Recording Review #9: Pickard's Puffers

John Pickard: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 6; Verlaine Songs. Emma Tring, soprano; Martyn Brabbins, conductor; BBC National Orchestra of Wales. BIS 2721. 

I sometimes wonder if there's a certain transformation I missed. How does one go from wanting something catchy or otherwise viscerally pleasing out of music, to one for whom conceptual conceits are enough? When I was on Twitter (sorry, "X") I'd often raise such points in criticizing music like the works on this recording. The responses from the Geeks there amounted to pretending not to know what I was talking about, or assuring me that catchy things like a great melody or an infectious rhythm are no more important than anything else. Well, I never got there. Not after earning a PhD in musicology and having listened to classical music assiduously for nearly 30 years. I want so much more out of my music than Neat Patterns or Interesting Sounds. And I'm afraid I just don't hear much more than that in any of these Pickard works. 

Pickard's problem is that he has no feeling for anything that will likely appeal to the unschooled listener. These works show a meagre melodic gift (including the decidedly untuneful Verlaine Song cycle) and a restless sense of rhythm. Which leaves him emphasizing things that are interesting mostly to analysts, critics, and other geeks. There are lots of colorful timbres (especially in his use of brass) and interesting shifts of texture, tempi, and other sonic points. I'm sure I would find all kinds of structural cohesion and ingenuity in the symphonies if I were to look. But why bother? I just don't *like* any of it. It's the same old, faceless angularity and dissonance trotted out by so many academic symphonists since the middle-20th century. The same old puffy masses of sound. And they go on for too long. The one-movement Second Symphony, which occupies Track 1, clocks in at nearly half an hour. No sooner had the piece started than I groaned at the prospect of wasting this amount of my life sticking with it. (But I did!) The two-movement Sixth Symphony presents a similar experience, though here Pickard splits things up a bit with two 10+-minute spans. It would have been better-going (with more relief) if they had been shorter works and movements, though of course the 'all-important' structural considerations might have been affected. But nope. Robert Simpson would be proud. 

I feel a bit bad being so negative. But I also perceive that too many critics refuse to face the obvious with music like this: it's resolutely niche stuff that's either going to turn off most listeners or simply float past their ears. Let's be up-front and not pretend it is anything else. If you're an average Joe or Josephine looking to enjoy some nice classical music, I suggest you look elsewhere. Also, if you consider yourself to be this kind of listener, check back at The Ross Review often for more such honesty: I'll square with you even if other folks won't. 

Geeks Only

Recording Review #8: Mismatched Mozart

Mozart: Piano Sonatas K. 310, 331, and K. 457; Fantasia in C Minor, K. 475. Yundi Li, piano. Warner Classics 5419798130. 

Did we really need another recording of these well-trodden works? Shrug. Did we need another merely decent recording of them? Debatable. Did we need a merely decent recording of them packaged under the somewhat pretentious title of "Yundi Mozart: The Sonata Project Salzburg"? No, I don't think we did. But that's what we have here. On the surface, this is a glitzy product. Under the hood there are some issues of sound and interpretation that defy the release's lofty packaging. 

The basic problem is this: Yundi is a distinguished performer of Romantic and 20th-century repertoire, but he's less at home in the Classical Period. Mostly he just has the wrong tone. The C Minor Sonata (K. 457) is a good example. This is a bit too heavily pedaled, and the loud notes and large gestures simply BOOM too much. During the quieter portions, and especially the slow movements of K. 310 and 331, the sound is too silky and 19th-century-ish. These portions remind me a bit of Chopin Nocturnes. Even where he manages more restraint, such as the K. 331 variations movement and famous Turkish March, the sound isn't quite right. It's too wooden, with a certain light grace largely missing. To his credit, I could tell he at times that was trying for this feeling, but it pretty much eluded him. 

The K. 475 Fantasy receives the best performance, mostly because a certain whimsy is built into it and matches Yundi's Romantic sensibility better. Accordingly, I was more convinced by the slow sections here. But then Yundi can't help busting through the guardrails during the Allegro portions. His noisy take on them might be at home in Schumann, but it doesn't feel very idiomatic in a Mozart passage at all. 

For my money, the best Mozart interpretations manage to convey emotion within a framework of proper classical restraint. They apply articulation consistently, and embrace clarity and delicate sparkle. It would appear that such a pianism is foreign to Yundi's outlook. Listen to the present recording, and then compare it to performances by Maria João Pires and Mitsuko Uchida, for instance. You'll see what I mean. Not that Yundi does a "bad" job; his rendering is quite serviceable. But with so many great alternatives available, I can't tell someone looking for a single recording of these pieces to go out and buy this "project."

Recommended to Collectors

The Shostakovich Symphonies: A Ranked List

Some time ago composer and music teacher Benjamin P. Jackson ranked the symphonies of Dmitri Shostakovich on his website. You can see this here, complete with explanations for every work's placement. Although I disagree a lot with Mr. Jackson's order and rationales, the exercise was very well done. So much so, in fact, that I've decided to follow suit with my own pecking order.

