Quick Takes: Batch #5 (Rubbra, Tüür, Haydn, Debussy, and Ireland)

Rubbra: Choral Music. Benjamin Hulett, tenor; François Cloete, organ; Benjamin Nicholas, conductor; Choir of Merton College, Oxford; Britten Sinfonia. Delphian DCD34332. 

These are excellent performances of sacred choral music etc. by Edmund Rubbra. The trouble is that, outside of church, university, and civic ensembles, the motet/mass genres don't exactly equate to public prestige. Opera and song have garnered the fanfare that evades these other vocal mediums. Additionally, Rubbra's music tends to suffer lesser popularity due to its gentle, priestly quality even in forceful moments. It's beautiful, even beguiling once you get accustomed to it. But it's not going to beat anyone over the head. For those interested in exploring his mystical world, and want to start with this disc, listen first to "Eternitie" from the Five Motets, Op. 37. This is a fantastic miniature that just may be your key to unlocking the other repertoire offered here. Rubbra's music deserves fans. If you listen to this and it's not your thing, by all means try something else. Verdict: Recommended.

Erkki-Sven Tüür: Phantasma; Symphony No. 10 "ÆRIS"; De Profundis. Olari Elts, conductor; Estonian National Symphony Orchestra. ECM New Series 2784. 

I pretty much guessed what I was getting into right before I tried this out of curiosity. Yep, more modernist noise. I mean, look at these titles. Pretension just drips off of them. I could rhetorically claim that I don't see the point of this music, but I actually do. I just don't think it's a very good point. This is all the usual hot air that goes on for far too long and contains nary a tune or anything else a non-dweeb can relate to whatsoever. It's stretches of sound clouds and architecture; in short, it's all concept. Unfortunately, Nordic composers born around a certain time were eager to show that they could "get beyond" Sibelius and Nielsen. They got beyond them, all right. But getting back would be an improvement. Verdict: Gross. 

Haydn: Baryton Trios Vol. 3 (Hob. XI:26, 50, 57, 72, 80, and 82). Valencia Baryton Project. Naxos 8.574708. 

I won't pretend to have heard all 120-odd baryton trios by Haydn. But once in a while I'll pull out a recording of 5 or 6 of them in the hope that one will imprint upon my heart and memory. It hasn't happened yet. Haydn may have used these works to please his employer and develop compositional skills. But who believes they contain any of his most inspired music? That isn't a slam against this recording or its musicians, who do a fine job with what they're given. It simply means that if you're like me, you'll value what's here as an historical curiosity and pleasant background fare. The series tagline reads "Treasures from the Eszterháza Palace," but "Artifacts" might be a better first word. Buy this recording if you're pursuing a complete sense of Haydn's compositional activities, or just wanting some fluffily nice music. Pass if you're looking for your next Surprise Symphony or Emperor Quartet experience. Verdict: Mildly Recommended.

Archipel. Aline Piboule, pianist. Harmonia Mundi HMM 902776. 

Now this is how you do a solo piano album! The title, Archipel, is French for "archipelago," and most selections relate to islands, the sea, or some relatable natural element. It pairs the music of Debussy with that of...wait for it...John Ireland! A cynic might say that this only shows how much the Englishman owes to the towering French master. But two things here can be true: yes, Ireland was heavily influenced by Debussy, but he also has a real voice of his own. He's represented here by Sarnia: An Island Sequence and Decorations, two of his finest miniature suites. Debussy's fare is more familiar: Claire de Lune, D'un cahier d'esquisses, the L. 82 Nocturne, and Yann Olivio's solo piano transcription of La Mer. This last item is instructive: much of the original work depends upon orchestral timbres to make its sonorities best felt, and the materials seem more modest stripped of that context. But Piboule gives a tremendous account of both this and the other pieces, with a versatility that is at turns bracing and intimate when needed. She respects the power of momentum without ever rushing. Her tone colors are gorgeous. Finally, I love her choice of the Yamaha instrument, whose bright sound she uses to dazzling effect. John Ireland is unlikely to get better advocacy than this. Verdict: Highly Recommended.

