Sibelius: Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Sibelius: Lemminkäinen Suite, Op. 22; Violin Concerto in D Minor, Op. 47. Santtu-Matias Rouvali, conductor; Ava Bahari, violinist; Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. Alpha Classics 1215

In a CD review for an academic journal last year, I quoted a line from G. K. Chesterton’s great apologetic The Everlasting Man. The same words kept going through my mind as I listened to this recording, so I am going to share them again here: “When the Professor is told by the Polynesian that once there was nothing except a great feathered serpent, unless the learned man feels a thrill and a half temptation to wish it were true, he is no judge of such things at all.” I don’t know what Santtu-Matias Rouvali feels when he reads the Kalevala’s vivid stories of Lemminkäinen. But I feel that his performance of Sibelius’s Lemminkäinen Suite with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra misses Chesterton’s standard of conviction. 

 

What the attuned listener needs for this music are two things: a keen grasp of the legendary, and a willingness to fully bring Lemminkäinen’s unbridled virility to life. The best performances capture the sense that these stories might actually be distant memories from a lost age, in which magic was still possible and events unfolded with a fairy tale’s inexorable destiny. We should almost remember being there, something akin to what Vaughan Williams expressed about seeing Stonehenge for the first time – that he’d somehow always known it. Additionally, at least in the first number there should be an atmosphere charged with overt eroticism. This is tied to Lemminkäinen’s specific characterization in Canto 29 of the Kalevala as a swaggering, womanizing “wanton.” (Consider, too, how Sibelius himself behaved when he traveled abroad with his cohorts or embarked upon Symposium benders. “Every note should be experienced,” he once advised young composers.) 

 

Rouvali is a fine musician, but he disappoints on both of these crucial levels. His biggest letdown is in failing to capture the sheer passion of Lemminkäinen’s romp with the maidens of Saari. We need a vibe akin to a young man freshly dropped off at college who is away from his parents for the first time, surrounded by beautiful women and possibilities. But Rouvali leads more in the direction of the geeky reject who withdraws alone into his dorm room to play Minecraft. Musically the biggest culprit is that he doesn’t lean into the expressive passages enough. The fervent tunes and running figures need more lustiness. Mere precision is a secondary concern. Ditto the woodwind motives making up the main theme and restated in the aftermath of the climax. They’re too “brought to heel” in this performance. Crassness should be avoided but these call for ardency. My favorite recording (Saraste with the Toronto Symphony) at times feels like its wheels are about to spin off. Never mind; those folks absolutely nail the mood. 

 

Related issues plague the remaining parts of the suite, albeit to a lesser degree. The famous Swan of Tuonela is skillfully rendered but tonally off. Once again Rouvali’s allergy to lushness dampens the proceedings. His strings supply a steely brilliance where softer resplendence is preferable. The last two pieces, Lemminkäinen in Tuonela and Lemminkäinen’s Return are markedly better, but they still lack the voltage of elite accounts. It’s not so much that Rouvali changes his approach here as he’s let off the hook by reduced lyrical demands. But even under these propitious conditions we still lack the high drama supplied by Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra, or by Leif Segerstam and the Helsinki Philharmonic. Lemminkäinen’s Return is the high point here and it’s middling. There’s plenty of pep, but we need a touch more atmosphere. Furthermore, Rouvali duplicates an unfortunate misstep that mars many other accounts: he directs his flutists to underplay an already piano dynamic when their “calls” enter at Rehearsal 6 and expand in subsequent measures. Following score directions is good, but not to the point where it’s difficult to hear principal motives. This material, while fleeting, is an important part of the musical narrative. 

 

Finally we come to the Violin Concerto, and I’m afraid this take just pushes average. It’s not for a lack of soloist ability. Ava Bahari has an uncommonly warm tone and excels in the passages that call for it. She’s also no slouch as a virtuoso, as this finale demonstrates. While I think she could use more rhythmic snap at times (especially in her exposed passages at the beginning), mostly she’s just contained by a reticent supporting cast. One example is paradigmatic: the Largamente theme following Rehearsal 3 in the opening movement. This melodic stretch is Sibelian GOLD – one of the signature moments in all of his output. But Rouvali practically bails on Bahari! There must be robust string section support and he ducks it. Sibelius indicated espressivo and affettuoso. What more did he need to do for performers to bare their hearts here?