I consider Shostakovich to be one of the very greatest symphonists of the 20th century, but by no means are his 15 symphonies even in terms of what I would consider to be quality. His cycle is an object lesson in the truth that consistency isn't a pre-requisite for genius. (And yes, I do believe there is such a thing as genius, regardless of what the obnoxious deconstructionists say.) But the highs are very high, even if we all can't agree precisely about what those are and why. There are still many conversations about Shostakovich's music to be had, especially ones in which Soviet political intrigue doesn't dominate our focus. In that spirit, here is my ranking: 

15. Symphony No. 3 in E-Flat, Op. 20 ("The First of May")

For me this one edges out the Second Symphony as the dud of the cycle. Now, I am not one of those stubborn listeners who simply needs every symphony to have adhered to the "proper" (i.e. German) classical manner. I despise this ahistorical attitude (which thinks it's so historical), and combatting it is one of my raisons d'être as a musicologist. (See my published work.) So no, it's not the "banalities," nor any so-called "genre incongruities," nor even the obsequious Soviet patriotism that bother me about Shostakovich's Third. It's quite simply that I don't find its materials at all special or memorable. No. 3 presents half an hour or more of boring noodling, followed by equally boring choral-orchestral declamation. Not Shosty's best effort, to say the least. 

14. Symphony No. 2 in B Major, Op. 14 ("To October")

The Second Symphony has a couple of things going for it that the Third does not: it's a good deal shorter, and its materials are (or become) slightly more interesting after an almost atonal opening. (At that, the initial material is fairly quiet. If you're going to have noise, it's best to have quiet noise!) As in the Third, a chorus enters well into the piece. In this instance we get a puke-worthy poem by Alexander Bezymensky extolling Lenin and the October 1917 Revolution. So this text definitely sucks more than that used in No. 3. If I could understand sung Russian without a written translation, the lyrics might bother me enough to place No. 2 at the bottom. But, I'm throwing in with marginally more musical interest: No. 2 goes in the fourteenth slot. 

13. Symphony No. 13 in B-Flat Minor, Op. 113 ("Babi Yar")

No. 13 comes in at No. 13. Is that unlucky? You might well think so, given the esteem in which this symphony is commonly held. But I merely feel unlucky every time I listen to it. Okay, that's being a bit dramatic. For real, though, I have never been very fond of Babi Yar. I admit that it has all kinds of fascination. I think the poems and what Shostakovich is commemorating here are extremely touching. Most of all I LOVE reading about this symphony's background, not least the cowardice and censorship he endured to get it heard. But all of that stuff captivates me more than the music itself, which I mostly find to be tedious. And it just goes on and on. My personal verdict is this: while the intentions are noble and the music is in many ways impressive, I'd almost always rather listen to other stuff by Shostakovich. 

12. Symphony No. 14 in G Minor, Op. 135

Part of me wants to place this higher, because certain portions are very compelling. But mostly it's unremittingly dreary: a symphony about the finality of death by a Soviet atheist. Bleak stuff. Still, I have to give Shostakovich points for calling something a symphony that is essentially a cycle of eleven songs for soprano, bass, and string/percussion orchestra. It shows that the Mahlerian view of the genre (one of several which could be called "anti-classical") was no fluke in the early 20th century. This greatly compromises the symphonic purist position, which prizes classicism (especially of the German, sonata-form variety) to the exclusion of all else. And that's a GOOD thing. Consequently, if the Fourteenth is Grim with a capital G, and only sporadically memorable (for example, the hair-raising second movement!), so be it. 

11. Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, Op. 43

I hear the groans, hisses, and gnashing of teeth. "DUDE, why is No. 4 ranked so low??! It's like his best one! GAHHH!!" Okay, let me explain something to you. I don't care about brilliance if I find it to be aloof. Yes, this is a brilliant symphony, demonstrating first-rate facility and imagination. But do you know what it almost entirely misses? Plain-spoken, emotional directness. Whereas Shostakovich's Fifth is teeming with that (and comes in at just the right length), his Fourth is an interminable parade of pyrotechnics that leaves me cold. It's made for Geeks by a Geek. The composer himself basically admitted this when he said that here he was writing for himself. Again, I don't object to the Fourth's episodic structure; I'm concerned with the draw of its materials. Even now, after all of my musical study, I want what I hear to move me most of all...regardless of it fitting whichever theory or structural model. But I'm afraid that while No. 4 excites my nerdiness, much less does it win my love. 

10. Symphony No. 12 in D Minor, Op. 112 ("The Year 1917")

Here's another Shostakovich symphony that conventional wisdom loves to hate. From what I gather, many would rate No. 12 only slightly above Nos. 2 and 3 at the bottom of the heap. But I have always harbored more affection for it than to do likewise. This is principally due to the first movement, titled "Revolutionary Petrograd," which is thoroughly tuneful and exciting! If the symphony had stopped there, I might place it a notch or two higher on this list. But invention definitely flags with the remaining movements, and one is forced to think more about the work's fetid Lenin inspiration while listening to much less engaging material. Truthfully, this isn't the only instance when Shostakovich opens a symphony with a belter (as the British say) while the rest fails to keep up. Great as he was, his inconsistency emerges on more local levels than merely from composition to composition. 

9. Symphony No. 11 in G Minor, Op. 103 ("The Year 1905")

Speaking of inconsistency, we come to the Eleventh. The premise here is quite good; the setting and terrible events of Russia's 1905 Revolution receive some fantastic treatment. Appreciably harrowing is the depicted episode of the Winter Palace troops shooting angry protesters on Bloody Sunday (January 9th). The corresponding second-movement buildup and aftermath present one of the most devastatingly effective junctures in any Shostakovich symphony. Most of the remaining music follows the composer's programmatic indications quite compellingly. But the thing just goes on for too long. And without the program, it is diffuse and much less absorbing. One wonders whether a short series of focused symphonic poems under the general title The Year 1905 would have worked better...kind of like what you see with Smetana's Má vlast or Sibelius's Four Lemminkäinen Legends. But I suppose by 1957 the symphonic poem genre was getting to be pretty long in the tooth. Despite its imperfections (real or perceived), the Eleventh Symphony remains a work of great power. If the listener engages with it on its own terms, the whole can make a tremendous impression. 

