Recording Review #40: Polish Dichotomies

 

Chopin: Piano Sonata No. 3 in B Minor, Op. 58; Szymanowski: Variations in B-Flat Minor, Op. 3; Variations on a Polish Folk Theme, Op. 10. Jonathan Fournel, pianist. Alpha Classics ALPHA 1064. 

In my listening experience there are two Szymanowskis. There is the earlier Late Romantic Szymanowski, and there is the later 'Modernist Lite' Szymanowski positioned not far from where the orbits of Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky, and Bartók intersect. To be completely honest, I am not wildly enthused by either Szymanowski. I find nearly all I've heard to be of decidedly mild flavor, and critical evaluations of him as "Poland's Second Greatest Composer After Chopin" to lack weight. Maybe he is Poland's Second Greatest Composer After Chopin, but the gulf separating the two strikes me as pretty wide. Sure, Poland's Second Greatest Composer wielded impressive craft, and became adept at painting atmospheres that are sometimes radiant but often languid. Chopin had a gift for atmosphere, too, and with it personality and thematic invention well beyond those of his future compatriot. Is this a fair comparison? Maybe not on its own, but it becomes fair when I am constantly told that Szymanowski was Poland's Second Greatest Composer [After Chopin]. 

However if forced to pick one Szymanowski, I'd readily split from [apparent] critical consensus and go with Late Romantic Szymanowski. Sure, his thematic invention was never close to Chopin's, but at least there was a time when he seemed to try harder in that department. As far as I am aware, the Variations in B-Flat Minor are based on an original theme, and it's a good one. The work owes heavily to the usual 19th-century models of the time. Actually, it's nice on this account. Much the same could be said for the Variations on a Polish Folk Theme, which dates from the same years (roughly 1900-1904). Jonathan Fournel is clearly fond of this repertoire and applies his skill to making it sound attractive. It's all moderately engaging, but far nearer to my taste than the Modernist Lite Szymanowski one finds in the composer's nebulous violin concertos, or in his proto-Bartók mazurkas.

More honesty: I didn't actually listen to this disc for the Szymanowski. I wanted to check out Fournel's take on my favorite piano sonata, Chopin's Third. This work is truly one of the glories of the piano literature. If it was used to promote the pretty, perfectly respectable Szymanowski pieces it accompanies, I'm not sure the venture entirely succeeds. (From where I'm sitting, it sort of highlights the gulf I was talking about earlier.) Still, I'll place one win in the Szymanowski category: Fournel's performances of the variation sets exceed that of the Chopin Sonata. It's not that Fournel's Op. 58 is bad...just not terribly distinguished. The technique is tremendous, but occasionally the virtuosic passages feel breathless and rote-like. I'm missing a sense of poetry. Sometimes the sound is sumptuous and velvety (as in the middle movements), but just as often there's a watery, over-pedaled feeling. The finale is perhaps best, but even here I could use a touch more passion. It's a pretty good Chopin Third Sonata, but not one for the ages. I'd be interested to see Fournel revisit the work when he's a little bit older, but I suspect that the issue here is more one of personality than of artistic maturity. 

All in all, a fine release then. You get a decent Chopin Third Sonata and very good Szymanowski sets. If you're a big fan of both of Poland's Two Greatest Composers, this is probably a Must Buy. If you're a fan of only one of them, it very much depends on which one and how much. Everyone else's mileage may vary. 

Verdict: Recommended

Recording Review #39: Deserving Dariescu

Clara Schumann: Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 7; Grieg: Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 16. Alexandra Dariescu, pianist; Tianyi Lu, conductor; Philharmonia Orchestra. Signum Classics SIGCD 799. 

One of my issues with contemporary promotion of women composers is how indiscriminate the particularly zealous often are when it comes to "the music itself." Some of them seem so busy counting female names on concert programs etc. that they don't have much time for other considerations. Sometimes I try to imagine a future where these people get everything they apparently want, including seasons full of major-musician and major-ensemble concerts with nothing but works by women programmed. DECADES, even CENTURIES of this...you know, to make up for the ages of nothing but performances of male-composer works at these venues. Suppose that this battle they're fighting can actually be won. So much music by once-neglected women composers would get heard that they'd eventually have to start worrying about what gets repeated and what doesn't. How might they contend with the inevitability that favorites would start to emerge, and new canons formed, entirely within the world of female-created music? If women composers could somehow finally achieve desired equity with male ones, could questions of comparative musical merit among just themselves be avoided? Or would political intersectionality then be redeployed in some form to police any emergent natural enthusiasm?

These are some of the thoughts that crossed my mind as I listened to this new recording of Clara Schumann's Piano Concerto. In truth, I'm somewhat sorry they did. Because if this concerto deserves one thing, it's to be listened to for its considerable intrinsic qualities rather than according to the dubious advocacy of zealots whose "virtues" Clara herself wouldn't recognize. Is it music worthy of being in the classical music canon? It's at least darned close, and definitely worth repeated performances. Its craft is impressive, and some of the melodies, harmonic progressions, and turns of phrase are gorgeous. That it's the product of a young teenager living in a world cruel to women composers is frankly astonishing. Given the high level of this and other music Clara managed to produce, before her motherhood and support of her husband's career took over, I would not be surprised if some alternate reality (where she kept composing seriously) showed her becoming a canon composer in spite of steep obstacles. 

A search for "Clara Schumann Piano Concerto" at Presto Music shows that there are already a considerable number of recordings, dwarving the amount received by similar compositions of other women composers. There's no doubt about it: Clara's Op. 7 is already a favorite among this group. (From a purely musical standpoint it deserves to be!) I won't pretend to have heard the entire catalogue, but I did sample 5 or 6 recordings beyond the Naxos one with which I had already been familiar (8.557552). To my ears, Dariescu & Co.'s stiffest competition is Howard Shelley's account with the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra, which is part of No. 78 in Hyperion's ongoing Romantic Piano Concerto series (CDA68240). Shelley's may still be my favorite, with an appreciable spirit matched by a rich tone I've always admired. But Dariescu's performance is also superb, and some listeners may justifiably prefer it instead. More than almost all of her competition, her admirable passion is equaled by a wonderful technical control of articulation and dynamics. Most competing recordings lack her high standard in one aspect or the other. Clara Concerto fans will definitely want this one on their shelves, and other listeners ought to as well. 

