, is a bit more abstract. Overall, it’s quite good, but another half dozen listens are needed to really get into the piece.
Blomstedt does a superb job leading the forces involved in these live recordings, and the forces themselves do a more than commendable job. Sound is excellent, though not the best that modern recording techniques can produce.
--
I’ve been neglecting romantic music for a while, so I decided to try something new when a sale at a local retailer prompted me, for some unknown reason, to grab the Naxos disc of Amy Beach’s Gaelic Symphony and Piano Concerto. It’s a nice disc.
It opens with the decidedly large-scale piano concerto. Over thirty-six minutes in length, and scored for a big ol’ band, this is a late-romantic work through and through. Cast in four movements, with lovely string writing, some beautiful melodies, dazzling cascades of piano notes from time to time, this work sounds quite Brahmsian in some ways, but also a bit anonymous in others. It seems rather interchangeable with a number of obscure works from Hyperion’s Romantic Piano Concerto series. Indeed, I wonder why Hyperion didn’t record it. That written, it’s better than a number of works I heard from that series, though it doesn’t come close to matching the great works of the genre.
The same pretty much holds true for the so-called Gaelic Symphony. Informed by Irish folk-tunes in place, according to the notes, this grand symphony again possesses a simultaneously Brahmsian and anonymous sound. Once again, beautiful strings and beautiful melodies show up with some regularity, and once again it doesn’t compare to the great works in the genre. It’s an enjoyable work, though.
Sound is a bit less than ideal, but Alan Feinberg plays the piano well, and Kenneth Schermerhorn leads his Nashville band more than ably. A good, if not perhaps overly distinguished disc.
--
Albert Roussel is one of those composers I’ve routinely thought to myself I should investigate some more, but for some reason never did. Until now. Seeing that Christoph Eschenbach has recorded the symphonies for Ondine, all but guaranteeing wonderful sound for music that surely deserves it, I decided to try some more Roussel. It was about time.
The disc opens with the gorgeous, wonderful First Symphony, subtitled Le Poème de la forêt (Poem of the Forest.) On more than one occasion I found myself thinking ‘this is what Debussy would have written had he penned a symphony.’ It’s got that “impressionist” thing going on. It’s got superb orchestration, ranging from gorgeous tuttis of ample strength to gorgeous passages scored for few instruments. It’s got plenty of time for the flute, and for the harp. It’s gorgeously languid, or languidly gorgeous, in many places. It’s sophisticated. It’s very Frenchness is undeniable and irresistible. It’s a plum of a piece.
The much shorter, even more sophisticated Fourth is at least as good, and quite possibly better. It’s more serious, a bit darker, and more tightly constructed. But it’s also supremely beautiful, which seems to be something of a Roussel specialty. And the strings are sumptuous.
Eschenbach leads the Orchestre de Paris in two fine performances. I have nothing to compare them to, but I can see trying another version or two of each work, and if even better recordings are available, all the better.
Superb sound, as expected.
--
Where have you been all my life? I pondered this question, not exactly seriously, while listening to another disc of music by Roussel conducted by Mr Eschenbach. This disc, with the large-scale, serious symphony, and two suites from Bacchus et Ariane, made for a perfect follow-up to the prior disc of Roussel’s music. This is some great stuff.
The disc opens with the two Bacchus suites, and what fine suites they are. The music conveys all manner of moods, from fun and playful, to wistful, to sad, to boisterous. More important, it’s inventive and fresh throughout, and just about everything is masterful. The orchestration, the melodies, the harmonies: everything is superbly crafted. There’s nary a weak spot. Now, this isn’t my first time hearing the second suite; I have Eugene Ormandy’s recording as well, but Eschenbach rather handily bests him here.
But the raison d'être for this disc is surely the second symphony. With its extended, slow, mysterious open, its colorful orchestration, its beautiful and soaring and occasionally slightly searing strings, and its decidedly attractive oomph in places, it tickles the ear. And that’s the opening movement! The second movement is slower and generally “quieter,” but it’s possessed of a tension and nervous energy that’s quite appealing, and the string writing takes on a certain Mahlerian or Shostakovichian sound at times. Oh, and it stays resolutely attractive. The final movement is bold, at times almost cacophonous, and definitely is the most animated movement of the work, though it has moments of relative serenity. Again, the orchestration is inventive and appealing, and never can an ugly sound be heard. It seems to be the perfect combination of symphonic rigor and elegance. Perhaps it is, or perhaps it is not a masterpiece, but whatever the case, it’s a knockout, and I suspect I’ll have to explore other recordings.