8. Symphony No. 15 in A, Op. 141

In what is otherwise a caricaturist, over-the-top film, Tony Palmer's Testimony (which concerns the life and music of Shostakovich) contains an interesting line. If memory serves, it's spoken by a disembodied Stalin to the composer, and goes something like this: "When I died, a certain something left your music." That's not the exact quote, but it's close. There is a lot of truth to the sentiment. You still get masterpieces in Shostakovich's late music, as well as occasional glimpses of his youthful spirit. But there's a lot of unrelenting darkness, too. His last symphony seems to embody this pattern pretty aptly. As with No. 12, but even more acutely, he opens with an absolute gem of a movement. In fact, this may be my personal favorite among all the movements of the 15 symphonies. The William Tell Overture quotations, not to mention the humorous references to 12-tone music, are parts of a kooky and absolutely magical mixture. (He is supposed to have said that this music has something to do with a toy shop coming alive at night. Just brilliant.) But the rest of the symphony is...fine. Not bad, but comparatively uneventful. When I listen to these remaining movements, I'm always still on a high from the opener and disappointed that nothing so riveting ever follows. 

7.  Symphony No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 10

As far as First Symphonies go, this one is extremely impressive. The graduation project of a 19-year-old, it is in every way an assured first step in one of the century's major cycles. Given his later penchant for sprawling symphonic landscapes, it is ironic that Shostakovich's First is also one of his most concise. Youthful energy blends with humor and irony, the latter things persisting to the end of his career throughout widely divergent settings. I know plenty of people would rate No. 1 higher. I wouldn't necessarily disagree except that it doesn't quite have the emotional punch of some later symphonies, which come from deeper places of experience. So, I peg it as the lowest-ranked masterpiece on my list. What a way for a still-adolescent to prove to the world that he was the real deal!

6. Symphony No. 9 in E-Flat, Op. 70

I find Lighter-Vein Shostakovich to be hopelessly likable. I wish we had more of him. Was DS really thumbing his nose at Stalin and Company by writing an "anti-Ninth" to mark the end of the war? I don't know. But I know that the whole thing is gobs of fun to listen to. Every single time. I mean, who besides Zhdanov and Friends wouldn't want this delightful little romp instead of the bloated 'Hymn to Stalin and the Motherland' that was supposedly planned initially? Even in the slow movements (second and fourth), there's an easier feeling despite occasional eeriness. (After all, you can't take the menace ENTIRELY out of Shostakovich.) Also, the Ninth probably carries the distinction of being his most forthright nod to classicism. The sonata-form opening is sharply conceived and HILARIOUS. The scherzando-like third movement is always a blast, and the finale closes everything out with a rousing rondo. Performances usually last well under half an hour. Brevity might not always be the soul of wit, but the saying seems to apply here. 

5. Symphony No. 7 in C, Op. 60 ("Leningrad")

The Leningrad embodies something that English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams famously wrote: "The composer must not shut himself up and think about art, he must live with his fellows and make his art an expression of the whole life of the community." In the 1940s, Shostakovich lived with his fellow Russians in Leningrad, faced fear and death with them when the Nazi army besieged their city, and there churned out a symphony conveying the somber heroism of those days. No wonder so many of his compatriots wept when they heard it performed. No wonder it came to stand as a symbol of Allied resistance to Axis aggression. To quibble over the "bombast" or loose form of the work, as some do, misses the point. Rhetorically this music hits all of the sensitive spots; if you're at all invested in its background/premise, the sheer emotional impact properly disarms such criticism. Yes, it sprawls a bit, but the payoffs are seemingly too flipping GOOD for that to matter. (Maybe the sprawling helps these payoffs to be so great, in a way.) One of my favorite parts is when the main theme returns to softly break the frightful tension in the aftermath of the first movement's 'Invasion Theme' stretch. That's as if to say: "It's not over yet. Keep fighting." This resonates on so many levels, even for those of us who weren't there. 

4. Symphony No. 6 in B Minor, Op. 54

This might be another head-scratcher for some readers. But I feel that, if not for a so-so middle movement, No. 6 should be in the conversation for one of the top slots. It begins with phenomenal Largo that usually runs over 20 minutes. Jim Svejda calls this "music to shoot yourself by." I'm not certain I'd go that far, but it is definitely gloomy. Sure, this is an emotionally draining way to start a symphony. However, the music is so well conceived, and so deftly argued, that one can't help but admire the formidable craft. Perhaps the fluffy, rather inconsequential second movement is needed as a palette cleanser, then. Okay, fair enough. If this properly prepares the listener for my personal favorite among Shostakovich's finales, it's worth it. Gosh do I love the jaunty third movement! Here's Lighter-Vein Shostakovich again, and this time in the same work as such a serious opening. Some critics have not liked this at all. But Hugh Ottaway had it right when he suggested that "to marry such incongruous worlds as those of the first and third movements" was a "bold stroke of daring." (See Robert Simpson, ed., The Symphony, Volume 2: Elgar to the Present Day, Penguin Books, 1967, page 207.) I'm don't always agree with Mr. Ottaway...not even in the writing I just cited. But the point is well taken. Then again, I often listen to the finale by itself. So tuneful, and so much fun!