Pairing the much-loved Grieg Concerto with Clara's is a bold and interesting move. They do evoke similarities: they're obviously both in A Minor, they're both early works in their respective catalogues, and their composers both unfortunately started but didn't finish Second Concertos. It's also clear that Grieg's is being used to help promote Clara's. Which is fine, and I hope the tactic works. But while the Grieg performance here is quite solid, there's simply too much superlative competition for me to recommend this recording on that basis alone. I find Dariescu's sharper-edged pianism more suited to other music. My own ideal Grieg needs a fairy-tale sensibility...and there are plenty such options I could recommend. But, you might better like Dariescu's particular sound in this music. It's purely a preference thing. 

Folks, I'm always going to call it like I see it on this blog. I may be wrong sometimes, but I'm not afraid of crossing powerful personalities or lobbies when I think I'm right. I'm also committed to putting aside my ideological and emotional impulses in trying my best to give credit where it's due. (Maybe I won't always succeed.) I may find the social justice warriors misguided and at times annoying. But that doesn't mean they're always backing losers just because they back them for reasons I don't like. They're not always wrong about grievances in the classical world either. Taking things on an individual basis helps cut through the political garbage. In that spirit, please buy or at least listen to this fine recording of some terrific music. 

Warmly Recommended

Recording Review #38: Hearty Haydn

 

Haydn: The Complete Piano Sonatas, Volume 1. Won-Sook Hur, pianist. Dux Recording Producers DUX2085. 

Much as I love Mozart's sonatas for solo keyboard, I think I may like Haydn's even more. This very much includes the early ones that are often slighter works (some are referred to as divertimenti or partitas) than the more familiar scores from later years. The very first nine are offered on Volume 1 of this new Dux series. Their opening movements mostly come in brief (sometimes rudimentary) sonata forms with sectional repeats. Ternary minuets-and-trios follow somewhere, with occasional slow or presto movements also making appearances. Few if any of these spans are longer than a few minutes each. And yet they're all delightfully engaging. Any one of them is perfect for a short car ride within town, or a fun play-through session at the piano (none of them are technically daunting).  

Particularly noteworthy in this group is Hob. XVI:2 in B-Flat, alternatively dubbed a partita. This is a surprisingly meaty work whose wit and memorability give it heft to match many sonatas to come. Its opening movement already contains hallmarks of Haydn's approach to sonata form: a sturdy, multi-part main theme group that provides fodder for plenty of elaboration; short episodes (often drawing heavily from the main theme group) in place of true secondary themes; and robust closing material that counterbalances extensive reliance upon the opening to generate interest. A richly expressive Largo slow movement in the relative minor key follows, with a Menuet-and-Trio finale that reverts back to B-Flat Major but visits the incredible parallel minor key of B-Flat Minor in the Trio. The best scholarly guesses date this work to around 1760, which makes it an incredible effort by a young Haydn working during the early years of the Classical Period. (Officially, we're not quite certain that it is by Haydn. But I strongly believe so for the reasons I've just shared.) 

Won-Sook Hur delivers spirited performances that should serve most listeners well. His 'pedally' sound is not quite my favorite; I prefer a dryer, crisper approach. And the sound quality of the recording at times seems less than top-tier. But these quibbles are not reasons to avoid giving it a try. Your impressions may vary. 

Recommended

Recording Review #37: Damgaard Delights

Schubert: Selected Piano Music. John Damgaard plays Schubert. Danacord DACOCD980. 

I could easily fill this blog with reviews of Schubert's music only; that's how much I love it. There's always tons to explore and re-explore. Delights await around every corner. Especially when the performances are good, as is the case with this new Danacord release featuring pianist John Damgaard. I like his selection of pieces here: the 6 Moments musicaux, D. 780; the rarely-heard 2 Scherzos, D. 593; and my ever-favorite 3 Klavierstücke, D. 946. A terrific blend of miniatures (in some cases near-miniatures) to showcase this performer's robust gifts. 

We're so used to hearing the famous F Minor Moment musical (the third) that we sometimes forget about the wonderful music in the others. With their little main themes, extensions, recastings, interspersions, and returns, these pieces present some of the best examples of Schubert's achingly beautiful character states. No composer was better at creating music that is at once happy and sad, or that moves so suddenly from one to the other. Damgaard's interpretation here is fantastic. I have heard few pianists paint the different shadings of this music like he does. He seems to capture every little emotion, and to have something special up his sleeve for each new turn of phrase. The range of tone color is remarkable. 

The D. 593 Scherzi are something of a rarity. But they're actually not that different from the Moments musicaux in their strain-based forms, and also in their exploration of different moods from one mini-section to the next. Perhaps the main themes of these two pieces have a bit more "pop," befitting the their genre designation. Damgaard brings them off with admirable tone and control. One wishes they would crop up in concerts more often. 

The magnificent three D. 946 pieces are also section-based, but they're lengthier and have stormier (or simply more virtuosic) passages. This begins to explain why I find Damgaard's performances of them to be on a slightly lower level than previously. He is VERY good in the slower, more reflective areas (like the middle of the third number). And while he's not "bad" in the stormier stuff, I find some of those stretches just a tad lacking in élan, and in the appropriate tone colors he provides elsewhere. When the going is fast and notey, sometimes things also sound slightly clipped. Finally, I'm not sure I like the rubato he applies in the pathos-filled A-Flat Minor section of the second number; it needs a more consistent pulse and sense of urgency. (It's one of the most magical passages in ALL of Schubert's music!) Overall, then, while this is a pretty decent D. 946 option, I would steer newcomers to great performances by Brendel or Pollini first. 