Eschenbach and his band play superbly, and sound is outstanding. A winner.
I figured I might as well finish off Christoph Eschenbach’s Roussel cycle, so I grabbed the disc devoted to the Third Symphony and the ballet Le Festin de l’araignée (The Spider’s Feast). Not too surprisingly, at least for me, it’s quite a nice disc.
The symphony opens the disc, and it’s got all of those attributes I like about Roussel’s music. It’s masterfully orchestrated, and at times plenty of fun, but it’s got more to it than that. First, it’s nicely varied. Imposing tuttis, a bit of 20s jazz influence, some searing strings, serene calmness, mildly violent outbursts, intriguing small solo turns, it’s a grab bag of musical goodies. Second, it’s compact and economic in its means. No idea wears out its welcome, as it were. I can’t say it’s the best of the four symphonies, but it’s certainly on of the four best out of four superb works.
The ballet offers more luxurious, beautiful, at times languid and at times energetic music. String writing, yep, it’s quite good. Fun, yep, that’s there, too. In general terms, it like the other pieces I’ve described. I guess I can just say it Rousselian at this point.
Excellent sound and performances. Eschenbach’s Roussel cycle is most enjoyable.
Once again I thought I’d try some music by Michael Tippett, to hear if there’s something in his output that really got me going. String quartets seemed a good bet, so I went for the Naxos recording of Tippett’s string quartets 1, 2, and 4 played by The Tippett Quartet. Meh.
I didn’t find anything wrong with the music, but I didn’t find anything especially compelling, either. The first quartet from the 30s and 40s has a nice enough combination of romantic and slightly “modern” elements, but it’s just kind of there musically. Nothing particularly interesting happens. The second quartet, from the 40s, is perhaps a bit more “modern,” but it’s likewise a bit dull. The fourth quartet, from the late 70s is a bit more interesting. It’s more avant-garde, which isn’t necessarily good or bad, but it has more interesting ideas. Alas, it strikes me as a bit too long; my attention wandered frequently.
The Tippett Quartet play very well, and sound is very good, but the music just doesn’t work for me. Others may find it more interesting, though.
--
In my listening experience, Michael Endres has demonstrated himself to be a fine player of Germanic piano music. His Mozart and Schubert sonatas are among the best I’ve heard, and his Schumann, while not of the same caliber, is still very good. So I decided that Endres would offer a good introduction to assorted piano works of Carl Maria von Weber. While I do have a few versions of the Perpetuum Mobile ending of the first sonata, and possibly a version of the entire first sonata (I honestly can’t keep track), it’s been a long time since I listened to the recordings, and this is the first time I purposely bought some Weber piano music.
As I expected, Endres delivers. Endres’ style is generally understated, but here it’s hard to be understated. Weber’s music is filled with gobs of notes obviously meant to be played in virtuosic fashion. Endres clearly has the technique to play the music with a glittering, easy sound when needed, and he can play the slower parts equally well. His tone and style seem to work extremely well.
The music itself is very entertaining, but it sounds a bit shallow. Compared to the great works of Beethoven and Schubert, there’s an empty slickness and banal playing-to-the-gallery feel to some of the music. The fast movements are fast and dazzling, designed to draw applause. The slow movements, while often very beautiful, don’t offer much depth. That written, the music is definitely attractive. And it’s fun. It is also undeniably of its age; it almost screams out early Romanticism. It’s hard to hate fun, early romantic piano music. As to specific works, the Second Sonata and Seven Variations on the Aria Vien’qua dorina bella are my favorites at this point, but the Fourth Sonata and Grand Polonaise also have a strong appeal. While I can’t say that this music matches up to the best music of the age, this is still a very enjoyable set for not too serious listening.