3. Symphony No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 65

I actually don't listen to No. 8 very often. I find it unnerving stuff that's best partaken of occasionally. The patriotism/heroism-hating critics sometimes express how much better they like this war-symphony than the Leningrad. You see, it 'more realistically expresses the hell of war.' Notwithstanding the fact that patriotism and heroism are as legitimate as war's horrors, the Eighth does look at things from a slightly different angle. If you're in a calm frame of mind, it can be an extremely powerful experience. In terms of craft, I'd say this 65-minute behemoth is very nearly a masterpiece, or maybe a "minor" masterpiece. The first four movements are absolutely convincing in terms of narrative experience. My main trouble is with a slightly meandering finale where the inspiration lapses just a bit. With the Eighth Shostakovich came very close to a complete vindication of his post-Mahlerian symphonic ideal. But a full realization would have to wait another couple of symphonies. 

2. Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 47

There's a reason why the Fifth is probably Shostakovich's most-performed symphony. Quite simply, it speaks equally to popular and intellectual sensibilities. It balances the composer's essentially dramatic symphonic idiom with a tight form that even classicists can appreciate. It revels in memorable melody, yet also offers plenty in terms of harmony, sonority, and orchestral timbre. In short, it's the place in the whole cycle where everyone can most "meet in the middle." Rather than dilute the work, this elevates it. If that weren't enough, the background story is juicy: "A Soviet Artist's Creative Reply to Just and Deserved Criticism." Wow! What's really going on there? We've been debating this for many decades and still haven't come to a satisfying conclusion. That's part of the symphony's magic: was Shostakovich sincerely trying to make amends with his government, or was he pretending to do so while surreptitiously thumbing his nose? The truth is probably complicated. But the music of the Fifth often seems mysterious, even equivocal. As such it continues to tantalize expert and layman alike. Long may it do so. 

1. Symphony No. 10 in E Minor, Op. 93

This is it: the summit of Shostakovich's symphonic cycle. The Tenth is the resounding fulfillment of everything that worked only so well in most of its brethren. Each movement operates soundly according to its own terms, and the whole is gripping from start to finish. When you compose symphonies with a song or opera orientation, as Shostakovich did, you can easily slip into certain kinds of detracting pitfalls: recitative-like noodling, trouble knitting themes together, or not quite knowing how or when to draw things to a close. So many symphonies by Shostakovich are powerful DESPITE all of the stuff dangling from them. Well, there is no dangling here. For once every note of an extensive span is needed, even during a big opening movement. This time the latter is a Moderato instead of something slower. Builds toward climaxes are impeccably shaped; nothing feels tacked on. Every bar rewards emotional investment. The conclusion of this movement leaves you breathless, but not exhausted. The Allegro that follows is absolutely terrifying. I have no idea if it is a musical depiction of Stalin or not, nor if the whole symphony is a celebration of the despot's death, as has been claimed. But it doesn't matter. Halfway through, listener attention is given no reason to wander. (You can't say that for very many other Shostakovich symphonies.) Then comes the bewitching Allegretto with its DSCH motive and freaky Mahlerian horn call. This music haunted my thoughts for long after I first heard it. Last but not least we have a winner of a finale that absolutely maintains the heretofore high inspiration – right down to those closing DSCH statements in the timpani. In sum, the Tenth represents the best of everything Shostakovich attempted, and most cogently speaks of the world in which he and his cohorts lived, suffered, and persevered. 

Conclusion 

As I finish this ranking, I realize that Shostakovich really only "rang the bell" symphonically perhaps a handful of times. Few to none of the fifteen are what I would call "bad," but he was like most symphonists (even many "great" ones): greatness by no means saturates every corner of his cycle. On the other hand, perfection shouldn't be the standard, as even Beethoven's 9 symphonies are not consistently "great." The question should be whether or not this music can speak earnestly to us in the world we live today. For Shostakovich I believe that the answer is a full-throated "yes," and I would it apply to nearly every individual work across the 15 regardless of imperfections. I firmly believe that the test of a symphony should not be its adherence to arbitrary rules of form, but rather its ability to move us on a direct level, and testify engrossingly to what was in the composer's heart, mind, and surroundings. If this is the measure, Shostakovich's cycle is one of the best, and the entirety is definitely more than the sum of its parts. 

Recording Review #7: Sour Sailing

 

Jüri Reinvere: Ship of Fools (and other works). Paavo Jӓrvi, conductor; Estonian Festival Orchestra. Alpha Classics 1056. ISBN: 3701624510568. 

Occasionally I will listen to new(ish) works by living composers I don't know, just to see if I'm missing anything special in the world of contemporary classical music. Sadly, I'm usually not. As with past ages, really special talents tend to be few. Bachs, Beethovens, and Mozarts don't grow on trees. Okay, that's a ridiculously high bar. But have you ever asked yourself who the great composers of this age are? More pointedly, have you ever wondered who people in centuries hence will consider to be the great composers of our age? Are we accurately aware of such figures today, if they exist? I have my doubts. Part of me thinks we're in the long, comatose demise of our rich classical music tradition. (I have very strong opinions about how we found ourselves here, be it demise or temporary dip, but I'll save that post for another time.) Like Tony Soprano said, "Lately I'm getting the feeling I came in at the end. The best is over." I hope very much that this is wrong. 

But I'm comfortable saying that this recording contains merely garden-variety "contemporary" music. I put "contemporary" in scare quotes because so many composers have been at this same general schtick for a long while now: gaseous, dissonant, noisy, a-melodic fare, often decked out with pretentious titles. That's basically what we have with the three works offered here (or two out of three in the case of pretentious titles). It's music that strains to make a mark but instead adds a few drops to the sea of shrug-worthy background din dominating the current classical epoch. 

