Recording Review #20: Luminous Liszt

Liszt: Après une lecture du Dante: Fantasia quasi Sonata (from Années de pèlerinage, Deuxième année: Italie); Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude (from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses); Funérailles (from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses); Nuages gris; Piano Sonata in B Minor. Emmanuel Despax, piano. Signum Classics SIG CD798. 2 CD. 

Emmanuel Despax is an avid Lisztian. Being one myself, it's easy for me to cheer such people on nowadays, especially when Liszt seems to be needing friends more than ever. Happily, there is much to recommend in Despax's latest offering, which features a generous helping of Liszt's greatest music. Frankly, I get tired of defending Liszt to people who turn their noses up at him and should have the taste and imagination to know better. But ultimately good performances of his best stuff will change hearts and minds more than anything people like me can say. 

We start with an extremely good Dante Sonata. This is a difficult work to approach interpretively. The form is winding and there are plenty of opportunities for miscalculation. But Despax forges a path that somehow elucidates this complex, problematic score. The agitated material starting at the first Presto is very hard to bring off without it sounding noisy. Despax succeeds brilliantly. But where he is at his best both here and elsewhere is in the quieter, more visionary passages. The F-Sharp Major theme at the Andante is a case in point, and even more so in its repetition to come in the higher register. 

Despax's Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude is almost as good. My preference is for more passion in its moments of intensity, and Despax's tempo is slower in many places than I'd like. But never mind. The sounds and colors he gets from Liszt's scrumptious harmonies are some of the best I've ever heard. Maybe the slower tempo even works to an advantage, because practically all you can think about while you hear some of these passages is how much you want to savor them like Despax clearly does. The middle section presents some of the most poetic music Liszt composed, and Despax's tone color throughout it is just lovely. 

I was similarly impressed with Funérailles, which some pianists ruin by "over-banging" the grief-stricken climaxes. Despax keeps things controlled in the best sense, never overdoing loud passages while maintaining a delicate sound in the tender ones. By contrast I thought there could be a bit more grey mystery in Nuages gris. But Despax delivers a fine interpretation all the same. 

Of course the elephant in this room is the B-Minor Sonata, which Jim Svejda has adroitly described as being one of the few Romantic-era piano sonatas equal to any of those Beethoven composed. There is accordingly a huge recording catalogue for this work, with a nice share of legendary outings. The interested pianist therefore has to contend both with formidable technical and interpretive difficulties, and with an intimidating performance history. Despax's is one of the slower run-times I have encountered, clocking in at just under 35 minutes. I was apprehensive when I saw this, but you shouldn't be. Most of that extra time is again used up in the slower passages where Despax very deliberately relishes the gorgeous melodies and thoughtful moments. But he doesn't shrink from the many virtuosic passages, which are dispatched with an admirable mixture of control and élan. The attenuated conclusion is perfect. I don't know where you'll rank Despax's B-Minor Sonata in the Pantheon of Liszt B-Minor Sonatas, but there's enough that's special here for me to place it firmly in good company.

Warmly Recommended

Ranking the Beethoven Piano Sonatas

I had so much fun with my Shostakovich symphonies list that I made a similar one for Beethoven's piano sonatas. I say "similar," because writing as much for 32 sonatas as I did for each of Shosty's 15 symphonies is a daunting prospect. So my blurbs here are briefer, usually limited to concise justifications. As before, I will try to balance appeal with the "greatness factor," at least in terms of how I perceive both to be at work. Enjoy. 

32. Piano Sonata No. 20 in G, Op. 49, No. 2

Look, I at least like every single Beethoven piano sonata, and love most of them. But something has to occupy the bottom slots. Let's face it, the two slight sonatinas of the Opus 49 set are easy victims. They're deceptively numbered (not at all contemporaneous with Sonatas 18 and 21) and written for amateurs (nothing wrong with that, but this limits their scope). Most incriminatingly, they were published without Beethoven's approval. No. 20 in G is a *nice* little piece, and not a bit more. 

31. Piano Sonata No. 19 in G Minor, Op. 49, No. 1

This one is surprisingly moving, so it rates above its opus-mate. But it's still a slender piece that is outclassed by nearly every other piano sonata Beethoven composed. 

30. Piano Sonata No. 22 in F, Op. 54

The first movement is just above dull. The finale is more interesting, and in some ways impressively written. But like the first movement it just lacks a strong emotional core. A weird little creation. 

29. Piano Sonata No. 25 in G, Op. 79 

Some very nice moments and ideas but mostly a piece of fluff. Nothing wrong with that, but it's got some stiff competition on this list. 

28. Piano Sonata No. 24 in F-Sharp, Op. 78 ("à Thérèse")

The "Piece for Thérèse" has its own special flavor. That puts it above the lowest items on my list. But in the end it is still rather slight compared with the more substantial sonatas in the cycle.

27. Piano Sonata No. 13 in E-Flat, Op. 27, No. 1 ("Quasi una fantasia")

The first of two Quasi una fantasia sonatas, both of which inhabit Opus 27. Their experimental character is obvious. But overall, and notwithstanding a vivid scherzo movement, the E-Flat has nowhere near the punch of its C-Sharp Minor brother. 

26. Piano Sonata No. 5 in C Minor, Op. 10, No. 1

A very likable sonata with a spunky finale. But somehow this one never hit me like some of the others have. It's one of the easiest to play, unless you truly take the finale at prestissimo. Maybe I've just heard the first movement too many times at solo-and-ensemble competitions. 

25. Piano Sonata No. 10 in G, Op. 14, No. 2

I ranked this as high as #25 only because of its gorgeous first movement. Savory stuff! Too bad the rest of it is comparatively snooze-worthy. (Seriously, movements 2-3 feel tacked-on somehow.) Also, this is one of four - count 'em, FOUR - Beethoven piano sonatas in G Major. That's 1/8 of them.  

24. Piano Sonata No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 2, No. 1

As far as first sonatas go, Beethoven's official one more than holds serve. True, it's not as imposing as the others in Op. 2. But it's a sturdy work that holds the listener's interest fairly well through four movements, and closes things out in suitably vigorous fashion. The only other F-Minor sonata in the cycle is the Appassionata. 

23. Piano Sonata No. 4 in E-Flat, Op. 7

At just about half an hour long Op. 7 is pretty large. Unfortunately, I find the inspiration too intermittent for its extended length. Great first movement, dull slow movement, lovely scherzo, and so-so finale. Maybe I should rank this higher? Eh. 

