Chopin: Waltzes

by Bill Heck

Chopin: Complete Waltzes. Sir Stephen Hough, piano. Hyperion CDA 68479/p>

What’s this, a new recording of the Chopin Waltzes by Sir Stephen Hough? Certainly an event to be celebrated, right? Well, not exactly, but I’m celebrating anyway. The first 21 tracks, the waltzes that have been known for years, were recorded and released in 2011, but never reviewed here at Classical Candor, so I’m celebrating the opportunity to hear and comment on this set. In addition, though, 2024 brought the news of a newly discovered waltz clearly written by Chopin, and that work is the 22^nd track on this new release. I don’t know that this very short piece is sufficient cause for major celebration, but hey, we’ll go with it.

Sorting all this out a bit more, the performances here are, as we’ve come to expect from Hough, thoughtful, technically impeccable (of course), and personal while being true to the music. In the interesting booklet notes, Jeffrey Kallberg stresses the tension or contrast that Chopin found between the popular elements of the waltz as dance music and the deeper musical interest and values that could be added by the composer, a contrast that provides just one area for interpretive differences by a performer. By way of example, such differences are immediately apparent in comparison with the celebrated performances by Arthur Rubinstein (the later RCA recording in this case). In the very first waltz, Hough adds more personal touches, such as more frequent rubato, while at the same time using subtle emphasis to make the rhythm, at least as I hear it, even more dance like. (An imperfect comparison might be the way that different players syncopate in jazz.)

Frédéric Chopin

I must emphasize that, in this case, it’s not that Hough’s approach is either better or worse than Rubenstein’s; both are faithful to the scores and both reflect true artistry. They’re just (a little) different. Of course, there are plenty of other interpretations and performances out there; I mentioned Rubenstein’s only because it’s so well known, but we could just as well listen to Lipatti, Perahia, Ohlsson – the list goes on.

And naturally, the differences among performances are hardly confined to the first waltz. In general, Hough brings a wonderful artistic sensibility to all these works. Throughout the series, Hough plays expressively but never in ways that detract from the music, over-sentimentalize, or make the performances about him rather than about Chopin. I might also remark on the articulation of notes from both the left and right hands, often with the left playing simple chords that provide the “dance” waltz rhythm with the right getting all the good parts, so to speak. 

I should mention the recorded sound. It’s good, but the recording seems just a little more distant than I would like, leaving the sound just a little more clouded than optimal. I don’t mean to say it’s bad, I just wish it were a little closer and clearer. But that’s just me nitpicking.

Sir Stephen Hough

Now about that newly discovered waltz. At the least, it’s certainly surprising that a work that seems to be genuine Chopin should pop up 175 years after the composer’s death. However, Chopin was in the habit of giving copies of his work as presents to friends and acquaintances, and (apparently) what has been found is one of those. As the piece is, in this recording, only 52 seconds long, it’s likely that what we have is an abbreviated version of a longer composition. It’s a pity that we can only have the part, not the whole, but we can be grateful for small favors. At any rate, the piece is enjoyable, but hardly likely to set the classical music world on its ear. 

But back to the release. Regardless of which of many recorded versions of Chopin’s waltzes may be your favorite, if you would like to hear another wonderful set, you should hear this one. Indeed, if you only want one such set in your collection, this would be a good one – but why would you want only one? Admittedly, for those who already have the 2011 CD, only the most avid Chopin collectors need feel obligated to grab this new release to hear that newly discovered work. But for the rest of us, this one comes highly recommended.

Anja Lechner: Bach | Abel | Hume (CD Review)

 by Karl Nehring

Tobias Hume: A Question; An Answer; Harke, Harke; Carl Friedrich Abel: Arpeggio in D-minor; Adagio in D-minor; J.S. Bach: Suite for Solo Cello No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007; Suite for Solo Cello No. 2 in D-minor BWV 1008; Hume: Hit It in the Middle; Tom and Mistresse Fine; The New Cut; A Polish Ayre; Touch Me Lightly. Anja Lechner, cello. ECM New Series 2806

 

From the classical imprint of ECM comes this release featuring the German cellist Anja Lechner (b. 1961) in which we see her in a different light from that in which we saw her as a member of Anouar Brahem’s quartet (you can see that review here) playing world music in a group setting, but rather playing Baroque-era music as a soloist. What’s more, we also find her serving as a musical archaeologist, digging into the past to bring us music by a couple of composers who might otherwise have remained unknown to most of us. As the CD booklet explains: “One lived before and during the Thirty Years War, a Scottish mercenary who served in the armies of Sweden and Russia and devoted his leisure hours to music, then spent sixteen years in the almshouse and developed curious symptoms of megalomania in old age. The other was a virtuoso from Saxony-Anhalt and a style-defining composer of the early classical period who caused a furor in London, became an alcoholic despite or because of his success and died impoverished. The third, who lived between them, remained in German principalities, was tirelessly productive and soon famous throughout Europe, also fell into oblivion for a while and later became one of the godfathers of music. Tobias Hume, Carl Friedrich Abel, and Johann Sebastian Bach, three fundamentally different characters from two turbulent centuries of music history meet for a unique musical exchange.”