Having streamed this recording, I apparently cannot access the liner notes to interrogate the title of the first work we hear: And tired from happiness, they started to dance. This is already a long, awkward moniker, but each of three movements also has its own subtitle. First we get "Shadows in the Mirror," which opens with a temporarily recurring ascending motive in the strings (I seem to recall). But then we pretty much just have timbre-driven blocks of sound. This section is only 8 or so minutes long, but I was bored not long in. Then comes the second movement, called "Motion of Waiting." This is a shorter stretch kicked off by, among other things, some noodling on the solo violin. None of it is memorable, and we soon get more noisy material that sounds like a large ensemble warming up. Later something like a tune emerges in the strings only to quickly be subsumed in more clumps of dissonance. "Lack and Desire" closes things out. This at least had a nifty ostinato-like thing going for much of the first half. (I guess this is the "starting to dance" part?) But we return to unalloyed dreariness to close things out...save perhaps for another feeble attempt at melody in the conclusion. 

I could at length describe the Concerto for 2 Flutes, Strings, and Percussion, but what's the point? It's in two movements that are still too long for the paucity of events that transpire in them. Lots of ideas and sounds are explored. We even get something like a long melody in the second movement. But I was waiting for it to be done after only a few minutes. While I listened and took notes, my young children were briefly loud during their next-room play, and I had to rewind parts and listen again. But frankly, the interruption did not appreciably alter my experience of this music. Shouting kids could have been written into the score and made no difference there at all – just another timbral cluster of sound. 

I'd like to say that the best comes last, but it doesn't. Still, with On the Ship of Fools (a one-movement essay[?] for orchestra), we at least get an "Issues Piece." This is what I call a piece of music that is interesting substantially or entirely because of extra-musical issues, or at least treated that way by commentators etc. Per Presto Music's description: 

"On the Ship of Fools is inspired by the key phrase of a 16th-century novel: Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur (The world seeks to be deceived, therefore let it be deceived). 'People deceive each other on Facebook and Instagram', comments Reinvere, whose music is both heady and troubling."

It disappoints me to report that reading this description is easily more exciting than listening to the corresponding 20 minutes of music. While again I admit being unable to access the liner notes, I could not match anything in the music meaningfully with the above blurb. It basically takes the least engaging aspects of the first two pieces and prolongs them for over a quarter of an hour. I guess it's is a kind of feat, but not one that will make me revisit any of this soon. 

Finally, it does sadden me a little to pan new repertoire led by Paavo Järvi, who is one of my favorite living conductors. I can't blame him for promoting the music of his fellow Estonian. I'm sure he even believes in what he's doing here. But from my perspective, add another shipwreck to the watery graveyard of modernist conceits. Here's hoping that Mr. Reinvere does a Penderecki with the remainder of his career and embraces a more communicative sensibility. 

Geeks Only 

Recording Review #6: Delectable Dances

Schubert: Ländler (Selections). Pierre-Laurent Aimard, pianist. Pentatone PTC 5187034. 

"Oh, you artists, see how Albrecht Dürer painted a blade of grass, how Schubert composed a little song! Learn that the smallest shall be the greatest; that two colors, three notes, two right-angles and a circle sufficed for the man who found delight as a humble servant of art!"---Carl Nielsen, "The Fullness of Time," Living Music (1953, trans. Reginald Spink Hutchinson)

Confession time: Franz Schubert is my overall favorite composer. The reason partially involves something I've slowly realized over the years. Ralph Vaughan Williams was right: all truly great music has a popular element. (See his tribute to Sibelius, "Sibelius at 90: Greatness and Popularity.") This notion will make some, the composer-theorist/modernist types prominent among them, wrinkle their noses. But for me it's inescapable. Intellectual and complex stuff is *fine*, but there is simply something next-level about music that has both depth (variously defined) AND wide appeal (or at least the potential for wide appeal). I'm squarely against Arnold Schoenberg's claim that if it is art, it is not for all. So what gives music its "popular" element? This can be elusive, but I believe it's much about being rooted in the elemental impulses of song and dance. And if ever there were a composer whose music you could say this for, it's Schubert. From the smallest miniature to the largest chamber work or symphony, Schubert always seemed to have a tune in his heart. When you add to his appealing melodies an equally rich harmonic imagination, the combination is devastating. I don't think there's a note the man wrote that I don't like. 

That very much includes his many collections of small dances for piano. Actually, these are some of the first Schubert pieces I ever encountered. When I was young (pre-internet) and beginning to learn about classical music, I walked into the local music shop and bought the first printed collection of piano music by him that I saw. It happened to be the old Schirmer volume of dances, which I have treasured and revisited ever since. Because they're wonderful pieces, full of the hallmarks of his other works: the winning melodies, the adventurous harmonies, the surprising turns of phrase, the alternating joy and sorrow, and the elegance sprinkled over all. For beginners, they're quite as good an introduction to the composer as anything else he wrote, and they require much less time investment.

The selection of dances here is well chosen. Some of my favorites are D. 365/1 (proto-Schumann?), D. 171/10 (proto-Chopin?), D. 735/8 (so much happening within that tiny span!), and D. 969/10 - one of Schubert's trademark bittersweet pieces. Pierre-Laurent Aimard dispatches them all with the requisite sensitivity and wide range of emotions. Moreover, the helping is suitably robust. By my count this release offers 113 dances from across 12 different collections, spanning Schubert's entire career. Which amounts to approximately 67 minutes of music.  

After wading through so much symphonic stuff lately, it feels good to drink from the refreshing spring of Schubert's smallest miniatures. I prescribe the same activity for every listener from time to time. 