Recommended, especially for D. 780 and 593

Recording Review #36: Viscous VW

Vaughan Williams: The Complete String Quartets. Verdi Quartet. CPO 555 345-2. 

Ralph Vaughan Williams began the earliest of these string quartets in 1897 while he was studying with Max Bruch in Berlin. Only the year before had he completed a second matriculation at the Royal College of Music in London. At that time, none of his works were published, nor would they be until 1902 when a single strophic art song (Linden Sea) became the first. This C Minor Quartet would only be heard in concert in 1904 and then basically abandoned for a century, its recording on Hyperion CDA67381/2 comprising part of a recent but modest revival. In other words, this is very early stuff by a consensus late bloomer. And it sounds like it. The Verdi Quartet's warm, sympathetic reading does little to hide the music's shaky formal grip, and a mild flavor bordering on blandness. 

But the C Minor String Quartet does prompt a kind of reflection. It is exactly the type of thing many composers never got past writing. (These would be mainly the second- or third-tier composers whose works the CPO label has made a reputation recording.) We know that Vaughan Williams soon moved past this stage. (And for that matter so did Sibelius, whose early, similarly middling chamber works provide a striking parallel.) In Vaughan Williams's case it wasn't just a situation of latent talent slowly manifesting itself. There was also a conscious realization to which he was coming: the path to full self-discovery lay with his immersion in English folk and church music. Elements of these would help in forging a mature compositional voice at once distinctive and hard-won. 

The first numbered and published String Quartet (the G Minor of 1908) marks the true beginning of Vaughan Williams's professional life as a composer, his final apprenticeship (under Maurice Ravel) only lately completed. While it doesn't yet usher in a full maturity (it was revised in 1921), the distance it shows from the C Minor Quartet of a decade earlier is vast. Here we really start to encounter elements of his trademark "Englishness," with strong modal inflections, folk rhythms, and other clear assimilations of traditional music. The themes are much stronger and more memorable, and the harmonies start to assume the pastel colors that would be so pronounced later on. The problem with the Verdi Quartet's approach here is that they bring excessive precipitousness and heaviness to the work. This is one of the earliest large-scale compositions by RVW in which he encounter his famous "visionary" quality; it scarcely comes off in the Verdis' performance. 

The Second String Quartet in A Minor bears the ridiculous subtitle "For Jean on her Birthday." (Jean Stewart was a violist who was part of the Menges Quartet, which Vaughan Williams had in mind when he composed this work.) It is of a spikier aesthetic than his early-period efforts, and dates from much later – during World War II. The Verdi Quartet does better here, though I'm still missing a certain suppleness that superior performances exude. There is also an odd, hollow sort of sound quality at times...almost like a kind of reverb. Finally, both here and in the G Minor Quartet these string players occasionally like to accentuate subordinate lines at the expense of more important melodies. 

As someone who has spent a lot of time researching and writing about Vaughan Williams, I always want to be happy when new recordings of his music get released. But it is difficult to see this particular issue as something more than a missed opportunity. For the mature numbered quartets, I recommend the excellent alternative provided by the Maggini Quartet on Naxos 8.555300.

Collectors Only

Recording Review #35: Solid Symphonies

Shostakovich: Symphonies Nos. 4-6; Klaus Mäkelä, conductor; Oslo Philharmonic Orchestra. Decca 485 4637.

I'll be honest: I've had to force myself to give Klaus Mäkelä fair hearings. I wasn't at all impressed with his dubious Sibelius symphony cycle, released on Decca in 2022. Then, when I heard he landed the Chicago Symphony Orchestra music director gig earlier this year, I was sorry that more deserving (though perhaps less handsome or well connected) candidates for this prominent position got passed over. But a responsible critic doesn't evaluate new music-making through the lens of prior disapproval. Thus resolved, I listened diligently to what may be his first recording in a new Shostakovich symphony cycle. I'm glad I did, because for the most part it's quality stuff. 

That said, I'm probably not the best person to evaluate this performance of the Fourth. Hearing the work many times with different performers has done nothing to mitigate my dislike of it. I still think it's a self-indulgent mess that goes on for too long and offers poor thematic invention. Nonetheless, my general impression is that Mäkelä leads a decent effort, though it lacks a certain sharpness you find in the energetic takes by Gergiev and the Mariinsky Theater Orchestra (MAR0545), and Petrenko and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra (Naxos 8.573188). If the Fourth is your cup of tea, I suspect you will prefer these other performances. But for me the present option is perfectly serviceable. 

The Fifth is Shostakovich's most popular symphony, with many excellent recordings available. Mäkelä's account isn't bad, but it lacks just a bit of conviction while being slightly inconsistent. The opening sounds labored when it should be arresting and create an air of mystery. I also need an edgier sarcasm in the scherzo than he's able to provide. The final two movements are best. The string playing is lovely in the Largo, which helps to create a suitably dreamy atmosphere. Then, Mäkelä leads a sharp and exciting finale that perhaps misses just a touch of magic. But all in all it's a solid reading that holds up well. 

I think I read somewhere that Mäkelä's favorite Shostakovich symphony is the Sixth. I have a special fondness for it as well, as I say here. It could certainly use more champions, and Mäkelä proves to be a very adept one. The big opening Largo is very well controlled, and comes off appreciably grim. This span should be an emotionally exhausting experience to open a symphony; Mäkelä & Co. duly deliver. Nor does he let the quality flag for the peppier remainder of the work. This is one of the best No. 6 second movements I have ever heard on recording, with a wonderful sense of whimsy and orchestral colors that seem to jump out of your speakers. The finale (one of my absolute FAVORITES in any classical composition) is fast, but not TOO fast. It's exhilarating without being allowed to spin out of control, à la Gergiev. Mäkelä seems to have found his musical spirit animal here. 