22. Piano Sonata No. 9 in E, Op. 14, No. 1

Okay, so now we're starting to see sonatas I consider to be more consistent. The Little E-Major here has pep in its step, with no true slow movement. (Instead we get a juicy Allegretto in the parallel minor!) The finale starts out being light and airy, but soon the listener discovers hidden depths. It's like stepping into a pool you think will be knee-high but is waste-high instead. Neat. 

21. Piano Sonata No. 27 in E Minor, Op. 90

I'm torn on this one. On the one hand, it's consistently beautiful and even moving at times. On the other hand, something seems off here...as if the scale is too big for the content. Or something. My impulse is to place this higher, but in every instance that impulse gets shot down by the sonatas I have above it. Hmm. 

20. Piano Sonata No. 2 in A, Op. 2, No. 2

A definite advance beyond Sonata No. 1. The Little A-Major mostly lives up to its ambitious scale and constitutes a strong entry in Beethoven's early catalogue. Not as inspired as its C-Major opus-mate, but assured and highly likable. I love how the rising figure in the finale's main theme gets increasingly elaborate with later repetitions. Quirky!

19. Piano Sonata No. 18 in E-Flat, Op. 31, No. 3

Another sonata without a slow movement. I'm up for it. Or rather, I'm up for the thrilling scherzo and finale, and mildly appreciative of the other movements. Like No. 6's finale, No. 18's has more than a dash of Haydn-like wit and humor. Fun to play and listen to!

18. Piano Sonata No. 6 in F, Op. 10, No. 2

Yet another sonata without a slow movement. The middle minuet is fine. The first movement is good. The finale is one of my favorites in the whole cycle. Another one I could easily rank higher. 

17. Piano Sonata No. 11 in B-Flat, Op. 22

Opus 22 is one of the best sonatas of the early period from the standpoint of structure, and how it consolidates the gains of earlier works. The trouble is that while other early sonatas sometimes don't match it in terms of craft, some certainly do (and more) in their isolated points of inspiration. I'd like both inspiration and craft to be present, but I'm choosing inspiration every time if I have to choose. Not that Op. 22 is "uninspired" – it's a wonderful sonata. I just don't find myself deciding to listen to it as often as many of the others. 

16. Piano Sonata No. 32 in C Minor, Op. 111

::Sigh::

The nerds and intellectuals adore Op. 111. But honestly, I'm a pretty lousy intellectual. And while I understand the arguments for this last sonata's greatness, I just don't particularly care for it. Too recondite for me. So, on MY list (as opposed to someone else's) it's at a respectable #16. Put it at #8 for geek appeal, and at #24 for how much I personally value it. Boom, 16. Happy average. 

15. Piano Sonata No. 12 in A-Flat, Op. 26

The reason this is ranked so highly is because of its astounding funeral march in A-Flat Minor. It's a rare classical-period instance of this key. (Another is the middle section of the second of Schubert's D. 946 pieces, which I adore.) But the other movements more than hold serve in what is an above-average early-period outing. 

14. Piano Sonata No. 16 in G, Op. 31, No. 1

Based on personal taste, this would be in my Top 5. On my previous blog, Op. 31/1 was the subject of the first post, entitled "Beethoven's Maligned Sonata." I borrowed the adjective from my former graduate professor, William Kinderman, who used it to describe the disparagement this sonata has endured at the hands of critics like Eric Blom. But I love its wit, humor, and melodiousness. (The tune in the finale is one of my favorites in any music, and makes a mockery out of the notion that LvB wasn't really a melodist.) Beethoven was allowed to smile and have fun, and so are we. 

13. Piano Sonata No. 15 in D, Op. 28 ("Pastoral")

Since I've put the Pastoral Sonata at #13, it might not surprise the reader to learn that its symphonic counterpart (No. 6) is one of my favorites in that cycle. But seriously, this is four straight movements of immersive loveliness...with a high level of craft throughout. Supple, melodious, and contemplative, with sunlit hues. Bask-worthy to the hilt. What's there not to like?

12. Piano Sonata No. 3 in C, Op. 2, No. 3

Okay, so this first C-Major piano sonata Beethoven composed doesn't match his other one in that key – the magisterial Waldstein. But Op. 2/3 might be the most accomplished and inspired in the series until we get to Op. 10/3. (It's arguably even a bit more consistent than the latter.) The standout movement is the second, an adagio in the surprising key of E. This has a magic I believe surpasses even that of the famous Moonlight Sonata's opening. Still an underrated piece. 

11. Piano Sonata No. 7 in D, Op. 10, No. 3

Oh man, this is SOOOO close to being a grand slam! Only a noticeable falling off of inspiration with the finale prevents that. What a rush if life with the opening movement, complete with so many little emotions and experiences along the way! Then comes one of Beethoven's most spiritual slow sections of anywhere in his output. A wonderfully melodious trio follows. And then...the thing runs out of gas! There are some scattered points of interest in the finale, but the whole thing is hamstrung by its lousy main thematic idea. Oh well, at least we have the first three movements; Op. 10/3 is easily great on their account alone. 

10. Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 27, No. 2 ("Quasi una fantasia"/"Moonlight")

The iconic opening movement is fine and all, but the really riveting stuff is in the finale. The latter is a span of straight fire; it's as close to "Beethoven in a nutshell" as you'll get. A charming, almost trite middle movement serves as a buffer between these two centers of great emotional gravity - not the only time Beethoven does this. 

9. Piano Sonata No. 30 in E, Op. 109

In many ways the "Big E-Major" is an impressive sonata, and quite affecting. It doesn't quite hit me like most of the other late period sonatas, though. I ought to like it more than I do: it's got plenty of lyricism and tenderness, and I tend to cheer those things on more than some listeners. But there's a certain something that's missing, or only partially present, particularly when you compare it to Opp. 101, 106, or 110. And I don't think the reason is the lack of a giant fugue in the finale. Hmm. 

8. Piano Sonata No. 17 in D Minor, Op. 31, No. 2 ("Tempest")

I don't actually enjoy the Tempest Sonata quite as much as its high placement here suggests. For me the themes aren't particularly arresting. The reason I have it at No. 8 is because it's an historically important piece of music demonstrating what musicologist Carl Dahlhaus identified as the 'form as process' idea, wherein the form of a work comes into being as the result of innate potentialities in the opening material. I have to respect this kind of achievement, even when I am not moved quite as much as I'd like. 

7. Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 13 ("Pathétique")

Without a doubt this is the summit of the early-period sonatas. It debuts the 'form as process' idea in the cycle, with multiple cross-section motivic links culminating in the rondo finale. The whole thing has passionate intensity that does not let up for an instant. There are no seams, and no "down spots." Although some Beethoven sonatas are of larger scale than this one, few to none provide a more consistent or satisfying listening experience. And so much of it is culturally iconic. 

6. Piano Sonata No. 29 in B-Flat, Op. 106 ("Hammerklavier")

In many ways this is the most impressive piano sonata that Beethoven composed. It is certainly the most imposing, and probably the most cerebral. The finale's fugue perennially amazes, and never fails to remind us that Beethoven's musical skill and imagination were light-years beyond those of almost anyone else. So why do I rank the Mighty Hammerklavier at Number 6? Well, like I've said: I give highest place to those works that both speak directly and impress intellectually. By those measures, Op. 106 is just a little too much in the weeds. 

5. Piano Sonata No. 31 in A-Flat, Op. 110

Although I like Op. 101 just a bit more, for my money Op. 110 is the all-around greatest of the late sonatas. It almost perfectly balances intellect with directness. Like the Hammerklavier, it has a giant fugue in the finale. But this fugue is somehow less aloof and more accessible without losing intellectual "cred." The "Big A-Flat" is almost like a down-to-earth Hammerklavier. Yes, that's a compliment. 

4. Piano Sonata No. 23 in F Minor, Op. 57 ("Appassionata")

Of all the great Beethoven piano sonatas, this took the longest to grow on me. The first couple of times I heard it I was like, "That's it? That's the famous Appassionata?' I guess I just found the opening movement too "preludey"...like it was building up to something that never quite happened. And the finale struck me immediately as impressive, but again I was waiting for a payoff that the quick concluding section never quite seemed to deliver. Silly me. Many years and recordings later I realize that "the journey is the point," as cliché as this sounds. Op. 57 has seeped into my being, and I now properly perceive it to be the colossus that it always was. 

3. Piano Sonata No. 26 in E-Flat, Op. 81a ("Les Adieux")

Most people probably wouldn't rank this one so highly, but I find it absolutely compelling from start to finish. There's a sense of Romantic yearning in every theme, with splendidly worked out transitions. It's not a long sonata, but every moment of it rivets me and tugs at my heartstrings. The Farewell-Absence-Return dynamic succeeds resoundingly. One of Beethoven's most beautiful creations. 

2. Piano Sonata No. 28 in A, Op. 101

My favorite of the late sonatas. Not only is the scale large, but there's a directness across all movements that you don't always find in the Third Period. This Big A-Major is ambitious while never getting lost in the weeds. From the start there's a certain poignancy, not least in what has to be the greatest scherzo movement in the cycle. Pathos and reflection, in every measure. 

1. Piano Sonata No. 21 in C, Op. 53 ("Waldstein")

I have this crazy conviction: Beethoven peaked with his second, "Heroic" period and not his third creative period. As Scott Burnham puts it in Beethoven Hero (Princeton University Press, 1995), the values of the Heroic Period became the values of Music. The span in Beethoven's catalogue from Opus 53 through about Opus 74 is an unprecedented, nearly uninterrupted series of white-hot masterworks. They would eventually capture the imagination of the middle class, which was an essential part of Beethoven's ascent to immortality. At the front of this unbelievable stretch is this piano sonata, dedicated to his patron Count Ferdinand von Waldstein. It set the tone for every sonata of similarly ambitious scale to follow. As far as I'm concerned, it was rarely (if ever) to be surpassed. A work of staggering imagination, The Waldstein Sonata is also a noble expression of humanity for all listeners sophisticated and unsophisticated alike. While the final version has a slight middle movement separating the substantial outer portions, Beethoven originally composed something longer to go here. This later became a standalone piece called the Andante favori, cataloged as WoO 57. I regret only that Beethoven didn't stick with his first impulse. But the Waldstein is great either way, and there isn't another sonata of his I would put above it. 

Recording Review #19: Four-Hand "Fun"

 

Schubert: Divertissement à la Hongroise, D. 818; Fantasie in F Minor, D. 940/Leonid Desyatnikov: Trompe-l'œil. Pavel Kolesnikov and Samson Tsoy, piano. Harmonia Mundi HMM902716. 

I mean...the blurry cover kind of says it all: this is gonna be "daring," y'all. Like, totally set apart from other recordings of this repertoire. Totally. And did you get the "daring" part? This album is EDGY. Like, yeah. 

And that's a shame. Because apart from some shenanigans, there are stretches of fine playing here. Maybe not superlative playing, but very decent at times. (A bit more on this later.) So what are the shenanigans? Well, the performers occasionally place items on the piano strings to alter the sound and thereby evoke "the 'janissary' effects that certain period instruments were equipped to produce." This statement comes from the liner notes, which divulge similarly strange ideas about how they conceive of this music by Schubert. But yeah, seriously: my listening was intermittently jolted by George Crumb-like timbres right in the middle of a given passage when I wasn't expecting it. (Actually, after a while I was kind of expecting it...I guess that's the drawback of using shock tactics.) 

If that weren't bad enough, the listener gets assaulted with a composition by Leonid Desyatnikov, placed between the two Schubert works. This would be Trompe-l'œil, which consists of nothing but disembodied wisps from Schubert's Fantasie amidst a bunch of noise (including plenty of hyper-dissonant piano pounding). I kind of snort-chuckled not long in when I realized what it was all about. Then it kept going. After five minutes passed I muttered to myself, "when does this thing end, anyway?" I glanced at the time index. 20+ MINUTES OF THIS?? Just...why?? What for?? Schubert wrote a bunch of four-hand piano repertoire. And while almost none of it is on the level of the great Fantasie, most is nevertheless wonderful. Why not include a third such selection instead? You know, like pianists Zhu Xiao-Mei and Alexandre Tharaud do on their own HM recording of the Divertissement and Fantasie (HMC901773)? But I was forgetting: this newer album is AUDACIOUS, yo. Gotta flex that hip cred. Or something. 

Okay, stripping all of the nonsense away, what are we dealing with here? Like I said, there is some fine playing. I like Kolesnikov's and Tsoy's Divertissement à la Hongroise finale in particular, which most four-hand pianists play much too anemically. (By the way, if you don't know this piece already, go and listen to it ASAP! It's one of the many lesser-sung glories of Schubert's output.) I feel pep, and hear some wonderfully smooth, articulative playing both here and elsewhere. The biggest problem, apart from the afore-mentioned theatrics, is a love of rendering the soft parts TOO softly. It's very difficult to hear things properly in these places...especially in the Fantasie, unfortunately. 