Highly Recommended 

Recording Review #5: Sludgy Sibelius

Sibelius: Symphony No. 1 in E Minor, Op. 39. Yannick Nézet-Séguin, conductor; Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal. ATMA Classique ACD 22452.  

(This is another recording that came out last year, but which I'm covering here now because I'll soon review the third release in the series at Classical Candor. I'll also review the second installment here [Sibelius Symphonies 3 and 4] in days to come.)

I could ask this question: why do so many contemporary orchestral performers record standard repertoire that is sluggishly played and annoyingly tampered with? But I already know the answer: people will nevertheless continue to buy and praise these recordings, much because they're new. And that's a shame, because I think there are better things Yannick Nézet-Séguin (henceforth YNS) and the Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal could be doing if they're just going to churn out second-rate renditions of well-trodden repertoire. Nobody except collectors needs this particular Sibelius 1...not with so many good alternatives. I'll add that nobody needs to pay full-price for a disc that ONLY contains Sibelius 1 and has no accompanying works. Not even if it were a good Sibelius 1...which this isn't, particularly. The label should have include a tone poem or suite, at least. We don't need to return to the worst days of Deutsche Grammophon-style run time rip-offs. 

Alright, I guess I'll jump in. The biggest problems here are lurchy tempi and messy playing when the texture thickens. After a nice clarinet opening in the first movement, I got the sluggishness right away in the horn continuation of the main theme. From that point on, YNS intermittently slows the tempo unprompted by any score direction, and apparently when he wants to be expressive or "make the music his own." This is especially frustrating at climactic points that need to have vigor, but instead merely fizzle out (particularly noticeable around Rehearsals K and P-Q in the score). The difficulty is that this all obscures the musical architecture. In an expressive, late Romantic symphony such as Sibelius 1, we don't need to "add more sugar"...we should better hear the main lines of argument. 

Similar issues afflict the second movement. I initially thought the section would fare better after a nicely played opening theme. But soon, right at the climax directly preceding Rehearsal D, it was apparent that this would be more of the same. YNS should direct this at tempo and not tinker. Most frustratingly, he underplays the Poco sollecitato markings around Rehearsal H, while adding rallentandos etc. where there are none. (Predictably, he follows Sibelius's actual slow markings with special relish.) The quicker parts toward the end (around Rehearsals M-O) lag when they're supposed to be breathtaking. A sharper articulative attack, missing throughout the whole, adds to the trouble. 

The deficits in playing are most pronounced in the Scherzo. YNS and Company actually start with a nice, brisk tempo. But then odd things start happening. The forte timpani statement of the main motive is much too loud...probably an sff instead of a firm, judicious f. (It doesn't happen quite this way again in the repeat.) More seriously, the ensemble playing at times becomes messy. The quick runs in the woodwinds don't sound like they're "together," giving the whole a rickety feeling. The middle section is okay, I guess, but could use a bit more life. The stretto at the end is pretty decent. 

I'd say that on the whole the finale receives the best performance. The Allegro molto is acceptably lively. And while the grand climax at Rehearsal U toward the end is a BIT slow (ditto the coda), they're played with appreciable sweep and feeling. The first statement of the Andante theme earlier in the movement just drags along, though. Here, directly before Rehearsal G and the latter part of this long melody, we get one of YNS's slow phrase endings. Combine this with the following group of rests, and it seems like *forever* before we hear the continuation. It's another "spark on the nose" moment in a recording that is rife with them. 

This isn't the worst Sibelius recording I've ever heard. But it's a fairly inauspicious beginning to a symphony cycle that presents all kinds of interpretive challenges. A conductor whose feeling for symphonic architecture could be better, and musicians whose ensemble playing could be much sharper, would seem to have a tough road ahead. I'll be interested to see if they can improve on this effort. Here's hoping. 

Recommended to Collectors 

Recording Review #4: Sedate Smetana

Smetana: Má Vlast. Semyon Bychkov, conductor; Czech Philharmonic. Pentatone PTC 5187203. 

This is a perfectly respectable recording, thank you very much. The direction is competent. The playing is nice and polished. Nothing in it offends. There's just one problem: we're mostly missing the nationalist fervor that gives Má Vlast so much of its flavor. I know, I know...in this day and age we're PAST all of that. Now we're just one, big, happy world community...or at least European community...or at least that's the idea. Which means 'unpleasant' stuff like nationalism (a word virtually interchangeable with jingoism these days) should be on the outs. None of that cultural pride, if you please! We're all "Posties" now...post-nationalist, post-modernist, post-historical, post-religious, post-military, post-borders, post-truth, post-this, post-that. Blech. 

Okay, I'm off-track. Just a bit, though. Because when one considers this release against a huge recording catalogue, and particularly the much-loved Vltava/The Moldau, Bychkov and the CPO come across as just a bit post-passionate. Which is ironic, because so many great Má Vlast outings have featured this very orchestra: Talich 39 and 54, Ančerl 63 (my personal FAVORITE), Neumann 75, and Kubelik 90 among others. Nor do the Czechs necessarily have a monopoly on playing this music with suitable heart, as interpretations by Berglund, Järvi, and Levine (for example) demonstrate. 