Quick Takes: Batch #3 (Zelenka, Walton, Einaudi, Finnish Violin-Orchestra Works)

Zelenka: Missa Circumcisionis, ZWV 11; Missa Corporis Domini, ZWV 3. Václav Luks; Collegium 1704 and Collegium Vocale 1704. Accent ACC24416.

Jan Dismas Zelenka's music is still one of the best-kept secrets of the Baroque repertoire. The recipient of some tough breaks, including seeing composers of inferior talent leap-frog him at the Dresden court, he nonetheless produced some of the tangiest works of his time. While this includes entries in multiple genres, his choral-orchestral masses stand pre-eminent. The three greatest of these – the Missa Sanctissimae Trinitatis, the Missa Dei Patris, and the Missa Dei Filii – were composed in the 1730s and hold their own in any similar company. (Yes, I absolutely meant that.) The two masses on this recording date from earlier. While they do not achieve the lofty heights of these others, they are punchily attractive and already start experimenting with the cyclic motives and choruses that distinguish the late masterpieces. I'm not sure that Václav Luks and his cohorts beat the available competition in every respect. (Adam Viktora and the Ensemble Inégal, for example, deliver perhaps a more expressive account of the Missa Circumcisionis on NIBIRU 01782231.) But this is nonetheless an excellent choice that should please nearly everyone. I'd like to think it's just a matter of time before Zelenka finally comes into his own in the concert hall. Meanwhile, I'm pleased to see his discography growing apace with one fine disc after another. Verdict: Highly Recommended. 

Walton: Orb and Sceptre; Symphonies Nos. 1-2. Kazuki Yamada, conductor; City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. Deutsche Grammophon 4868227. 

I've noticed something in the British classical music press: they get very excited and sometimes over-praise whenever someone non-British records one of their beloved own works. That's what's happened here. Yamada supposedly brings a new sensibility to this music, a sharp ear for orchestral sonority, and a refusal to "wallow" in the First Symphony (see Bachtrack and others.) Okay, granted. But we could honestly use a bit more wallowing. What this First is missing, especially in the first movement, is that earnestness and desperation which come through in any good performance. For instance when a secondary idea re-enters in the high strings over the march-like brass following Rehearsal 33 we need it to be devastating. We need things to wallow in that emotional exhaustion, not meander in like C3PO on Hoth. (A good benchmark here is Andrew Litton and the Bournemouth Symphony: London 4434502.) Walton 2 finds Yamada and the CBSO in fine form, with admirable precision and bright colors. Which is telling because this symphony, while deftly crafted, is bereft of soul. Whatever was in Walton for his white-hot earlier works had left him by the time he composed No. 2. You can take or leave this Orb and Sceptre. Verdict: Recommended for the Second Symphony...if you're really a fan. 

Einaudi: Solo Piano. Decca 8823913.

The music of Ludovico Einaudi presents something of a challenge for me as a critic. I know, I know: some of you are asking how this music can possibly be construed as challenging. But this lies at the heart of a problem for someone who rails against classical music snobbery as much as I do – what are the boundaries between art music and other music? How pedestrian does something have to be before I'll no longer defend it as art? I honestly don't know. In some ways this album is a good sounding board for my dilemma: it presents both new pieces and old ones from across Einaudi's career. So it's an ideal sampling upon which to stake my opinion of both recording and composer. If I'm honest, a lot of this stuff sounds to me like a teenage girl banging out poppish songs on the clunky church basement piano. Or it reminds me of background music to an animal help commercial: "With your donation, other dogs like Fluffy can find good homes." Does this make it bad? No. And the good part is, I don't have to worry about categories after all. My criteria don't change: does it contain something that speaks to me? That's ultimately all I care about. Here on this disc, I can point to selections where I liked the repetitious melodies or turns of phrase enough to listen again. They were Melodia Africana III, Memory One, and Jay. I invite you to listen and see if you liked more than these, or even not as many. If it's a case of the former, enjoy them all you want. And don't let snotty critics like me tell you you're wrong for doing so...or for considering it "classical." Verdict: Recommended. 