All in all, I'd have to say that the positives don't justify tolerating everything else. There are some good recordings of the Divertissement, and many of the Fantasie (though I haven't yet heard one to match that of Murray Perahia and the late Radu Lupu on Sony SK 39511). Opt for some of those instead. They'll feature playing that's at least as good but without the pretension mixed in. 

Avoid

New Review at Classical Candor

My review of the latest release in the ATMA Classique Sibelius symphony cycle (Nos. 2 and 5) by Yannick Nézet-Séguin and the Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal can be read at Classical Candor, here. 

Recording Review #18: Mesmerizing Mozetich

 

Marjan Mozetich: The Complete Piano Music (3 Pieces for Piano; At the Temple; Tremors). Jeremy Samolesky, piano. Centaur CRC4104. 

I don't suppose that this amazing recording will fly across too many people's radars, what with the umpteen new releases of well-trodden repertoire by major labels dominating classical music promotions. But I'm not exaggerating when I say that it suddenly counts among the discoveries of the 2020s for me. 48 hours ago, I didn't know who Canadian (ethnically Slovenian) composer Marjan Mozetich is. Now I'm ready to say that his piano works, and the short cycle At the Temple in particular, absolutely belong on the programs of audience-pleasing performers. Like much of the music we enjoy, Mozetich's betrays some strong influences: I'm especially conscious of his debts to minimalism, as well as the music of Debussy, Ravel, and Scriabin. But there's also a unique personality here that transcends those models while consolidating their gains. In other words, Mozetich builds on pre-existing elements to create something very much his own. 

We begin with 3 Pieces for Piano, which comprise a Prelude, an Adagietto, and a concluding Toccata. Composed in 1984, this is the earliest selection included. The Prelude is harp-like, consisting largely of arpeggiated figures and a shifting kaleidoscope of harmonies and inflections. This strongly reminds one of Debussy, but with maybe just a bit something more. It's a beautiful, resplendent piece. Debussy's influence also weighs in the Toccata, which superficially recalls "The Snow is Dancing" from Children's Corner. If the listener were to stop here and remark that this suite is merely mock-Debussy, he'd be premature. For the middle Adagietto is what distinguishes the set. Mozetich has a keen feeling for moods of quietude and mystery, and this slow number delivers both. But two-thirds of the way through, when one expects a return to the plaintive opening theme, we get an extended, cluster-like surge of notes in the lower register of the piano, played almost as if they're strummed. In another setting this might come across as noisy and gimmicky, but it absolutely works here. When we finally do return to A-section material, the payoff is all the better. 

According to Mozetich's website, Tremors was composed for the 2014 Montreal International Music Competition. All 24 contestants had to play the piece in the quarter round. I would be interested indeed to hear their different interpretations, which stand to sound quite different from one another. On Spotify, Tremors also has the subtitle homage to Ligeti. Certainly one hears echoes of the late Hungarian's music, especially his own piano études. I also make out Scriabin's Vers la flamme. But again, these influences are absorbed into something accessible that is Mozetich's own. 

I was quite unprepared for how hard At the Temple hit me. This composition, which takes 'quietude and mystery' to whole new level, was the result of a 2001 commission from the Ontario Arts Council. But that circumstance doesn't really account for its outsized inspiration. There are four movements, arranged curiously as follows: Ia. Through the Temple Gate, II. Supplication, III. Communion, and Ib. Through the Temple Gate. I don't really know what Mozetich had in mind here, but this order suggests a person entering a temple, praying, partaking of the indicated sacrament, and exiting at the end. The music often employs what I would call post-minimalist structures reliant upon repetition, ease of change, and soft dissonances. Loud moments are few, and mostly associated with bursts of splendor in the "gate" sections. I struggle to more precisely describe the musical materials, which are stylistically contemporary but wholly inviting. However, I can tell you what they clearly made me see in my mind's eye: a blurred vision (like an impressionist painting) of a sanctuary in a far-off time and place, where a humble parishioner enters into rapt spiritual communication with the Deity. The whole thing is absolutely breathtaking and I can't get enough of it lately. I'm calling it a 21st-century masterpiece of the piano literature. 

One of the reasons I love classical music is making discoveries like this. But I wouldn't have come across At the Temple if not for the enterprising spirit of pianist Jeremy Samolesky, whose deep feeling for sonority is an ideal fit for it, and the mission of the Centaur label to make such fare available. This is why I've become convinced that great music doesn't just magically rise to the top by itself. It requires the hard work of advocacy, and the ability to convert others to seeing what one finds so compelling in a musical object. It requires organizations and companies that are willing to risk low sales, and perhaps ultimate obscurity, in order to give something a chance. Finally, it needs listeners committed to exploring off of the beaten path. Maybe there's not a masterpiece waiting to be found under every rock. But it's worth looking under many just to find one special piece. Yet again, I'm glad I did. 

Highly Recommended

Recording Review #17: Fetching Foss

 

Foss: Ode; Renaissance Concerto; Three American Pieces; Symphony No. 1 in G Major. Amy Porter, flute; Nikki Chooi, violin; JoAnn Falletta, conductor; Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra. Naxos 8.559938. ISBN: 636943993828. 

German-American composer Lukas Foss (1922-2009) was one of those prodigies who never quite fulfilled his early promise. He had plenty of musical talent, but a rather limited stamp of compositional personality. So he did what many such figures have done: he tinkered. Eclecticism can have a way of masking the lack of a strong personal voice. He experimented with various styles and "isms," but his authentic self was a neo-classicist with a little neo-romanticism thrown in. And this is all perfectly okay. Foss did write a number of fine, enjoyable works. Some of the best ones are on this new Naxos recording, which is about as ideal an introduction to the composer as one could ask. 

I enjoyed the heck out of the Renaissance Concerto (1985), which features recycled music from the eponymous period. I grinned in recognition when I heard in the third movement Orfeo's recitative melody (if you can call it that) from Monteverdi's opera. The other movements are just as good. My first thought while listening was that this is kind of like Respighi's Ancient Airs and Dances, but perhaps a bit freer in spirit. It would make a terrific concert piece for wide audiences, being so engaging and accessible. A similar description applies to the Three American Pieces, which were completed in 1945 but are heard here in Foss's 1989 violin-and-orchestra scoring. These are wonderful - full of direct appeal and American character. Violinist Nikki Chooi proves a splendid advocate for them. 