Sound is a bit bright and a bit bass-shy, but otherwise is very good.
--
I so enjoyed my first disc of Véronique Gens singing songs of Joseph Canteloube that I decided to try the second volume on Naxos. Everything I wrote about the first volume applies here. The music is generally light, bright, and clean, with delicious wind writing, and it’s always beautiful. Likewise, Ms Gens sounds wonderful, as expected.
The disc finishes up Chants d’Auvergne and adds the Tryptyque and Chants de France. There’s an obvious similarity among all the works, but the Tryptyque is special. It’s more languid ‘n’ lush than the other works, and closer in spirit to Ravel’s great Scheherazade. That’s a good thing. For some inexplicable reason, Naxos didn’t include texts of any kind with the disc. Go figure.
Sound is good, but the orchestra is a bit muddy at times, and Ms Gens sounds more prominent than she would in person, not that I’m complaining about that. The Orchestre National de Lille plays well again, but this time Serge Baudo takes up the baton and does a fine job. Another delightful disc.
--
I’ve enjoyed the orchestral music of Francis Poulenc since I first heard the Concerto for Two Pianos, so I decided it was time to try something else. I decided to try the piano music. I looked around and there aren’t exactly tons of options. When I came across the complete works performed by Gabriel Tacchino on EMI, I found the set for me.
As I expected, Poulenc’s solo piano music is mostly great fun. A total of 83 pieces spread across the two discs, with many grouped into collections – 8 Nocturnes, 3 Intermezzi, 15 Improvisations, etc. There are no really big works, no formal, serious sonatas. But the music makes for good listening. Sounding like a cross between Chabrier and Faure at times (and even Scriabin in the first of the 3 Pièces), his pieces are mostly light, crisp, clear, and snappy. (And the Nocturnes certainly do not sound like one might expect.) There are a fair number of slower, more somber pieces, but even they never really plumb the depths. The music seems to be more superficial and designed to sound improvised.
Gabriel Tacchino, an artist new to me, recorded the works between the mid-1960s and early-1980s, and he seems to be quite at home. Sound is good, with the early digital recordings sounding better than the analog. That written, these are 1980s transfers; perhaps EMI can do new ones. Anyway, a quite nice set worthy of more than a few listens.
--
I love Schubert’s solo piano music, particularly the sonatas, but also some of the smaller works. But how about all of the dances? The relatively few I’ve heard on disc and in recital have all been nice, some more than that, but until recently I never really gave much thought to listening to all of them. Dozens of works comprising hundreds of dances could be a long slog, even if they are from the pen of Schubert. And who would be a good guide for such an undertaking? Michael Endres recorded one of the better extant sonata cycles in the 90s, and he also recorded the complete dances around the same time. Yes, he would do.
And do nicely. Endres obviously has an affinity for Schubert, and it shines through in every work. No, he can’t make every piece sound profound or great or even remarkable, but the better pieces in the set are superb. I can’t really pinpoint the best works in such a large collection, though in general the “later” works do tend to be more sophisticated. I will say that Schubert’s single Diabelli variation sounds just about how one would expect it to. Throughout the set, gorgeous melodies abound, and Endres delivers them with assurance. Too, Endres’ rhythmic sense is well nigh flawless throughout. And his tone is perfectly sumptuous and subtle. No, these are not Schubert’s greatest works, and the set is not mandatory listening for even devout Schubertians, but it is thoroughly enjoyable. Endres confirms his formidable Schubert credentials.
Top-notch sound.
--
I rather enjoy the Spanish solo piano music I have sampled thus far, however limited the number of composers. Albéniz (especially), Granados, Falla, Turina – all wrote some pretty spiffy music for 88 keys. And of course others have written music inspired by the Iberian Peninsula. So I decided to try Joaquín Rodrigo’s solo piano music, all of which fits neatly onto two CDs. There aren’t exactly gobs of recordings of the complete works, so I went with the first such compilation, recorded by one Sara Marianovich for Sony Spain in 2001 to celebrate the composer’s centenary. The then young Ms Marianovich (she’s still not exactly old) apparently worked with, and played for, Mr Rodrigo, so one can conclude she was and is well versed in the music.