Klaus Mäkelä is young, and his discography is still very small. But already we're seeing signs that he's finding music matching his temperament. For some reason we expect that a Finnish conductor will naturally be good at performing Sibelius. All Finns inevitably feel the cultural weight of their great national master. But what I've heard suggests that Mäkelä's affinities lie more with Russian musical aesthetics. I'm eager to see what he does with the other Shosty symphonies. If those turn out well, maybe he'll move on to Prokofiev, then Weinberg, then Glazunov.... But now I'm getting ahead of myself. On balance this is a solid start to a Shostakovich cycle. Former disappointments aside, I'm rooting for the rest to be at least as good. 

Recommended, especially for the Sixth Symphony

Recording Review #34: Dazzling Daugherty or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love (Some) Postmodernism

 

Daugherty: Harp of Ages. Courtney Hershey Bress, harpist; Andrew Litton, conductor; Colorado Symphony. Naxos 9.70365. 

I used to hate postmodernism. All of it. You see, I had the unfortunate experience of learning about it in graduate school, where it was presented to me in the most off-puttingly academic way possible. The texts of philosophers like Derrida, Foucault, etc. (as far as I learned about them) struck me as nonsense. They still do. And to this day I haven't developed much love for the edgier postmodernists (or postmodernism) in art and music. The soup can images by Andy Warhol are fairly harmless, but they also bore me. I'm also not a fan of shock stuff, nor even the of earlier minimalist music from the 60s by composers like Terry Riley and Steve Reich. The former's In C is chuckle-worthy at first, but ultimately lame to my sensibility. And works like It's Gonna Rain irritate me to no end. Even Philip Glass's Einstein on the Beach tests my patience. Philosophically, the 60s have much to answer for. 

But eventually I came to appreciate ways in which different cultural, often pop-influenced elements could be tastefully presented within the same frame. Another way of saying this is that I made peace with the softer varieties of postmodernism, particularly when they try to capture a certain pluralist experience of recent times without resorting to Dada-influenced chaos or preachy moral relativism. I date this shift in my thinking to John Corigliano's visit to the University of Illinois in 2006 or 2007 (I forget which), coinciding with my time there as a doctoral student. After sitting in on his master class for the university's student composers (an EXTREMELY eye-opening experience of which I might say more on another occasion), I had the opportunity to speak with him and attend the concert that was the center-piece of his visit. The main composition on the program was his recently-completed Third Symphony (for band), which bears the title Circus Maximus. With it he connects the experience of entertainment in the decadent Roman Empire to that of our own in the contemporary West. This music (and particularly the clever, collage-like movement entitled "Channel Surfing") thrilled us in the audience. Moreover, it showed me how communicatively effective elements of postmodernism could be in certain settings. 

But Michael Daugherty still remained a hang-up for me. You see, for a long time I knew nothing of his music because of another unfortunate experience in graduate school. As an impressionable, 23-year-old master's student at the University of Wisconsin, I heard some classmates ridiculing his compositions as fluffy, hokey, and not worthy of serious consideration. Certain other superficial impressions (which I won't get into here) seemed to reinforce that verdict. For some dumb reason, this was all I needed not to listen to any Daugherty for many years. This has been my loss For while not everything I have heard equally wins me over, it's now clear that I spent too long missing out on his own effective brand of compelling eclecticism. 

And 'compelling eclecticism' is definitely how I would describe Daugherty's recent harp concerto, titled Harp of Ages. The gist of it is best apprehended directly from the composer's own program note, taken from his website: "The harp is one of the oldest and most beautiful instruments, from early civilizations to the present. Like the seven pedals on the modern harp, my concerto is divided into seven movements that reflect on many ages of the harp. Each movement is associated with a memorable figure associated with the harp." He goes on to list each of these movements, and the figures upon which they are based: Sappho (seventh century BC), Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz (1648-1695), Nyoata Uhura (ca. 23rd century, fictional), David (ca. 1000 BC, ancient Israelite shepherd and king), Harpo Marx (1888-1954), Dorothy Ashby (1932-1986) and Alice Coltrane (1937-2007), and the harp as the symbol of Ireland (the movement is called "Irish Wedding"). The whole thing lasts approximately 30 minutes. 

On paper alone it's a neat idea – all the more so in connection with a harp concerto. But I didn't expect the listening experience to be quite as affecting as it is. Daugherty is extremely adept at using melody and instrumentation to create palpable atmospheres. While I liked some movements better than others, each is entirely convincing...as is the music's drawing upon different traditions within a unified whole. Often this entails quoting well-known tunes (I particularly relished the references to Star Trek's main theme in the Uhura music!). Probably my favorite portion is "David's Prayer," annotated by Daugherty as follows: "young shepherd from the Old Testament who played the harp to soothe the spirits of King Saul." This is spellbinding music. In my mind I instantly conjured a vivid image of the young man David, ancestor of Jesus, playing harp while tending his father's flocks in the hills...and having no idea that the prophet Samuel would anoint him king one day. The aesthetic experience was something like this scene from Ben-Hur, accompanied by Miklós Rózsa's likewise radiant music. 

Undoubtedly the most impressive point in Harp of Ages craft-wise is the "Irish Wedding" finale. This uses two outside themes as its basis: the well-known Irish song "The Minstrel Boy," and Johann Sebastian Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." Daugherty weaves a formally rich stretch from them that rivets the listener for the duration. Especially clever is how he recognizes both the jig-like properties of Jesu AND its frequent appearances at weddings, and thereby subsumes it into the imagined setting of an Irish nuptial. We even get a few nods to the Lohengrin bridal chorus toward the end. This is music that is unabashedly intended to communicate to mass audiences who share a common cultural inheritance with the composer, the performers, and each other. Very refreshing stuff! 

This whole work, then, is another fine example of Good Postmodernism: recognizing our specific time in history without getting arrogant or despondent about it. Using eclecticism to bring people together instead of alienate them or cast equal cultural aspersion. Letting go of the conceits of modernism and replacing them with a healthier spirit of outreach. Composing from the heart and letting the intellect follow and support. 