The main course is the First Symphony, completed in 1944 when Foss was 22. When I listened to this symphony for the first time, I was driving my vehicle through some rural areas. I must say that my surroundings heightened its effect. Though I couldn't remember many of the materials well after hearing them, I did very much enjoy the piece while it was on. This symphony is mostly a gentle, graceful work that recalls American orchestral music by Aaron Copland and Roy Harris. It definitely merits an occasional hearing in live concert. 

That leaves the Ode, composed at the time of the First Symphony. Foss intended it as a memorial to the World War II dead, considering it to represent "crisis, war, and ultimately faith" (liner notes). It's a well crafted piece, with moments of real beauty and passion. Again, I can't say that it is terribly memorable outside of the moment, but it's absolutely worth hearing in that moment. 

Conductor JoAnn Falletta very astutely leads the Buffalo Philharmonic through each selection. We should be grateful to them and to Naxos for promoting this music. 

Recommended

Recording Review #16: Clashing Concerti

 

Sibelius: Violin Concerto in D Minor, Op. 47/Prokofiev Violin Concerto No. 1 in D, Op. 19. Janine Jansen, violin; Klaus Mäkelä, conductor; Oslo Philharmonic. Decca 485 474-8. 

Considering how popular these violin concerti both are, it's perhaps a bit surprising how seldom you see them paired on a single-disc recording like this. Granted, they're very different works despite each being highly accessible. But maybe this explains their rare coupling. Success in the one by no means guarantees success in the other, at least in terms of the music fitting the performers' sensibilities. And to be honest, what we have here is a tricky conductor-soloist partnership: both are better in some settings than in others. In these circumstances one could almost predict that success might be occasional and serendipitous, while rightly expecting inconsistency as a norm. Indeed, that is what we get in the form of a bumpy Sibelius and a winning Prokofiev 1. 

The Sibelius Violin Concerto here suffers from two things. In order of seriousness, they are: conductor Klaus Mäkelä's continued lack of feeling for narrative shape, and violinist Janine Jansen's heavy-handedness during climactic moments and bursts of passion. I say "continued" in Mäkelä's case because his recent Sibelius symphony cycle (Decca 485 225-6) suffers similarly. He goes from area to area with little apparent understanding of how to mould the work as a whole. He finds lots of neat sounds and little points of interest locally, but rarely does anything ever add up to something greater. The problem might be less pressing in a concerto, but at times it noticeably holds Jansen back. She'll finish a passage of impassioned, virtuosic violin playing, and it will be followed by a tutti that seems minimally to have been aware of it. The result is an odd feeling of atomization, especially in the lengthy first movement. Also, while Jansen is really good in the softer, hushed passages, I often find her tone to be heavy-handed otherwise, with sometimes too much glissandi between pitches. When she plays the main theme of the finale, for example, it sounds too spasmodic and needs to be steadier. The best movement is the second, where softer surroundings limit the effects of either musician's shortcomings. 

The reason why the second movement of the Sibelius mostly succeeds in Jansen's and Mäkelä's hands is related to why their Prokofiev First Violin Concerto is a winner. This is a more dreamlike and less monumental work. Its world strikes the listener as a bit more winding despite a shorter overall length. There are many quieter, visionary passages that can be said to mark the whole despite a vigorous yet brief middle movement. These conditions play directly to the strengths of both conductor and soloist. Theirs is what I would call a distinguished reading of this concerto that withstands (if not quite triumphs in) comparison to legendary recordings by David Oistrakh and Maxim Vengerov. Jansen in particular has a special affinity for Prokofiev, and were Mäkelä's and the Oslo Philharmonic's support even less suitable than they are here, she would likely still raise the performance to a fine level. Her soft, high playing is wonderful indeed, and it finds a perfect outlet. 

The download/streaming version of this recording includes a performance of Sibelius's very first composition, Water Drops, with Jansen on violin and Mäkelä on cello. It's a neat little curiosity, but adds nothing of consequence to the proceedings. 

Highly Recommended for the Prokofiev

Recording Review #15: Stunning Stanford

Stanford: Orchestral Songs. Sharon Carty, mezzo-soprano; Morgan Pearse, baritone; John Andrews, conductor; BBC Concert Orchestra; BBC Singers. Resonus RES10345. 

After much listening, I have to say that while the still-underappreciated Charles Villiers Stanford was a fine composer of instrumental compositions, he was especially effective as a setter of sung texts. As someone who concentrates on British music in my research, I may be biased. But Stanford's Stabat Mater, sacred anthems (especially For lo, I raise up), Songs of the Sea, Songs of the Fleet, and other works I could name demonstrate ample musical personality. We're also starting to figure out, thanks in no small part to SOMM's new recording of The Travelling Companion (SOMM CD 274-2), that considerable surprises and delights await us in exploring his operas. This wonderful new disc of orchestral songs only adds to the case of Stanford deserving more respect in the history books and concert halls. Many of these songs are simply enchanting, and do not become less so with sustained hearings. 

First, it must be said that what we have here is an assortment. A generous number of Stanford's song collections are represented, but often by only one or a few entries from larger sets. Thus, we don't get all of the Songs from Old Ireland (there are fifty in total!), nor all of the Songs of Erin, Op. 76, nor all of the Bible Songs, Op. 113, etc. etc. But that's okay. The items we have here were well chosen for their charm and beauty. Second, this recording's label of "Orchestral Songs" may be slightly misleading, as many are arrangements from voice(s)-and-piano originals. But don't let that bother you, since everything works just as well (if not better) with orchestra instead. 

Since there are 22 separate tracks, I think it best to concentrate on a few of my favorites as a means of recommendation. We do get all three of the Op. 17 (listed as Op. 18 on IMSLP??) Cavalier Songs for baritone, male chorus, and piano, heard in Stanford's orchestration. These are based on poetry by Robert Browning and concern the English Civil War from a Royalist perspective. And they are FUN to listen to! Red-blooded, rousing, and melodious, with delicious idiosyncrasies of harmony and turns of phrase, they anticipate the Songs of the Sea and Songs of the Fleet. Anyone who knows and loves the latter should quickly take to the Cavalier Songs. 

