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