Finnish Works for Violin and Orchestra (by Englund, Fougstedt, Haapalainen, Merikanto, Palmgren, and Raitio). Linda Hedlund, violinist; József Hárs, conductor; La Tempesta Orchestra. Naxos 8.579185. 

Welp, here's another one of those compilation discs where the most likable item is a two-minute bon-bon at the end. That would be Einar Englund's "Romance" from his music for the Finnish comedy film Omena putoaa (1952). Everything else is frankly forgettable. Some of these composers are more than capable of producing the occasional gem. But even Selim Palmgren, who apart from Englund is probably the best of them, shows up squarely in pedestrian mode with his Op. 104 Concert Fantasy. That's the first item on the disc, and consistent in quality with nearly everything that follows. I could sit here and give you a tedious rundown of each piece, but what's the point? The best I can say is that every track is mercifully modest in length, so you get only a manageable dose of a different mediocrity each time. Certain listeners might be more excited about all of this than I am, but for everyone else I'll simply suggest buying the Englund track and leaving it at that. Verdict: Indifferent. 

Quick Takes: Batch #1 (Schubert, Fritze, Barraine, Bach)

I'm conscious that I post here infrequently. Holding down two jobs, writing for Classical Candor, and maintaining a research agenda doesn't leave much room for the long-form album reviews this blog has featured. So I've decided to supplement those occasional longer pieces with short "quick take" roundups — a way to stay present here and give readers more reason to keep coming back. (I'll always stick to four at a time so that I can fit more tags in.) Here is my first batch. 

1. Schubert 4 Hands. Bertrand Chamayou and Leif Ove Andsnes, pianists. Erato 2173296578.

Good recordings of the D. 940 Fantasia are nearly a dime a dozen, and the catalogue is filling up with the D. 947 Allegro and D. 951 Rondo as well. The decision to include the D. 952 Fugue — a less common companion piece — was a smart one. Of course Perahia and Lupu remain my benchmark in the Fantasia, but this is a strong alternative with a pleasingly brisk finale. The closest competition probably comes from the fairly recent Hyperion CDA67665 (Paul Lewis and Steven Osbourne), which overlaps significantly in repertoire. For my money Chamayou and Andsnes edge out the Brits in depth and polish, but you really can't go wrong with either. Verdict: Firmly Recommended. 

2. Gregory Fritze: Overtures and Symphonies. Rafael Sanz-Espert, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.559964. 

At least two of these works — A Day in Valencia and Sinfonia de Valencia — began as wind ensemble pieces, re-scored by Fritze in recent years and receiving their debut recordings here. The result is a mixed bag. Several movements of A Day in Valencia are wonderfully stirring and atmospheric, especially "Sunrise over the Mediterranean," and the finale of the Sinfonia — "Pastorale y las montañas" — is equally compelling. None of it will change the world, but these parts hold the attention. Less successful for me are the Sinfonia's first movement, most of the London Overture, and Waterplace Park. For the latter two think overlong Malcolm Arnold without the strong voice. For the former, think your garden-variety, dull 20th-century symphonic writing. Overall? One muted thumb up. Verdict: Mildly Recommended. 








3. Elsa Barraine: Symphonies 1 & 2; Song-Koï; Les tziganes. Cristian Măcelaru, conductor; Orchestre National de France. Warner Classics 2173255519.

Elsa Barraine was an excellent composer with a strong formal craft and sharp ear for instrumental sonority. The two symphonies are as well conceived as most you'll hear, and everything here comes off with admirable assurance. Really all that's missing is a distinguished stamp of personality — which means the music is arguably at its best in peppy, short bursts, as in the finale of the Second Symphony and Les tziganes. The other recent recording of these symphonies, by Elena Schwarz and the WDR Sinfonieorchester Köln (CPO 555 704-2), is slightly preferable for its punchier approach. Still, this is a solid option, and the world premieres of the supplementary works make it a good buy for fans of quality neoclassical orchestral fare. Verdict: Recommended. 