 

The album opens and closes with music from Tobias Hume (c.1579-1645). These selections are taken from a collection of 116 dances and miniatures for viola da gamba. The First Part of Ayres, which was printed in 1605; the liner notes comment that they seem to have emerged directly from improvisation, as Hume was known to be quite the master of the instrument. The notes go on to observe that, “Hume, however little else is known about him, is said to have had a wry, even crude sense of humor, but the subtitle he chose, ‘Captaine Hume’s Musicall Humors’, refers to something else: namely moods, frames of mind, states of the soul. In 116 dances and miniatures, mostly notated in tablature, nuances of the human condition are acted out, from dark melancholy to frivolous exuberance.” These selections are short, with the longest, Touch Me Lightly, clocking in at 2:52. The cello is an instrument capable of expressive power, which we often think of in terms of sweeping melodic lines such as you might recall from the Dvorak or Elgar concertos, but in these Hume miniatures, Lechner uses her cello to bring us entertaining little sketches that she brings to life with a deft touch. The light entertainment provided by these sketches acts as a nice way to build up to and then wind down from the progressively more complex music of Abel and Bach (1685-1750).

The two pieces by Abel (1723-1787), both in a minor key, have a sense of structure and purpose about them that stand them in contrast to the lighter, more spontaneous-sounding sketches of Hume. On the other hand, they are not complex; their structure is fairly straightforward. In the context of the program of the CD, they serve as an effective bridge from the lighter works of Hume to the two main works, Bach’s first two Cello Suites. Lechner plays these with an introspective style, making the movements sound not so much like dances but rather as streams of thought. At times she lingers briefly, savors a moment; however, this is not to say she plays in an exaggerated Romantic style. Her playing is thoughtful, reflective, composed. It’ a lovely reading. Framing the Bach with the lighter, less familiar music of the other two composers makes this a rewarding release indeed, not just another take on Bach. It’s a delightful disc that is well worth seeking out even by those who may already own several recordings of Bach’s Cello Suites.

Michael Kurek: Symphony No. 3 “English” (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Robin Fountain, conductor; European Recording Orchestra. Navona NV6700 

Well, look what we have here: a four-movement Third Symphony with the subtitle “English,” complete with descriptive movement headings mostly relating to the eponymous countryside. Of what does this remind us? Perhaps Ralph Vaughan Williams’s own Third Symphony, itself subtitled “Pastoral”? Okay, Vaughan Williams’s movements do not have such headings. But while Mr. Kurek does not own up to it in this recording’s liner notes, it is difficult to listen to his Third and not think of the Englishman’s masterpiece as a model. A certain consistency in contemplative mood marks both. In a now-infamous critique of the RVW score (from a rather spicy book titled Music Ho!), Constant Lambert writes of “a particular type of grey, reflective, English-landscape mood” and of a “monotony of texture and lack of form.” Recent critical and academic opinion has revised Lambert’s somewhat wrongheaded descriptions. But what made me think of them is how the word “monotony” more unavoidably describes Kurek’s bland and overlong Third.

Let’s be frank: Kurek is a deft orchestrator and craftsman, but he doesn’t have anywhere near Vaughan Williams’s level of individuality. He can do little more than come up with short, nice-ish, but ultimately forgettable ideas, and repeat them with insufficient variation or contrast for stretches of 10-15 minutes. Worse still, there is not enough differentiation between his four movements at large to provide much relief at all. The result is a 50-minute symphony that wears out its welcome by the end of the first movement. This is notwithstanding the aforementioned colorful headings such as “Upon a Walk in the English Countryside.” Indeed, they rhetorically only accentuate the problem. In this regard I was strongly reminded of Romantic-era symphonies by Joachim Raff and Rued Langgaard, which sport similar disparities between lofty intent and actual realization. 

In other words, the music here, while certainly not “bad,” feebly supports its work’s pretensions. A more suitable setting that kept coming to my mind is the nature documentary. Some properly distilled version of this content would have worked out beautifully as the soundtrack for a film narrated by whomever has taken over from the signature voice of Sir David Attenborough. As it stands now, however, there is just not enough interesting musical material here to constitute an extended, mood-consistent symphony.