The recording's performers also gave the world premiere in May of 2023. Harpist Courtney Hershey Bress impresses with her virtuosity and stamina. Andrew Litton and the Colorado Symphony capably dispatch their many tasks: while this is a harp concerto, Daugherty calls on many members of the orchestra to fulfill special roles. Congratulations to all involved!

Highly Recommended

Recording Review #33: Tasteful Trios

Beethoven: Piano Trio No. 1 in E-Flat, Op. 1, No. 1; Piano Trio No. 5 in D ("Ghost"), Op. 70, No. 1; Schöne Minka, ich muss scheiden, WoO 158a, No. 16 (arr. Enders). Sitkovetsky Trio. BIS-2699. 

This release concludes BIS's recent series of Beethoven piano trios. It features the somewhat unusual pairing of his 'official' first work in the genre and his fifth. (I've always thought the "Ghost" appellation for the latter ridiculous in terms of what happens in the second movement!) Both trios are prime Beethoven, though I continue to harbor special fondness for the Op. 1 set. Also included is an arrangement by the group's cellist, Isang Enders, of Schöne Minka, ich muss scheiden, from the WoO 158 songs of different nationalities. 

The Sitkovetsky Trio (ostensibly named after the group's violinist, Alexander Sitkovetsky) brings admirable energy to their performances, and especially crackling virtuosity from pianist Wu Qian. These interpretations are full of spirit and warmth. There's nothing eccentric here - no doing weird stuff in an attempt to stand out. (This is a refreshing change of pace from certain other listening experiences lately!) What we have are just three earnest, skilled musicians doing right by the music. I guess if I had to point out some flaws, I'd begin by wishing for a bit richer tone from the string players. Sometimes they sound slightly on the meek side, especially next to the torrid piano playing. Also, while the pep in the finale of Op. 1/1 is nice, perhaps the tempo there is a bit much. Occasionally some of the smaller details sounded obscured.

But even in a crowded field these are fine performances. Anyone coming to this music for the first time will be well served, though I would encourage such listeners to soon explore further. 

Recommended

Recording Review #32: Choppy Chopin

Chopin: Complete Nocturnes. Alberto Nones, pianist. Halidon 8030615071050. 

::Sigh::

I don't start out looking to be negative about releases like this one. On the contrary, I very much begin from the wish to promote smaller labels and lesser-known artists. Alas, too often honesty prevents me from being as positive as I'd like. In which case the duty to render a faithful verdict quickly takes over. Such is the situation here. I won't say nothing would have made me happier than giving Mr. Nones a glowing review. (Some zillionaire randomly paying off my mortgage would inevitably have rated higher.) But it is nonetheless true that I was hoping to do so. 

Why all of this hand-wringing? Well, today on social media somebody told me that he didn't appreciate my negativity in Recording Review #29. I guess maybe I was a bit harsh there. But do you know what else I was? Honest. I feel I owe my readers this, even when they won't like what I have to say. If I came off mean on that occasion, I apologize. Harsh? Maybe. But I don't think I was mean. (There's a difference.) Each of us individually is ultimately responsible for what we put out there, whether it be critical prose, recorded music, or something else. Risk comes with this; in addition to the expectation of reward, you're also risking negative feedback or poor commercial remuneration. I don't know Mr. Nones, and I bear no ill will toward him. But in the end I cannot recommend his Chopin Nocturnes, as much as I wished to say the opposite. 

That is not to say fine playing is absent here. There are plenty of nice moments! But what really marks this set of interpretations is inconsistency. It comes in two varieties. The first is an inconsistent approach to following score directions — often Nones likes doing it, but once in a while he doesn't. The second is an inconsistent approach to things like dynamics, tempo, pedaling, and articulation. Not just from piece to piece, or section to section...but occasionally also from measure to measure. The result in many of these nocturnes is an impression of whimsy that ends up sounding haphazard. 

I don't think there is any need to go through every individual number; a few illustrative examples will suffice. Perhaps appropriately, we'll start with the first nocturne, Op. 9/1 (B-Flat Minor). Now, I haven't seen the manuscript score, and I don't know what Chopin's interpretation of Larghetto was. Nor do I know if the ♩ = 116 metronome marking atop this piece can be traced to him. What I do know is that both term and marking are found in nearly every edition I have seen, going back to the middle of the 19th century. So why Nones thinks he needs to take the opening tempo at about a Grave is beyond me. Maybe this is his way of reflecting the espressivo marking that's also present. If it is, I think he goes overboard. For all of its colorful harmonies and slick chromaticism, Chopin's art rests on a melodic foundation. Excessive slowness causes listeners have to have a hard time following the tune. I believe the reason this metronome marking is there is to keep pianists from doing exactly what Nones ends up doing anyway: losing the motion necessary to project the melody. In truth Nones's opening pace sounds like a practice tempo. (He similarly plays Adagio instead of Lento to open Op. 48/1.) All of this is even more puzzling in light of his decision to speed up considerably with the beginning of the B section at measure 19. Why?? There is no direction to do so! (Sotto voce is not such a direction.) By the time Nones arrives at the C section, we become aware of other issues: he can't play a proper pianississimo at measure 24 and after, and he sets a pattern that rears its head throughout the cycle: a tendency to occasionally *thump* notes too sharply, even when there are no accents or other dynamic imperatives to do so. 

The Op. 9/3 Nocturne in B Major perhaps illustrates Nones's inconsistency best. I have never heard the opening of this piece played in the strange way that he does. First, he over-observes the rests in between pitches of the main melody, making some of them sound like they're staccato notes (they're not!). The over-pedaling that afflicts much of the rest of this recorded cycle suddenly gives way here to under-pedaling, which just accentuates the right hand "staccato" notes and also those in the left hand coming at the ends of three-note groups. If this all was supposed to surprise me, it succeeded! I think I gasped during my first listen. (Nones's apparent fear of playing through rests similarly results in plunkiness replacing legato in Op. 37/2.) Then, just a few measures later, we get something closer to the smooth legato we're all accustomed to. For me it characterizes good performances (like this one). I simply can't account for the alternation. The intense section immediately preceding the final return of the A area is over-pedaled and sounds labored. Nones frequently lapses into this kind of playing when there are sudden bursts of passion - witness his lurching con fuoco B section in Op. 15/1. 