4. J. S. Bach: Goldberg Variations. Yunchan Lim, pianist. Decca 487 151-7. 

There has been some ho-humming about Lim recording this work — "oh, another Goldberg Variations," or "the obligatory career-launching repertoire choice." (See here and here.) Which is understandable. But this is a terrific set, especially given that it's performed live. Lim has a beautiful tone and keen artistic judgment. Not every variation hits the same lofty spot, but more than a few are among the most satisfying you're going to hear. He does the fast ones well — in the tradition of Glenn Gould's classic 1955 issue, but with a much richer sound and sensitivity (compare their No. 5s). No. 17 is very fast, but also the bubbliest performance I've heard. He takes repeats, sometimes with fine results, as when he successfully shifts character the second time through No. 20 part 1. But Lim may be most himself in the slow numbers, where his gift for mood and atmosphere takes over. His No. 25 — Landowska's "Black Pearl" — won't be everyone's deepest ever, but it's nocturne-like in the best way. Would I like to see him tackle Kapustin or Bolcom some time? Sure. But there are Goldberg Variations a whole lot more boring and less competent than this set. Verdict: Highly Recommended. 

Recording Review #65: Haunting Hovhaness

 

Hovhaness: Violin Concerto No. 2; Works for Violin and Piano. Zina Schiff, violinist; Valerie Stark, pianist; Avlana Eisenberg, conductor; Salzburg Chamber Soloists. Naxos 8.559957. 

I won't pretend to have heard even half of Alan Hovhaness's 434 opuses. But I have heard enough to harbor a minimally provisional opinion: his music is indeed on the slight side, yet doesn't deserve the hate it gets. His large-scale works usually aren't really large scale works; they're often just a bunch of miniatures strung together. His themes are short and repetitive, which make for brief, monotony-warding movements. Those who demand Germanic development in their concertos and symphonies won't like Hovhaness's at all. But others (like me) who don't necessarily need to have this (despite what that Pedant of all Pedants Robert Simpson may have said), nor fully-breathed Romantic melodies, stand to enjoy some nice, often highly evocative music for what it is. 

That was my experience with this new disc from Naxos. All of the works on it are at least pleasant. I already don't remember the materials from the Second Violin Concerto, Op. 89a. But I remember that I liked it and wouldn't mind hearing it again. To varying degrees I'd say the same for most of the other offerings: Yeraz, the Khirgiz Suite, the Violin Sonata, 3 Visions of Saint Mesrob, Varak, and the arrangement of Hovhaness's Op. 1, Oror. As the recording's back cover states, these show a good cross-section of the composer's eclectic influences from East and West. But they dissipated quickly in my recollections soon after I listened to them. 

However, one work particularly caught my ear: Les baux, Op. 261, which receives its premiere recording. Here is what the liner notes say about it:

"The title stems from a Ligurian term for steep cliffs or rock promontories. Renowned for its historic medieval streets, charming squares, and luscious wine, Les Baux was a favorite destination in Provence for the mountain-loving composer. Hovhaness inches us to the edge of the mountain, where the dizzying, dazzling views command." 

There is something about Hovhaness and mountains that brings out the best in him, and leads to a point which I feel is instructive about the composer. Given the right extra-musical inspiration, he was capable of producing ear-worms that stay with you. Mysterious Mountain (Symphony No. 2) is at first glance just a modest little thing, but its evocations are rich. Les Baux, with its repeated violin melodies and chime-like arpeggio accompaniment in the piano, similarly got into my brain and stuck there after just a single hearing. Subsequent listens confirmed my strong attraction. It is gentle yet haunting music, and superbly captures the scene described above. Onto my Spotify playlist of favorite chamber pieces it goes! 

I love making discoveries like this. Les Baux doesn't impress me in the way that a Beethoven symphony or Verdi opera does. But the way in which it does so is a way I wouldn't want to be without in my musical life, similar to how I am often in the mood for my favorite pop bands over the classical repertoire which I make my living teaching and writing about. There are absolutely such subdivisions in my classical listening alone, and Hovhaness constitutes one of them. 