 

I don’t know Maestro Rouvali, so I won’t ascribe motivations to him. But I hope he isn’t one of those post-Sibelian Finnish artists who is embarrassed by frank displays of sentiment and nationalism. If he isn’t, someone he trusts should nudge him toward a better contrary impression. If he is, I would gently tell him that some of the very things modernist snobs consider backward or hokey about his national heritage are precisely what many of us abroad love about it. We may not all have prominent positions at London publications, nor frequent the proverbial cocktail parties, but we listen eagerly and from the gut. When someone conducts Sibelius like he’d rather be conducting Stravinsky, we notice. So embrace the feathered serpents, Maestro, and the flawed heroes from your glorious folklore. They’re not a bad look. 

Shostakovich: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 5 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

John Storgårds, conductor; CBSO Chorus; BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Chandos CHSA 5378

Do you want the “good” news first? Here it is: this is the best Shostakovich 2 I have ever heard. It rewards exactly the kind of bloodless conducting that John Storgårds has adopted for this cycle so far. All of this symphony’s little stunts and gestures that don’t add up to anything, not to mention the clunky choral send-off, get about as sympathetic a treatment in his hands as you’re going to find. By Shostakovich’s virtual admission (he disavowed this work and its successor later in life) his Second Symphony is a 20-minute self-own, and Storgårds rises to the occasion splendidly. I’m not really sure who the joke is on – the composer, the conductor, Alexander Bezymensky (the lyricist), or any fan of this music who happens to exist. Slow-clap for all involved, I guess. 

 

Things don’t get better, but they do get stranger. To say that the best recording of Shostakovich’s worst symphony is paired here with the worst recording of his best is barely an exaggeration. Certainly, this is the dullest Fifth I’ve ever heard. The music calls for the opposite. Shostakovich wrote it at his time of greatest fear and desperation. It might have been this work or the gulag; he certainly watched plenty of his compatriots pave the way for him. At his lowest he produced arguably his finest, most distilled symphony, giving it the subtitle “A Soviet Artist’s Creative Reply to Just and Deserved Criticism.” But if you think that what he somehow meant was instead “A Soviet Artist’s Creative Cure for Insomnia,” boy does Storgårds deliver those goods. 

 

This performance of the Fifth has little excitement and next to no character. For a fleeting moment, a sharp opening creates a sense of anticipation. But after the first few bars it’s all downhill. Storgårds seems allergic to lush lyricism, because he underplays all the beautiful tunes and their supporting textures. The more agitated moments are no better. When the opening-theme variation returns in a quasi-development section with brass and piano, it should sound menacing. Instead it’s limp. The climactic march with snare drum has no panache. The loud tutti right before the creepy closing measures is sluggish and emotionally under-committed. When the flute theme over strings arrives directly afterward, the relief it imparts must be earned. But given what it follows, this effect is muted. A spirit of dramatic reluctance hangs over this first movement and sets the tone for the entire interpretation. 

 

The second movement is somehow even blander. The main problem is a pervasive mechanical manner. It sounds like someone directing his musicians to be as emotionally divested as possible. The biting wit that comes through in the best performances (such as those by Mravinsky, Bernstein, and Petrenko) is missing. With the Largo we rise to a respectable level. Storgårds’s obsession with unassuming clarity here pays some dividends. For once nothing gets bogged down, the balance is excellent, and the climactic points are full if still somewhat sterile. It doesn’t save the whole interpretation, but it’s the most defensible stretch here. 

For the second time in this performance, a decent start fizzles quickly in the finale. The opening march theme is just not forceful enough. Storgårds seems to be doing all he can here to resist the music’s innate personality. The many calmer sections following louder surges are again listless when they should provide purposeful respite. The sendoff at the end is like someone making a feeble impression of a rousing finish. But one part is particularly instructive: the tutti Romantic theme with lush strings above brass interjections. Storgårds overemphasizes these bursts in a way that distracts from this main theme. It reminds me of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s quip that the purpose of the conductor is to find out where the melody lies. One doesn’t fully appreciate such wisdom until encountering a leader whose fetish for clarity actually interferes with the music.

 

Of course we know what the problem is: there are already numerous recordings of Shostakovich 5. The pressure to be distinctive too often licenses stubborn preoccupations. I certainly don’t want this music to be unclear. But Shostakovich wasn’t a chilly neoclassicist. He was the Mahlerian heir, whose predisposition was for song, dance, irony, and the theatrical. If a conductor is not prepared to begin from such premises, he should perform something else. Label management and other gatekeepers should better recognize these mismatches and refuse to cynically countenance them. Because as it stands now, they’re cranking out too many detached or mannered performances that compare poorly with solid accounts. Yes, yes: this is a good Shostakovich 2, but who cares? It’s one of two throwaway works in his symphonic cycle, included only because it’s part of the group. There’s no reason to buy this No. 5, and hence no reason to buy the disc.