Op. 32/2 is one of the hardest Chopin nocturnes to approach interpretively. It has to be done just right to save it from the appearance of monotony. But here it mainly serves to illustrate a few more general shortcomings. First, the trills are too notey (as they are in Opp. 15/2, Op. 55/1, and perhaps a few other places). Then, the middle section sees him rolling right-hand octaves where no rolls are indicated. Furthermore, the louder, passionate parts sound "poundy." Which reminds me...what is this instrument?? Occasionally it sounds twangy, especially whenever there are forceful chords played in the upper register. I remarked to my wife that at one point an image of a fellow cranking these pieces out on an old Everett piano in a country church basement ineluctably came to mind. 

Okay, by now some of you probably think I'm being too harsh. I'll temper this by briefly recounting what I thought was good. Op. 48/2 gets off to a lovely start, notwithstanding its dramatic bursts of tempo. Slightly gooey pedaling flecks the famous Op. 9/2, and so does instrumental twanginess. But otherwise it's a fine interpretation. Alone among the set, I thought Op. 32/1 well done all the way through. In general Nones deftly brings out inner voices, for instance in measures 20 and following in Op. 27/1. Here and elsewhere, he creates very nice sound and atmosphere. 

But let's face it: this repertoire has some steep competition in the recording catalogue. Even if Nones's performances here had much better consistency, I don't think his pianism would be strong enough to merit special recommendation. Whether his inconsistency is calculated or incidental, you can safely place this release a ways down on your Chopin Nocturnes Listening List. If you're just in the market to buy one or two trusty sets, you're better off avoiding it altogether. 

Collectors Only

New Review at Classical Candor

My review of the latest installment in Chandos's Mieczyslaw Weinberg String Quartets series can be read here.

Recording Review #31: Lovable Lortzing

 

Albert Lortzing: Overtures, etc. Marc Gruber (hornist); Philipp Baader (trumpet player); Ernst Theis (conductor); WDR Funkhausorchester. CPO 555 626-2. 

It's easy to feel pity for Albert Lortzing (1801-1851). He was happily married and had 11 children, but 6 of them died in infancy. He scored some career successes, but his path was a long and winding one full of struggle and, ultimately, financial hardship. He died of a stroke in abject circumstances, not quite reaching 50 years of age. John Warrack's Grove Music article on him suggests that his full potential was unrealized before he passed. All of this would be sadder still if Lortzing had not nonetheless managed to establish a modest yet enduring place in music history as a composer of comic operas. These are still celebrated and performed in his native Germany. While few will mistake him for one of the more imposing figures of 19th-century music, his legacy seems solid all things considered. 

To be honest, I have never heard a Lortzing opera. As far as I am aware, this recording is my first exposure to his music at all. But despite these limitations, or maybe because of them, I had a good time listening. The works offered here are largely what you might expect (and what I expected): agreeable to the ear and nothing too earth-shattering. The two concert pieces, for horn/orchestra and trumpet/orchestra respectively, are pleasant and unassuming; they're exactly the kind of thing I grew up listening to on my local classical music radio station in the 1990s. (That's why I wrote "as far as I am aware" just now – it's highly likely I've heard these two pieces before and simply don't recall having done so.) 

The included opera overtures are mostly more of the same. Mostly. Because occasionally I did sit up and take greater notice. I can give two examples. The Overture to Die beiden Schützen is a little gem, home to gorgeous melodies and dramatic zest. The opera it belongs to was apparently one of Lortzing's first true successes. I'd now love to see a performance. The Overture to Hans Sachs is over twice as long as that to Die beiden Schützen. While not quite as gripping, it is home to some arresting lyrical themes...so much so that I kept listening to them on repeat. What absolutely lovely melody! Conservative in style, but quite memorable all the same. Again, I wonder very much about the operatic context, and in this case all the more so because of its eponymous character from my favorite Wagner opera. 

Once again has CPO rewarded my forays into lesser-known repertoire. The performances by Ernst Theis, the WDR Funkhausorchester, and Company are adroit at bringing out the charm and beauty of this music. I can now add Albert Lortzing to my lengthy (and growing) list of composers to explore further. So much music, so little time. 

Warmly Recommended

Confessions of an Anti-Formalist: Sibelius's En Saga

A good deal of my listening and reading lately have centered on Sibelius, as I am working on research projects related to his music. While revisiting the original 1892 version of his tone poem En Saga (via BIS-CD-800, with Osmo Vänskä and the Lahti Symphony performing), I marveled anew at how different it is from the substantially revised 1902 version. I used to prefer the later score; after all, it is much more concise, and the tempo is comparatively (and satisfyingly) consistent. But as I listened again to the original, and as I keep (re)reading written commentary that swears the 1902 version is better because of its 'superior' form, I've felt a surge of affection for the initial effort. (1) I started asking whether all of the increased polish and cohesion were worth the beauties sacrificed for them. In truth I now think this price was too high. I am happy to side with the composer's wife, Aino, who said: "I like and have always liked the first version." (2) 

Aino continues: "Papa removed some violent passages from it. Now En Saga is more civilised, more polished." I agree with this and have further reason for now preferring the original. In it we have more stoppages of steady pulse, but also more harmonic figurations and varied restatements of the main themes we enjoy today. Some of them sound heartbreakingly tragic. Too, the orchestration is more vibrant, and there are more vivid tone colors to go with the rougher-edged gestures and textures. The revised version also omits a calmer central section that is absolutely spellbinding. In short, the original is more passionate and bolder of utterance. It is in this version, rather than the smoothed-over revision of ten years later, that we really feel Sibelius's testimony about its meaning for him: "En Saga is psychologically one of my most profound works. I could almost say that the whole of my youth is contained within it. It is an expression of a state of mind. When I was writing En Saga I went through many things that were upsetting to me. In no other work have I revealed myself as completely as in En Saga." Doubtless Aino was at hand to witness much of this life experience; one begins to understand why she preferred the original. (3)