If you feel the same, give this disc a try. Les Baux might not be the ear-worm for you that it is for me. There may turn out not to be anything on this recording that is. But in that case I challenge you to keep exploring Hovhaness's music and see if you don't eventually alight upon something else that strikes you as special. 

Verdict: Recommended

Recording Review #63: Scrumptious Scarlatti

Domenico Scarlatti: Complete Keyboard Sonatas, Vol. 29. Emanuil Ivanov, pianist. Naxos 8.574633. 

I haven't been able to determine how many more recordings Naxos will require to finish their complete Scarlatti keyboard sonatas series. But since we're already at Volume 29, and given the rough number of these works that usually appear on a single disc, it seems safe to assume we're nearing the end. In a sense I'm sad, because I've loved the regular stream of fantastic recordings of Scarlatti sonatas. I'm loathe for it to stop. Yes, these 555 works have all been recorded multiple times...some much more than others. And while there are plenty of very good options for them, for once I take the view of "the more the merrier" when it comes to new releases. Especially as it involves Naxos, the label that first made me a Scarlatti-oholic with that early selections disc featuring Balázs Szokolay (Naxos 8.550252). 

It's also been fun to see which sonatas Naxos chooses to go on their different installments in the series. Whoever is tasked with this seems to shrewdly make sure that a diverse mix of familiar and obscure fleshes out each offering. So it proves here. Of the 16 selections on Volume 29, the K. 303 Sonata in C Minor, occupying the seventh track, is likely to be most known to listeners if for no other reason than because Vladimir Horowitz included it in his own Celebrated Scarlatti Recordings. (See Sony SK 53460.) This is a good place, then, to begin measuring Emanuil Ivanov's new release. While Horowitz's interpretation of this sonata perhaps has more depth and imagination, Ivanov's own is nonetheless equally satisfying from the standpoint of taste and consistency. 

Ivanov's K. 303 is typical of every other selection here. If there is one word that sums up his playing it might be "adroitness." He brings a satisfying pianistic toolkit to the various challenges that present themselves in these works. A handful of examples may suffice. In K. 73 he differentiates declamatory and gentler sections/materials nicely. In K. 137 and K. 255 he deploys well-executed terrace dynamics, which are so crucial to rendering Scarlatti's sonatas on a modern piano. K. 117 and the Bach-like K. 85 especially showcase an admirably sharp articulation. But perhaps both K. 223 (with its quirks and sudden moments of lyricism) and K. 236 (one of the more technically difficult sonatas) demonstrate Ivanov's gifts most of all. This disc is worth its (inexpensive!) price on the strength of these latter two performances alone. 

There is no bad place to start with Scarlatti's sonatas. The lesser-known ones often delight as much as the often-played. Whether you're a noob or a veteran of this repertoire, Naxos's 29th volume is a winner that repays investment. 

Verdict: Highly Recommended

Recording Review #51: So-so Santoro

 

Claudio Santoro: Symphonies Nos. 4 and 6; Choro Concertante for Saxophone; Fantasia for Violin. Pedro Bittencourt, saxophone; Emmanuele Baldini, violinist; Neil Thomson, conductor; Goiânia Symphony Choir; Goiás Philharmonic Orchestra. Naxos 8.574572. 

Brazilian composer Claudio Santoro (1919-1989) was certainly prolific, with an extensive output that includes 14 symphonies and numerous other instrumental works. I love catalogues like these! They make me want to jump in and start exploring. I've discovered so many unlikely favorites this way. But I've also trudged through extensive stretches of "meh" (or worse) between finding those better things. If I'm honest, Claudio Santoro's music contains a whole lot of meh. And while this meh isn't the meh-iest meh I've ever encountered, I haven't yet heard a work of his that rises above unremarkable pleasantness. 