But I was hooked right off the bat with the sole selection from the Op. 77 Irish Idylls set, "A Fairy Lough." The poetry by Moira O'Neill conjures an atmosphere of magic and myth, which Stanford is every bit equal to in his setting. I like the voice-piano version, but I LOVE the orchestral setting and think it is an improvement. Also magical are the four arrangements of Irish folksongs included. One wishes for more. Listeners will recognize the melody of Danny Boy in "Emer's Farewell to Cucullain," which Stanford also used to stirring effect in his First Irish Rhapsody for orchestra. 

Special mention goes to musicologist Jeremy Dibble, who is the leading Stanford expert. He very capably orchestrated the three Op. 97 Songs of Faith included here, which are united by their Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass texts. He also authored the excellent liner notes. (This reminds me: one of the best arguments for physical recordings over streaming is the written commentary you get with the booklets. The knowledge contained in many of these is more valuable than some realize, especially when top-notch scholars like Dibble provide it.)

Last but not least, plenty of praise goes to the performers. Mezzo-soprano Sharon Carty and baritone Morgan Pearse sound terrific, including when they sing together. John Andrews deftly leads the ensembles and is to be commended for his continued advocacy for repertoire that deserves to be better known. A winner all around, with everyone involved on top of their game. Go and buy this disc. 

Highly Recommended

Recording Review #14: Beaming Beethoven

Beethoven: Piano Concertos Nos. 4 and 5. Reed Tetzloff, piano; Paweł Kapuła, conductor; Prague Philharmonic Orchestra. Aparté Music AP364. ISBN: 5051083202794. 

By now these two concertos boast hundreds of recordings, including plenty of legendary ones. Whenever yet another appears, my question is always whether or not the performers really add anything special to the catalogue. For Reed Tetzloff, Paweł Kapuła, and the PPO, I had the modest anticipation of solid performances. Upon listening I have to say that this expectation was exceeded with both concerti, but especially the Fourth. I'll admit that Tetzloff had previously flown outside of my radar. But now he's firmly on it, and I'm eager to check out the rest of his discography. 

Tetzloff's main pianistic assets are a solid technique and an individual sound. His playing advocates for itself nicely in this repertoire, which is well suited to his gifts. Best of all, he has a stunning, shimmering tone in the gentler passages. This is why his Fourth Concerto interpretation really stood out to me. Those who perform this work best are able to match their own inner lyricism to that of Beethoven's most innately lyrical essay in the genre. By doing so, some give this work a saturnine tint, others imbue it with a soft inner glow, etc. Tetzloff offers up a sunny radiance that brings out according aspects of this work in a way I may have never heard before. This is particularly noticeable in the first movement during those time-suspended melodic moments after climactic builds. Most good pianists can make these moments sound nice indeed, but Tetzloff adds his own indelible stamp in a way that enhances rather than trods upon the music. 

The Emperor Concerto is nearly as good. Its more militaristic mien doesn't quite showcase Tetzlaff's strengths as well as the Fourth, but he acquits himself very ably anyway. The greater presence of crashing chords and other heavy figures finds him up to the task, but perhaps just a bit more amiability peaks through than usual. (I am perfectly fine with this!) The quicker passagework is cheerfully, even brilliantly dispatched. 

I found Paweł Kapuła and the Prague Philharmonic Orchestra to be favorable pairings for Tetzloff. Their playing is tasteful and idiomatic, providing the soloist with all he needs to shoulder the interpretive burden. There was a point in one of the fast movements of No. 5 where the timpani erupted onto the scene much too forcefully for my liking. But it didn't last long and doesn't amount to a huge deal. Those getting to know these concertos for the first time will find an ideal recording here: individual in the best sense and free from overbearing mannerisms. Seasoned collectors should listen to it and be thrilled that new generations of performers keep finding fresh delights in old masterpieces. 

Enthusiastically Recommended 

Recording Review #13: Sludgy Sibelius Sequel

 

Sibelius: Symphonies Nos. 3 and 4. Yannick Nézet-Séguin, conductor; Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal. ATMA Classique ACD 22454. 

(Although this disc came out last year, I am reviewing it here in preparation for my forthcoming write-up of its successor at Classical Candor.)

Here we go again: more problematic Sibelius by a conductor whose temperament is unsuited to Sibelius. And this time I've noticed people who should know better heaping on the praise. For instance, the reviewer at Gramophone says this (quoted from Presto Music's website): 

"I would not have had Nézet-Séguin down as a natural Sibelian, and I would have been completely wrong...A Wagnerian melos imbues the conductor’s handling of Sibelius’s syntax throughout..."

Think about that for a minute: a "natural" Sibelian inflects his Sibelius with a "Wagnerian melos." But anyone who really gets these symphonies, or has read much Sibelius literature, knows that Wagnerian anything is quite out of place with the leaner, less effusive direction these works marked. The Third Symphony is often considered to be the turning point in Sibelius's output, with many identifying in it a fresh, "classical" outlook. YNS's "Wagnerian melos," as far as it goes, is misplaced here. We need clarity and crispness, and instead we get too much sludge. 

My issues start right away in the Third's opening movement. Like too many other conductors, YNS wants to take a relatively slow tempo. I imagine they'd point to the score's Allegro moderato indication as rationale. But I think the "moderato" is there to keep conductors from running away with the "allegro." A higher-end Allegro bpm range of 130-150 would indeed be too quick. But going too far in the opposite direction sounds almost as bad. A glance at the internet tells me that people generally consider Allegro moderato to be around 116-120 bpm. YNS is at about 114 to start. That's not so far off the mark, but my taste is for the range's upper barrier at 120, which my preferred performance by Jukka-Pekka Saraste and the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra (RCA 09026-60434-2) adopts. Okay, 114 isn't anything to get too upset over. (Davis and the LSO are much worse offenders on LSO Live LSO0552.) But it's just another thing in combination with more objectionable things...

Already at the secondary theme (Rehearsal 3) we're a bit too gooey in the dolce cello melody, and not marcato enough in the upper strings accompaniment. Nor is there enough hiccup with the scored rests in the horns and bassoons at Rehearsal 4. In other words, already things are not sufficiently articulated...which is reminiscent of this series' First Symphony outing. Worse, YNS just absolutely milks the Tranquillo at Rehearsal 5, and it takes him until the following Rehearsal to recover his pace (such as it is). For long after, the running 16th-notes in the strings feeling too anemic, and the horn support distractingly loud. It's all hazy and soft-edged, like Wagner in his some of his calmer moments. The atmosphere is perfume-ish when it should be sunny and vigorous. When the return of the main theme is supposed to come roaring back at 3 measures after Rehearsal 10, YNS backs off of the climax too much like he does in the First Symphony. And builds to this and other high points are too labored. When the secondary theme gets restated later in the movement (at Rehearsal 13), the timpani strikes oddly dominate the texture – another strange imbalance in a performance marked by them. 