The tone is set immediately after the fine opening harp passage in Vyšehrad. When we come to the next material, and especially the march, the gestures are too staid. We need more gusto, more color, and more life, especially in the fanfares. Similarly, Vltava opens nicely, with fine woodwind playing...these are good musicians! But when the main theme enters in the strings, it is too timid and too limp, missing the zeal you hear in so many classic Czech performances. The wedding dance portion is good but not special, and it has an oddly muted climax. The moonlit segment is just too SLOW; the strings shimmer nicely, but the melody needs to move to be properly heard. Things improve at the climactic finish, when the castle theme grandly re-emerges. There is more energy at this point, but it comes across somehow as clock-gearish. Šárka simply requires more fire...not much more to be said about it. Perhaps the performance's best number is the Bohemian Woods and Fields movement. Yes, almost everything from the horns theme onward needs oomph, but the pastoral material early on comes across extremely well. If all the work were like this, we'd have a top-notch recording. Tábor and Blanik are traditionally the hardest parts of Má Vlast to bring off, but by the same token they're the hardest parts to really mess up. A certain amount of aggressiveness is written into them by virtue of their punchy motives and martial themes. Bychkov navigates these areas well, and while one could wish for more Ančerl-style sweep and virility, they do impress compared to earlier. 

Enjoying nationalist music as such shouldn't be attached to shame. So far as I know, I have not a drop of Czech blood in me. I've sadly never been east of Western Europe, let alone the Czech Republic. I can't speak a bit of their beautiful language. But when I listen to music like Má Vlast I want to imagine being there, and have the referenced scenes, stories, and other folk elements come vividly to my imagination. What I don't want is for the musicians (and principally the conductor) to perform like Good Cosmopolitans™... not even a little...not even when their musicianship is otherwise so good. 

Recommended to Collectors; Mildly Recommended to Everyone Else

Recording Review #3: Exceptional Études

Chopin: Études (Opp. 10 & 25). Yunchan Lim, piano. Decca 4870122. 

There is no doubt about it: Korean pianist Yunchan Lim is something special. The youngest-ever winner of the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition is on track for a career of historic proportions. Before it is even finished, we might well look back on this very recording as the legendary performance that launched an era. But there is enough to unpack here without too much prophesying, so I'll dive in. 

To get it out of the way, this release won't (or shouldn't) replace anyone's top choices. (In my case, they are Maurizio Pollini [Deutsche Grammophon 4137942], Murray Perahia [Sony SK 61885], and Josef Lhevinne's partial traversal [available on Naxos 8.110681].) But this misses the point. While Lim's technique in these performances is impressive enough, his musicianship and imagination are simply astonishing. There is a rich magic of his own that no other pianist (at least none that I have heard) brings to these miniatures, not even after more than a century of recordings. Those who know my tastes will affirm that I typically lose patience with performers who take great "liberties." But while I sometimes prefer different interpretive decisions for these études than the ones Lim makes, in such instances he impresses me against my will. I don't find myself in this situation very often. 

It is difficult to speak generally of drawbacks in these performances, because so much is context-dependent. Lim's often blistering tempi in the virtuosic stretches makes overwhelming effect in a piece like the Winter Wind Étude (Op. 25/11), but it comes across as rather breathless and rushed in Op. 10/2 (which is freakishly fast!) and the outer sections of Op. 25/4. His use of rubato can seem excessive in one area and yet justifiable enough in a subsequent area/repeat to mollify such first reactions (as in the outer sections of Op. 25/5). Passage-work sometimes seems too notey and detached (as in Op. 25/2), but in other pieces similar passages shimmer nicely (as in the mostly wonderful Revolutionary Étude - Op. 10/12). In every case Lim's artistry is breathtaking, and whole impressions can easily disarm isolated objections. 

But there are two aspects where Lim rivals anyone in these études: tone color and the ability to bring out secondary voices. I heard many of these pieces with new ears as a result of the latter feature, notably Op. 10/5, which while quite speedy amazed me with its highlighted textures. But the moments of dazzling tone color are what won me over in so many cases. These require pianism of a high order, and Lim has it in heaps. The different shadings accompanying changes of harmony are spellbinding, with the Ocean Étude (Op. 25/12) and the fearsome Double-Thirds Étude (Op. 25/6) worthy of particular mention. 

Perhaps Lim is at his very best in some of the slower selections, where his tone colors, rubato, and voicings all work together to tremendous effect. Quite distinguished in this respect are Op. 10/6 and Op. 10/11. Best of all is Op. 25/7, the Cello Étude. This is dreamlike throughout, with such subtlety and fine gradations. I don't know if I have ever heard its equal. 

In sum, while I expect this recording to prompt nearly as much debate as it does admiration, it belongs in the collection of any serious Chopin enthusiast or even at-large classical music hobbyist. Not just any pianist can produce sounds like these. To quibble over preference is fine, but one cannot deny the distinguished talent on display. I look forward to a long and exciting discography from Mr. Lim. 

Highly Recommended

New Review at Classical Candor

 My review of Mark Elder's and the Hallé Orchestra's new Elgar Symphonies disc may be read here.

Recording Review # 2: Adams Ambivalence

 

Adams: City Noir; Fearful Symmetries; "Lola Does the Spider Dance" (from Girls of the Golden West). Marin Alsop, conductor; ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.559935. ISBN: 636943993521. 

My mixed feelings about John Adams's music are exemplified by the offerings on this recording. I'm mostly cold or indifferent to much of his more recent work, while I'm a moderate fan of his earlier, non-operatic stuff. (China Gates, Shaker Loops, The Chairman Dances [by themselves], Grand Pianola Music, and Short Ride in a Fast Machine are my favorites.) Adams's star for the most part shone at its brightest during the late 70s, the 80s, and some of the 90s. Like Schumann and a few others, he peaked early. As with almost every composer, he's at his best when his popular impulse constrains his intellectual pretensions. For Adams, this means finding ways to appeal through timbre, sonority, and driving rhythm...because he mostly lacks fellow "minimalist" Philip Glass's winning melodic gift. (Readers of this blog will soon discover that I am both a melody man and an unrepentant middlebrow listener.) 