So what prompted Sibelius to make the changes after a decade? From what I have gathered, I think it was a combination of shaky self-confidence, critical browbeating, and apprehension about conducting the work in Berlin at his friend Busoni's invitation. Karl Flodin and Oskar Merikanto apparently found the music "puzzling" and rambling. (4) Scheduled to conduct a "sprawling" score in Germany, smack dab in the Land of Musical Cohesion and Integration™, perhaps he felt nervous at how THEIR critics might react. So he made the revisions, tested out the new version in Helsinki, and proceeded to elicit the desired response when he conducted it in Berlin. 

If I imbibe the spirit of much of the musicological literature, I might look at the whole situation and react like this: you see, it all shows he was *learning*. As his skill increased, so too did his feeling for *desirable form*. Soon, he would not only leave behind his nationalist phase, he would also become increasingly adept as a modern (or even "modernist") classicist. His sense of structure would become tighter and leaner on up until the end, until that final paean to unity and cohesion, the Seventh Symphony. With Tapiola as the cherry on top. 

Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth just a bit. I have always been somewhat unsatisfied with classical (over)-justifications of Sibelius's symphonies in particular, but also with the same attitudes brought to bear on his tone poems. I don't think those who are eager to confer German symphonic "cred" on Sibelius always sufficiently appreciate his works in other ways. They sometimes quote this statement concerning the Sixth Symphony, but I don't think they really take it to heart: "You may analyze it and explain it theoretically. You may find that there are several interesting things going on. But most people forget that it is, above all, a poem." (5)

For me, the most important parts of Sibelius's works aren't their adherence to *correct* formal benchmarks. Rather, they're those moments of mystery, beauty, grandeur, evocation, and passion, which come in all kinds of forms. Ultimately, the reason I now prefer En Saga 1.0 to En Saga 2.0 is that the first privileges theme and expression over form, while the second privileges concision at the expense of those other things. This the pedants can't abide. Musicology, says David Hurwitz, doesn't know what to do with a good tune. At least not when it's unmuzzled by a hard obsession with form.

I love Sibelius's Fourth and Seventh Symphonies...two of his tightest structures, and therefore two of his most critically regarded works. But I love them more for their expressive properties than for their vaunted formal traits. I still mostly want out of music what I wanted before I knew anything about form...before the likes of Edward T. Cone taught me how to listen for form. (6) I still want a piece of music to move me, and often form has a subordinate role in accomplishing that. 

Some of Sibelius's most interesting, most riveting music is also some of his most discursive. I think of Kullervo, the work of white-hot inspiration that catapulted him to national prominence, and composed not long before En Saga 1.0. I think of The Wood Nymph (Skogsrået), Op. 15, from shortly thereafter: music that is audacious in its almost complete reliance upon minimalist-like repetition. Sibelius never published this tone poem, maybe because he was afraid of how he'd be treated by the pedantic critics...and how this might damage his fragile confidence. If so, that's a shame, because it is deeply inspired. The scholars say that Sibelius truly attained ever-important unity in his last symphonies. But maybe this is actually what prompted his infamous dead end. The Silence of Järvenpää could have been something else if he had struck out in a different direction...if he had allowed himself to re-embrace/re-explore the unbridled forms of his youth. 

Footnotes

1. There are no shortage of scholars and critics who extoll the 1902 revision of En Saga on the grounds I've mentioned. The authoritative life-and-works study by Erik Tawaststjerna is a good place to start if the reader is interested in sampling this consensus. See Sibelius Volume I: 1865-1905 (Faber, 2009), chapter seven. 

2. See the article on En Saga at the Sibelius Info Website, here. (Accessed 7 August 2024.) 

3. See Tuija Wickland, Jean Sibelius's En Saga and Its Two Versions: Genesis, Reception, Edition, and Form, Studia Musica 57 (Helsinki:University of the Arts Helsinki, Sibelius Academy, 2014), pgs. 43-45. 

4. "En Saga," Sibelius Info Website. 

5. Quoted in Harold E. Johnson, Jean Sibelius (Alfred A. Knopf, 1959), pg. 192. 

6. See Cone, Musical Form and Musical Performance (W. W. Norton & Co., 1968). 

Recording Review #30: A Lovely Lisztnomer

 

Majestic Liszt. Sandrine Erdely-Sayo, pianist. Navona Records NV6632. 

The title of this strikes me as something of a misnomer. Call it a "Lisztnomer." Majestic Liszt? Certainly one or two pieces in this offering can be called "majestic," and there are perhaps some majestic moments in some of the rest of them. (Decide for yourself: here's a Liszt. Sorry, a LIST.) But overall? Ehhh. I don't know if I'd choose the word "majestic'; there's a lot of rather dreamy stuff included. A description at the label website (found here) does little to support the appellation. (I'll admit that I haven't read the liner notes.) Anyway, on the surface it seems like kind of a strange situation. 

Far more important are the album's performances. Notwithstanding one or two quibbles, they're fantastic. We'll start with the quibbles and save the best for last. At over 18 minutes, Erdely-Sayo's Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude is too slow for my taste. I know, I know: plenty of performances stretch for longer than that. (This includes the recent one by Emmanuel Despax that I reviewed last month here and praised.) But Erdely-Sayo doesn't get the tone colors out of this piece that Despax does, and while her interpretation is perfectly fine in other respects, the chosen tempo is a hang-up I couldn't quite shake in this particular case. I really don't think the Bénédiction needs to last much longer than 15 or 16 minutes. If it does, we maybe risk having too much majesty. 