The second movement adopts an okay tempo...a bit slow for my taste, but fine. More seriously, the timbral balance is off; the tones of the woodwinds and strings are on the mushy side when each are prominent. Melodic lines are simply not sharply articulated enough. And once more, YNS milks the Tranquillo in this movement, as well as the measures immediately preceding it (between Rehearsals 6 and 7), though perhaps not as badly as in the previous section. He also dwells overlong on the string chords here, giving the music a decidedly Lohengrin Prelude feeling that doesn't belong...and which would easily be avoided by more motion and less rubato. Similar problems inhibit the rest of the movement, including intermittently inaudible plucked strings under the main theme in the lovely passage starting around Rehearsal 8. Occasional tempo slowdowns almost lose the pulse. 

I could point to many similar problems in the finale, but I'd sound like a broken record. I'll just content myself with a few points. First, there are several tempo fluctuations that Sibelius indicates in the score in the first section of this two-part movement. While YNS loves to slow down when instructed, he's less fond of speeding up again (or at least speeding up again especially soon). Sometimes he simply invents irritating tempo disruptions, like at 5 measures after Rehearsal 5 when a soft and kind of swinging string accompaniment re-emerges. This just gets BOGGED down. Even when he speeds up again at the directed Allegro before Rehearsal 7, it's not enough. Why conduct like this?? At Rehearsal 8 we FINALLY  get a decent climax, but only because Sibelius marked the buildup cresc.possible, and the apex triple forte. Apparently that's what it takes to give YNS a shot in the arm. This is good for a nice stretch of punchy measures to follow. But with the emergence of the chorale theme a little after Rehearsal 13 we're back to sludginess. This new area is marked a tempo, con energia. But if there is one thing YNS lacks overall, it's sufficient energy. Here he'd rather fixate on Sibelius's pitch accents instead of any steady pace. There's even a Sempre energico at Rehearsal 14. But nope, everything just lurches along to the end.

I've gone down a rabbit hole here. I apologize. (I have a special affection for the Third Symphony.) I'll wrap up. In general I find YNS only marginally more successful in the Fourth, if only because this is a darker, more ponderous work that at times better absorbs his flakiness. He gets some nice surges of sound in the opening movement, and definitely understands the plot here better. But with the second movement we're back to more mush. The biggest problem with the third movement is the lack of payoff with the big tune at the end. Too much brass/percussion, and not enough strings. The character here is all wrong. This isn't Wotan and the Gods entering Valhalla; it's pent-up psychological energy bursting to get out. And we just don't get that. To make matters worse, the sudden relief of light that should come with the opening of the finale instead arrives like a few dull rays of sun poking through the clouds...with more dynamic and articulative sludge. Limpness reigns supreme, especially in a lifeless, needlessly drawn-out conclusion. This is a Fourth that occasionally succeeds but lacks proper vision in total. Do yourselves a favor and stick with the infinitely more compelling offerings by Karajan, Davis (BSO), Vanska, Bernstein, and others out there. Leave this one and its soggy Third companion to languish. 

Avoid

Recording Review #12: Convivial Concerti

The Romantic Piano Concerto #87. Reinecke: Piano Concerto No. 3 in C, Op. 144; Konzertstück, Op. 33/Sauer: Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor. Simon Callaghan, piano; Modestas Pitrėnas, conductor; Sinfonieorchester St Gallen. Hyperion CDA68429. 

Hyperion's Romantic Piano Concerto series is something for which we should all be grateful. It allows us to sample broad swaths of repertoire mostly laying forgotten. Thereby we have the chance to discover things which surprise and delight. It also helps us to contextualize familiar masterpieces, and see them in better relief. How do we really know that the perennially beloved Brahms, Grieg, Schumann etc. piano concertos were the best of their time? Well, by listening to as much of everything else as we can and learning to appreciate those other scores too, despite the fact that they may rarely supplant the privileged few in our affections. It was through this very series that I first discovered multiple neglected concerti I came to adore. I still listen to them today. My musical life would be poorer if these works by Arensky, Balakirev, and Scharwenka (to name just a few) had not been imprinted upon my imagination. Sure, there have been many other instances where I've said, "yeah, this is pleasant and all, but it doesn't really do anything for me." And that's fine; at least I had the chance to listen and decide for myself. If nothing else, more knowledge is always good. 

So how was this outing? Better than average, I'd say. Of these three concertante pieces, only one am I fine with not revisiting again any time soon. The other two I'd be glad to hear in the future (particularly in concert, but that's probably a pipe dream). We'll briefly treat each in descending order of my preference. 

I'd be lying if I said I've heard anywhere close to all of Carl Reinecke's huge composition catalogue. But I had already been familiar with some entries, including what is easily his most performed work today – the Undine Sonata for Flute and Piano. This is still very popular among undergraduate flutists, and with good reason: it is passionate, moving, and sticks in the memory. Nothing else I've heard by Reinecke quite matches it by these measures. (He was an academic and often composed like one.) But the Third Piano Concerto of 1877 comes fairly close. Having heard each of his four piano concerti, which are now all recorded by Hyperion, I think No. 3 is the best of the bunch and deserving of its separate placement on this new release. (The others are on the recent CDA68339, #85 in the series, with the same performers.) The opening movement starts with a lovely theme that recurs with similarly attractive subordinate ideas. The whole thing is well crafted and has a gentle flavor of its own. (Interestingly, an alternate take on the first movement is included, which features a loud ending that I don't think works quite as well as the 'official' soft one.) The beautiful second movement faintly recalls Schumann, but is consistent in character with its surroundings. The finale is a funny animal whose initial idea is bland by comparison with its second theme. It is bouncy stuff, though, and the main theme from the first movement makes a cyclic appearance. Callaghan, Pitrėnas, and Company take an overall mellower approach than do Alun Francis and his cohorts on CPO (999 239-2). But I think this suits the music very well. 