Fearful Symmetries dates from the 80s and is to my sensibility one of Adams's most compelling works. Almost its whole half-hour span features a driving boogie pulse (which sounds a lot like the one in The Chairman Dances) that goes through various figurations of small ideas. The considerable harmonic and timbral territory traversed with a near-constant beat gives the piece its interest. It's a compelling journey, and Marin Alsop satisfyingly elicits propulsion and bright colors from her ensemble. I have no qualms about recommending this rendition over Adams's own (Nonesuch 0349709906). 

I'm much less impressed with the other works, as sympathetically as Alsop and Company perform them. The indicated dance from the opera Girls of the Golden West is mercifully short; I forgot it instantly after first listening to it. Repeated listens have likewise left no other impression than the music being tedious. City Noir (2009) is a bit of a mixed bag. The description of it at Presto Music is succinct: "City Noir was inspired by the cultural and social history of Los Angeles, with Adams calling it ‘an imaginary film score’ in its evocation of a terse, melodramatic and menace-drenched sound world." It consists of three movements: "The City and its Double," "The Song is For You," and "Boulevard Night." The work strengthens as it progresses, but never rises above being mildly engaging. The first movement is just noisy and boring, with nothing memorable poking through a bunch of dissonant hot air. We then come to a calmer stretch featuring, among other things, disembodied evocations of jazz. This was mildly amusing but felt gimmicky. With the finale we finally encounter some proper lyricism and driving rhythms in its evocations of movie music. The work ends with a rousing finish of kaleidoscopic orchestral timbres. I'd revisit this last movement some time, but I really have no use for the first two. I guess you can listen and decide for yourself. 

Recommended for Fearful Symmetries and the finale of City Noir

Recording Review #1: Nifty Nielsen

 

Nielsen: Violin Concerto, Op. 33; Symphony No. 4 ("The Inextinguishable"), Op. 29. James Ehnes, Violin; Edward Gardner, Conductor; Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra. Chandos CHSA 5311. ISBN: 0095115531129.

This is not exactly a new recording, having been released one year ago. But as I am reviewing the next disc in Chandos's new Carl Nielsen symphony cycle soon for Classical Candor, I thought it propitious to begin my write-ups here with the series' excellent first installment. For excellent it is, all around. Both soloist and conductor understand Nielsen in a way that some others nowadays apparently don't. This music requires energy and clarity. And while it's sometimes quite moving, too much "syrup" spoils things. In other words, treating these works like just more late German Romantic fare is to act against their nature. (For example, see here.) 

The performance of the Violin Concerto is among the best I've ever heard. It's in turns exuberant and tender, while always sharply rendered. Ehnes plays magnificently in every way, with a mixture of deft virtuosity and well-judged timing. Gardner supports him wonderfully, and leads a balanced orchestra whose woodwinds in particular skillfully dispatch the heightened roles Nielsen gives them. All is accomplished without obscuring the soloist. By my count this is the second recording of the Violin Concerto produced by Chandos. The first has long been in my collection: violinist Kim Sjogren with the Danish National Symphony Orchestra, led by Michael Schønwandt (CHAN 8894). It is a fine recording which, though lacking some of the Ehnes/Gardner/BPO energy, radiates at least as much warmth. Both options are good, but now I may just prefer the newer one. If the classical music world were just, Nielsen's Violin Concerto would be performed far more often as the great, if quirky, work that it is.

This "Inextinguishable" Symphony is similarly exciting. Gardner and the BPO definitely get its character right. (Character states in Nielsen are all-important.) Here is a conductor who doesn't get bogged down in the slow spots, while embracing tastefully brisk tempi in the quicker stretches. And once again the BPO's woodwinds acquit themselves especially admirably; I particularly loved the second movement, where their colors come through beautifully. The timpani battle in the finale is suitably thrilling. There are plenty of good recordings of this symphony available already, but this one holds its own even in such company. I'm excited to hear the rest of the series. We certainly have an auspicious beginning. 

Highly Recommended

Inaugural Post

Yes, this is another attempt at a blog. Recently I ran one (called "A View from the Hinterlands") on a Wordpress platform and wasn't too happy with the options there. I needed features that they were going to make me pay for, and which Blogger offers for free. So, I made the jump. 

Content-wise, I figured out that what I really want to do is review classical music recordings and offer occasional "light" commentary on various topics. The more serious ambitions of Hinterlands got to be too much. I started dreading devoting precious research energy to making meaty posts there while keeping a busy schedule as a husband, father (of young children), professor, and orchestra manager...to say nothing of the CD reviews I still do for Classical Candor. Blogging is definitely a side thing for me; my research is the main thing. Occasionally I'll offer news on that front, but if I'm going to be posting with any regularity, the lion's share of content here will be modest in scope. Let's face it, this stuff is more fun to read anyway.

By profession I am a musicologist who teaches at a large public university (you can Google which one) and manages the local orchestra as a side-hustle. You can ask my friends and colleagues, or simply read my scholarship (listed in the "Publications" page you see in the header), to know that I often wander from social and ideological consensus in my field. (Hence the name of this blog's predecessor: "A View from the Hinterlands.") I also diverge in taste from many others who review classical music professionally or for fun. In due time, I'm sure my readers will figure out how. 

Stay tuned for my first review very soon! Thanks for reading.