The set contains twenty works written between 1923 and 1987. Many of the works are comprised of multiple small movements. In other words, it’s basically a collection of miniatures. That’s quite alright, particularly given the quality of the music. In brief comments by the composer, he mentions how he tried to avoid Albéniz’s style and purposely wrote smaller, clearer works. And so they are. Many of the pieces display a beautiful simplicity devoid of all virtuoso flashiness. Some of the music is slow and almost static at times, but it is the more powerful, the more contemplative for it. There are some snazzier pieces, too, that display some of the rhythmic freedom his fellow countrymen also displayed. Some of the earlier pieces sound of their time; that is, they have a slightly “modernist” sound, though they avoid expressionist angst. They’re more impressionist. At times, one can hear Rodrigo’s influences. Albéniz ends up being unavoidable, as does Turina. In the Tres Evocaciones one can hear distant echoes of Debussy. These are all good things.
Ms Marianovich plays splendidly. Her dexterity and command seem quite strong, and she plays with a broad tonal palette and great sensitivity. Of special interest is her quite playing. It’s really good stuff. Sony provides some fine sound, though it can be a bit bright at times. It’s too bad there aren’t many more recordings available by this pianist – I’d love to here her in Debussy, for instance. An altogether successful purchase.
--
I so enjoyed my earlier discovery of Albert Roussel’s three symphonies that I knew I should try something else. Since I rather fancy piano music, it seemed natural to try that. Roussel’s piano music is even harder to come by than his orchestral music. I ended up going with a 1979 Solstice Records disc devoted to what is reported as the composer’s complete piano works, though I don’t know if that’s the case. What I do know is that music is generally light, crisp, clear, light-hearted and a bit slight.
Only a half dozen works are included, and many of those are suites and collections. The first work, Des Heures Passent.. is a nice little collection of pieces, and each one successfully depicts the title – things like Joyeuses and Tragiques. The Rustiques is similar. The Suite and Sonatine and Prelude and Fugue strike me as more formal and better structured, but even so I can’t say these are anything other than lightweight pieces. The disc closes with Three Pieces, all untitled, and all three display similar traits to the other works.
This disc offers some nice if slight works. Perhaps another pianist could make them sound more substantive that Alain Raës does, but then again maybe not. Sound is definitely not particularly good, but then it’s not particularly bad. Overall, this is a nice disc, but not a major find.
--
Federico Mompou is been a composer I’ve long thought about looking into. Sure, I’ve heard a piano piece here and there on the radio, and I think I may have a disc or two with his music as an encore, but I never sat down and listened to his music at length. Now I have, and I’m glad I did.
Mompou being Spanish, I expected his music to sound similar, at least to an extent, to some of the other Spanish composers I’ve listened to, and, to an extent, it does sound similar. But it also sounds unique. When I spun disc one, which has the Música Callada, the impression I got was one of a Spanish Satie. Generally slow, simple, and hypnotic, the collections of miniatures are my least favorite of the works in the set, but they are still good. The remaining three discs are devoted to other collections of miniatures, including dances, preludes, and variations, including a compelling set based on Chopin’s fourth prelude. All of these works are more to my liking, have a bit more verve (though never in the same category as Albéniz), and display rhythmic and harmonic originality, all while remaining somewhat understated. Flashy and vacuous the music is not.
The pianist here is the composer himself. Mompou, despite being aged when he recorded the works, seems to play well, handling the trickier and faster passages with what sounds to be at least adequate control. Perhaps more youthful virtuosi could play with more brilliance (I may very well find out), but the composer delivers the goods. One can also surmise that Mompou has the meaning of the music down. Alas, the early 70s Ensayo sound is too metallic, harsh, and bright. It’s not as bad as the likewise Antonio Armet produced recordings by Esteban Sánchez of the same period, but it’s not up to date sound.
--
Hi Todd
If you enjoyed that, I thoroughly recommend this Mompou recital by the excellent English pianist Stephen Hough:
If you enjoyed that, I thoroughly recommend this Mompou recital by the excellent English pianist Stephen Hough:
This is good as well - ECM New Series with Herbert Henck on piano - Musica Callada