Emil von Sauer's Second Piano Concerto lacks the polished craft that marks Reinecke's Third. Despite that it is full of interesting, and at times bewitching, ideas...even if the whole impresses less than its parts. I well remember the fanfare that greeted the eleventh disc in this Romantic Piano Concerto series in the mid-90s, which featured Stephen Hough playing the first of the two Sauer concerti. Admirers of that work should enjoy the Second. 

Reinecke's Opus 33 Konzertstück impressed me the least. While it is built well enough, the materials themselves just fail to register beyond listener recognition of their heavy debt to Schumann and Mendelssohn. Truthfully, there is a lot of this kind of music in the series, with some discs boasting little to nothing more. Luckily, the Konzertstück's companion pieces here offer more interest. 

Even though we're now 87 discs into The Romantic Piano Concerto collection, I find myself wanting more. I hope very much that Hyperion keeps this gravy train chugging along. It's a repertoire explorer's dream. 

Cheerfully Recommended

New Review at Classical Candor

Further to my Recording Review #1 here at The Ross Review, my write-up of the next installment in Chandos's Edward Gardner/BPO Nielsen cycle can be read here.

Recording Review #11: Almost Awesome

Schubert: String Quartet No. 8 in B-Flat, D. 112; String Quartet No. 15 in G, D. 887. Takács Quartet. Hyperion CDA68423. 

The Takács Quartet has gone through plenty of personnel since its founding in 1975. I believe the only remaining original member is cellist András Fejér. I saw the group perform on two occasions in the early 2000s, when they had different people at the second violin and viola positions. Both experiences were marvelous. The current squad sound mostly terrific together on this recording. I just wish that some of their interpretive decisions in the great G Major Quartet were different.

Schubert's string quartets are an uneven group. If they had ended with the Eleventh in E Major (D. 353), completed in 1816, he would now be considered a solid but unremarkable contributor to the genre. But with the single-movement Twelfth Quartet (called the Quartettsatz) appearing some four years later, we move steeply from respectable to outstanding on the inspiration scale. And we very much stay there for the following three in the cycle. 

The Eighth Quartet, then, is still in pre-world-beating territory. It does show progress from Schubert's earliest attempts and is an accomplished work. We even encounter some of the harmonic boldness that characterizes the late quartets. (The move to G Minor territory in the first movement's exposition, which is full of sudden passion, is a good example.) But by and large this piece is still stylistically within orbit of more imposing models by Haydn and Beethoven. I have no issue with the Takács Quartet's account here. Everything comes off extremely tastefully. 

But D. 887 is a transcendent work – one of Schubert's very best and, as far as I'm concerned, one of the greatest string quartets in the entire literature. Moreover, it is finicky and difficult to hold together, with many opportunities for various miscues and eccentricities. In other words, there is much to potentially separate even excellent performances from each other, never mind ones that are merely good or less. To my ears, the Takács Quartet delivers both splendid inner movements and inner parts of the first movement, adroitly dispatching the challenges of layered voicings, thematic dovetails, etc. However, we need to hear those early tremolos just a tad more. I understand the impulse to keep them super hushed, but they shouldn't be so at the expense of audibility. This is some of the most wondrously sad music ever written, and we need to hear everything as clearly as possible. A decidedly sharper disappointment arrived when I listened to the finale. I appreciate how difficult this music is to perform well, but the playing here sounds rushed and even clipped occasionally. Some of the separate string lines don't quite come off sharply, and harmonies/thematic arrivals that need to be savored (if only briefly) fly by in too much of a blur. My preference here is actually for a BIT slower approach (if you can believe it). Otherwise too much in this thickly-packed neck of the woods tends to get missed. I suggest the Melos Quartet (DG 463 151-2) or The New Zealand Quartet (Trust Records MMT 2062) as ideal alternatives. 

Preferential drawbacks aside, this is a fine disc overall. It's definitely worth a listen. Maybe your tastes will align more closely how the Takács Quartet plays parts of D. 887. But everything else I can cheer on without reservation. 

Recommended

Recording Review #10: Congenial Clement

Franz Clement: Solo Violin Works (12 Caprices; Variations). Haoli Lin, violin. Naxos 8.574497. ISBN: 747313449774. 

Naxos is one of my favorite labels. In terms of shining light on forgotten recesses of the vast classical repertoire, they're a godsend. Consider this disc: all world premiere recordings of quite obscure music by the violinist who premiered Beethoven's Violin Concerto. To be sure, none of these pieces by Franz Clement come close in stature to LvB's imposing masterpiece. But once that obvious point is out of the way, these solo violin works are quite a pleasant journey...and worthy to be enjoyed as such.  

The track sequence is shrewdly arranged; we don't get all 12 Caprices at once. Instead, four groups of three intersperse as many short sets of variations on music theater tunes. This ensures a fresh flow of fare and keeps things engaging. It also becomes clear (if it wasn't already) that the Caprices are rather more ambitious works in terms of aim and scope. Splitting them up allows us to digest them piecemeal, which is a good thing. Maybe they lack the sheer ostentation of Paganini's famous miniatures in the same genre, but Clement's offer plenty of virtuosic flair and delights to explore. He can surprise you if given the chance. For instance, I enjoyed the sudden pathos in passages of No. 4, the unexpected harmonies and turns of phrase in No. 11, and the jaunty air to open No. 9. Listeners should also be suitably impressed with the technical brilliance of Nos. 6 and 8, among others. 

At least equally did I enjoy the sets of variations. In the liner notes, Haoli Lin writes the following: "While working on Clement’s unaccompanied works, editing and practicing them, and even recreating the music sheets, I felt like I was travelling back to early 19th-century Vienna, at the cusp of the Classical and Romantic eras. Clement felt like an intimate friend, showing me the unique elegance and beauty of that time through his music." This is exactly right. In listening to these tunes, and the sprightly variations on them by Clement, I felt like I had a unique little window into late 18th- and early 19th-century musical taste. Perhaps concert-going folks back then went home whistling these melodies, which we have long forgotten. What a wonderful feeling to be immersed in them! The themes heading three of the sets of variations are by Méhul, Weigl, and Salieri. All are terrific and are subjected to charming treatment by Clement. But, again unexpectedly, I most enjoyed the set based on a tune from the pantomime Die 3 Sclaven. I found this touching and would gladly come back and listen to it again. 

Haoli Lin plays everything with admirable sensitivity, accuracy, and beautiful tone. Even without his liner note remarks, it is clear this was a labor of love for him. I applaud his fine work and his commitment to sharing this repertoire with us. I'll be looking into his other efforts. 

Warmly Recommended