Naxos's description calls the Fourth Symphony (1953-1954) "one of his most accessible and influential works." Dedicated to 'the Soviet composers,' it certainly comes across as a gesture of goodwill, sporting an amiable festiveness that reminds me of Copland's populist masterpieces. The problem is that Santoro had nothing like Copland's melodic gift. This is noticeable straightaway in the first movement, where soft harmonies, driving rhythms, and deft orchestration form the backdrop for entirely unmemorable themes. You can tell when a composer wants to write a winning tune but can't; he/she will often start with a short motive and expand it fortspinnung-style into a much longer (usually angular) sequence. But this can't possibly stand in for a lack of melodic intuition, and so the ear (or my ear) settled on those other elements after a while. Unfortunately, this was already starting to get boring by the end of a relatively short opening movement. The second movement is better, with some really lovely moments of lush expansiveness. This more effectively covers for a lingering melodic deficiency. The finale is punchy and lively, with the choir briefly coming in at the end (right when the mind is again in danger of wandering) and crying out for peace. But even moments such as these proved ephemeral, as I could later recall little beyond modest impressions. 

Like his older, more talented contemporary Igor Stravinsky, Santoro is at his best where melody matters less. This invariably amounts to places that invoke dance. Which means that the scherzo of the Sixth Symphony (1957-1958) is easily the most engaging portion of that work. True, the brief motives used with infectious ostinato rhythms would be ordinary by themselves. But they do work well in this setting, more convincingly unburdened by their surroundings here than elsewhere. (If any music by Santoro is a candidate for transcending meh, it's his dance suites. I particularly enjoy those for piano.) 

I have little to say about the concertante and fantasia works. They don't carry the same expectations that the symphonies do, but they're similarly enjoyable on a surface level without being more. The performers deserve high praise, though. Bittencourt and Baldini do wonderful work with middling material. Neil Thomson leads orchestral musicians and choristers who perform with fetching sharpness. This music at least deserves to be recorded, and I'm glad these folks were the ones to do so here. 

Verdict: Mildly Recommended

Recording Review #47: Sundry Souvenirs

 

Souvenirs de Chopin. Kotaro Fukuma, pianist. Naxos NYCC-27315DG. 

Pianist Kotaro Fukuma has had a busy performing career following his First Prize award at the Cleveland International Piano Competition in 2003. It's not hard to see why. At his best he plays with both formidable technique and keen sensitivity. He frequently makes a good impression on concert critics, and his Laureate Series disc of Schumann piano works with Naxos (8.557668) has won deserved praise as part of an already sizable discography. Yet his consistency as a recording artist would seem to be uneven. For example, I find I agree with Jed Distler in his valuation of Fukuma's earlier Chopin disc (ARS Produktion 38237), where he cites problems with phrasing and dynamic balance. 

This feeling of hot-and-cold also marks Fukuma's Souvenirs de Chopin, which offers a somewhat motley crew of pieces by the eponymous composer. I mean, check out the playlist (taken from Naxos's website): 

This is a generous helping of music, as you can see by the total playing time. But it's also kind of an odd mixture. I find that this aesthetically matches an equally curious dichotomy of good and less good in Fukuma's playing, both within pieces and from piece to piece. 

The biggest issue(s) I have is that Fukuma occasionally likes to over-rubato some slow portions while rip-roaring through the quicker, more virtuosic passages. When he does the latter, the tone is too harsh and the pedaling muddies the texture. For some reason the pieces toward the front of the playlist exhibit these flaws more starkly. The First Ballade, "Heroic" Polonaise, Op. 18 Waltz, and the famous E-Flat Nocturne from Op. 9 are his low points of the bunch. 

In the "decent" category are the Fantasy and the Second Sonata. The former has good tempi and some lovely passages in the slower portions. But the fast parts quickly become muddy and frenetic. The same thing is true at times in the opening movement of the sonata (though less so), and in the scherzo. But here again the slow movement contains some beautiful pianism. 