The only other problem I perceived is that Erdely-Sayo very occasionally underplays some melodic notes. I caught at least two instances. The first happens later in the Bénédiction when the tune sits atop some thick chords – it got obscured for a bar or two. Then in the first Consolation one or two of the melodic pitches barely get touched during a soft passage. (This is admittedly hard to bring off.) 

But none of that matters much next to some really fine playing. All of the Consolations are beautifully rendered. The well-known Third is suitably, silkily magical; I don't know that it's possible to play it much better. Erdely-Sayo brings an earnest passion to the famous Liebesträume No. 3, and easily holds her own in comparison with celebrated performances. Her En rêve and Schubert-Liszt Ständchen are absolutely resplendent...a real joy to listen to. 

Navona's above-quoted description suggests that this recording may be ideal for those new to Liszt's music. Questionable title aside, I will prescribe it to such listeners without hesitation. Erdely-Sayo is clearly a capable advocate, and I look forward to her next release. 

Majestically Recommended 

Recording Review #29: Marred Mozart

 

Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 20 in D Minor, K. 466; Piano Concerto No. 23 in A, K. 488. Olga Pashchenko, pianist and leader; Il Gardellino. Alpha Classics ALPHA942. 

One of the reasons I started this review blog is to present an alternative to all of the unctuous music criticism that's out there. Maybe the best way to put it is as follows: I promise never to offer an opinion on something that's intended to ingratiate myself to any musicians, composers, critics, scholars, or others currently involved with the classical music industry. My loyalty is to my values, and to the knowledge and integrity of the tradition as far as I perceive both. I'm not trying to make powerful friends or get invited to cocktail parties. 

But I think some critics might be. I think they believe praising something that's different, merely because it's different, makes them look enlightened. It almost seems like a kind of peer pressure; I see it with film reviews, too. Going hand in hand with this is an apparent need to cope with monotony: "ANOTHER [insert frequently recorded composition here]?? Oh, but this recording provides some variety. YAY!" Thus motivated, they seem all too ready to abandon questions of taste and proportion. I have told certain wayward musicological colleagues that if they're tired of teaching the "same old stuff" in music history class, perhaps they should find another line of work. Something similar could be said for too many critics. For every jaded "expert," many more listeners are hearing or learning about classical music for the first time. Many more past them enjoy it without the need for cheap thrills. If experts (loosely defined) care about preserving this great tradition that's been so good to us, they need to be more interested in serving these folks than in indulging their own cynicism and self-regard. 

That is what I kept thinking about as I listened to this recording of Mozart's 20th and 23rd piano concerti. Pashchenko and Co. are clearly bored with the "Same Old Mozart." Judging from other reviews of this, so are some critics. Maybe they believe you are, too. For myself, I'm open to the notion that new performers might have fresh yet tasteful things to show us in well-trodden works. (I said as much in my Recording Review #14, if you don't believe me.) But if what we hear here is the guise that the "new" must come in, count me out. I'm comparatively more than happy with the Same Old Mozart. 

My objections are best treated sequentially. First up is the fact that Pashchenko uses a period instrument. Actually, it's not even a period instrument; it's a replica of one. Now, I'm not necessarily against fortepiano performances of Mozart concerti. (Malcolm Bilson's cycle on Archiv is marvelous, for instance.) BUT, in this case Pashchenko's choice of keyboard just accentuates faults that would still be there even if she were using a modern piano. More on this as we go. 

Right from the start of No. 20 (K. 466), I could sense things being off. The orchestra sounds thinned-out somehow, or maybe that is the effect of odd articulation (more on this to come, too). Then, the piano plays during the opening tutti. This is not unheard of. But it when it's a fortepiano, and the orchestral sound is already fishy, things get strange. My sense of unease only deepened when the piano entered fully at the second exposition, and injected too much rubato into the proceedings. It is especially noticeable during slow parts and more lyrical areas. That's when I became aware there were all kinds of odd accents and dynamics in the orchestra, and not just in the piano part. Everything feels synthetic and forced. There is little to no customary polish, which belongs even in this most "fiery" of Mozart's piano concerti. The closing cadenza (one of an unnecessary two in the movement) is played too ostentatiously. 

Things do not improve with the second movement. We begin with a plodding main theme and (once again) too much rubato. Some lines in the orchestra continue to be over-emphasized or misarticulated. The end and some of the calmer portions are better, but the minore is plunky. However, the finale is worst of all. Excessive rubato again immediately afflicts the main theme, and the orchestra has a tinny, labored sound. There's another unnecessary mini-cadenza before the return of the main theme preceding the middle of the rondo, which interrupts the natural flow of the movement. The primary cadenza is eye-rolling, complete with a hokey reference to Don Giovanni. It's all very mannered and unidiomatic. 

K. 488 fares better, but only just. The orchestra once more does not have that smooth, polished sound one expects from good performances of Classical Era repertoire. Instead it's kind of screechy. The soloist begins alright but soon sounds too frenetic, made worse by the strainy timbre of the pianoforte. We have more of her playing in the tutti parts, yet another unnecessary cadenza, choppy articulation, and random (but very noticeable) interruptions of tempo. Here more than in K. 466 Pashchenko embellishes upon the written score to a distracting degree. Far from adding charm and interest, this mars the music. 

The second movement of K. 488 is the best stretch on the disc. The slow tempo, plus the music's specific character, help mitigate (if not eliminate) the flaws found elsewhere. But in the finale we're back to the mixture of problems described multiple times already. I like the unusually fast tempo, but practically everything else makes for a frustrating experience. The other big thing I missed is a rich, multi-hued tone color. That's perhaps harder to bring off on a period instrument, and might have sounded out of place anyway with so much else awry. 

I cannot imagine recommending this recording to anyone. In fact, I will go the extra mile here and suggest that even collectors not collect it. Purchasing gimmicky products encourages labels to continue making them. We as consumers of music can and should demand better. 

Resist