Fukuma saves his best almost for last. I expected the Polonaise-fantaisie to prove troublesome for the overall manner of playing displayed thus far. But actually we get a wonderful performance. Fukuma better restrains his rubato, avoids noisiness in the virtuosic stretches, and pedals throughout with more clarity. This is refreshing not only after his earlier fare, but also within the larger recording catalog. In truth, some 'distinguished' interpretations of this piece don't sit well with me – they're often too eccentric. The Polonaise-fantaisie is a delicate creation that ill suffers those who are overbearing. But in Fukuma's sober reading we properly hear the intricate melodic lines, delivered with a clear tone that sings gorgeously. If you listen to a single track from this recording make it No. 10. 

The C-Sharp Minor Nocturne and remaining waltzes are fine...I have nothing significant to report about them. Nor, really, do I have much to say about the included "curiosity" – Carl Reinecke's solo piano arrangement of the Largo from Chopin's Second Piano Concerto. A quick-and-dirty search didn't turn up any other recordings of this, but I could easily be mistaken. (Leave a comment if I am; I'd like to know of any others!) Fukuma plays it splendidly, which is all the more reason collectors might have to collect this release. 

Verdict: Recommended (especially for the Polonaise-fantaisie)

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 #27: Boilerplate Broughton

 

Bruce Broughton: And on the Sixth Day; String Theory. Olivier Stankiewicz, oboist; Jonathan Bloxham, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.559958. 

First, I remain a bit confused about the particulars of this release. There seem to be two similar recordings: this one (containing And on the Sixth Day and String Theory) and Naxos 8.559950 (which adds Broughton's Horn Concerto). I have access to both Spotify and Naxos Music Library, and I did not see No. 8.559950 on either of those streaming platforms. I'm guessing it's currently available only via hard copy? Very well, then I'd have to wait to review the Horn Concerto until I get my hands on that, or until it finally ends up available via streaming at some later date. Honestly, though, I think I've heard enough with just these two works. 

That sounds ominous, doesn't it? I'm sorry. I'm not so much "down" on this music, which is quite nice. It's just a matter of managing expectations. Bruce Broughton is widely known for his film, television, and game work, and particularly for his dramatic underscoring. That gives you a clue as to what these two pieces are like. They show a composer with tons of orchestration facility, ample formal polish, a sharp ear, and a penchant for writing great atmosphere/mood music. What they do not show is someone with a particularly strong compositional personality, nor even someone with the ability to compose winning tunes à la John Williams. But again, is this a fair expectation? Maybe not. Still, the issue is worth mentioning right away. 

And on the Sixth Day is actually an oboe concerto in three movements, which are entitled "Prologue: In the Beginning," "Evening," and "Morning." The first of these starts off with a kind of "soft dissonance" style featuring angular melodies. Bits of consonant warmth break in here and there. It's all pretty agreeable stuff, and very well put together...but not very memorable. The "Evening" movement strikes me as more TV-like, with increased consonance and sweeping but derivative melodic material. I kept thinking that this music would be more effective accompanying visual imagery, but it's nice enough on its own. The finale starts out as a kind of tarantella; Broughton likes his triplets. While the second movement sounds like it could accompany some visual landscape, much of its successor recalls action sequences. The work owes much to Copland, and perhaps a little to Vaughan Williams and Grainger. 

String Theory is a set of variations on a typically winding theme, with the Copland debt strongly felt right off the bat. If you like the stock aesthetic of 'Americana classical music,' you'll like this. The variations are all skillfully written (one is fugal), but it doesn't take long to realize that Broughton has a limited stylistic range. And it doesn't take him all that long to burn through it. Again I was forced to consider how effective his music would be in the short bursts that motion-picture media demands of him. But in extended compositions, I had the feeling of having heard it all multiple times in the course of 1-2 works.  

It's all perfectly fine stuff. But you can tell Broughton's bread-and-butter is writing "partial attention" music fit for viewing accompaniment. There are few (if any) signature turns of phrase. There are no moments that make you sit up and marvel. But...not every composer can be a John Williams or an Aaron Copland (specifically the populist Aaron Copland we all love). Most of the rest of us have more modest talents, including those which are well suited to writing background music. And that's perfectly fine. 

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 #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

Recording Review # 2: Adams Ambivalence

 

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

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

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

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

Recommended for Fearful Symmetries and the finale of City Noir