Premieres (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Premieres. Scott Wheeler: Birds of America; Avner Dorman: Nigunim (Violin Concerto No. 2); Bright Sheng: Let Fly. Gil Shaham, violin; The Orchestra Now; Leon Botstein, conductor. Canary Classics CC26

Our first encounter with The Orchestra Now conducted by Leon Botstein did not go all that well, as we found their previous release, Transcription as Translation (AVIE AV2822), to be less than inspiring listening (you can find our review of that CD here). This time around, however, we find these same musicians on a different label and taking a different musical approach; rather than transcriptions of works from the past, they are teaming with violin virtuoso Gil Shaham (b. 1971) to present three contemporary concertos for violin and orchestra. Each of these works was in fact written expressly for Shaham, who writes, “it is an honor to have premiered and been a part of the creation of the three compositions featured on this album. I treasure my friendships with Avner, Bright, and Scott, whose inspired music has already resonated with so many, and with Leon, whose singular artistry and vision made this project happen."

Birds of America is American composer Scott Wheeler’s (b. 1952) second violin concerto. It is in the typical three-movement, fast-slow-fast format, with all three movements incorporating bird-inspired sounds and themes. Although that description might make it seem as though the music might sound gimmicky or superficial, the piece sounds at once serious and playful, pleasant and substantial. Nigunim by Israeli composer Avner Dorman (b. 1975) is in four movements with a slow-fast-slow-fast pattern. It is a more intense-sounding, driven work than Birds. There are clearly discernible Jewish influences and elements, such as Klezmer music. Let Fly by Chinese American composer Bright Sheng (b. 1955) is in three movements, played without a break, with the soloist asked to insert a brief cadenza between the second and third movements. The work’s title has a dual origin: “first, it is the aural image of the violin melody just flying off in the air, an everlasting sensation when I first saw Gil Shaham perform a concert. The second inspiration of the title came from my daughter Fayfay (homonym for ‘to fly’ in Chinese). I wrote a child rhyme named after her when she was born on November 15th, 2010. And the first phrase of the song appears a few times in the composition.” It’s a rhapsodic piece, flowing and free, with Shaham given plenty of opportunity to shine. With three substantial concertos, excellent engineering, and informative program notes, Premieres is a recommendable release.

 

Concert Report: Pat Metheny Side-Eye III+ 

 

In my recent review of the latest release from the veteran American guitarist and composer Pat Metheny (b. 1954), titled Side-Eye III+ (you can find that review here), I mentioned that I was looking forward to attending a live concert in April by the touring version of this band. And so it was that on a pleasant spring evening in Cincinnati that my wife, one of my sons, and I sat down in our front-row balcony seats to enjoy another evening of music from Metheny’s electric band. Our son Isaac, now in his 50s, had been just a young kid when we took him and his older brother to see the Pat Metheny Group (Metheny, guitar; Lyle Mays, keyboards; Steve Rodby, bass; Paul Wertico, drums; Pedro Aznar, guitar, vocals; Naná Vasconcelos, percussion) back in the fall of 1981. Since then, sad to say, both Lyle Mays (1953-2020) and Naná Vasconcelos (1944-2016) have passed on; they are both dearly missed. Around 2019 or so, Metheny embarked on what he came to call his Side-Eye project, seeking out and jamming with talented young musicians who were familiar with his music, which led to some recordings and tours. The most recent incarnation of Side-Eye is Side-Eye III, which includes Metheny plus Chris Fishman on piano, organ, and synthesizers and Joe Dyson on drums. For the recent studio album, Metheny augmented the core trio with a number of other musicians, hence the designation “III+” in the title. For the concert tour, the trio was expanded to a quintet with the addition of Leonard Patton, percussion and vocals, and Jermain Paul, bass. Metheny and his band put on quite a show, playing for more than two hours. There were tunes from the new album, such as “In On It,” “Urban and Western,” and “SE-O;” there was a solo acoustic guitar segment from Pat, alone on stage, and there were even some old Pat Metheny Group favorites, including a couple we had hear back in 1981, “Phase Dance” and “Are You Going With Me?” The two musical and emotional highlights of the evening for me were also Pat Metheny Group tunes, both from the same 1984 album, Metheny’s final release on Manfred Eicher’s ECM label, First Circle (ECM 1278), “The First Circle” and “Más Allá (Beyond),” both of which on this night featured the moving vocal contributions of Leonard Patton. “The First Circle” is a kinetic, propulsive song that just keeps cranking up the energy level until you think you are going to burst with sheer joyful excitement; “Más Allá,” on the other hand, is more reflective. On the 1984 ECM album, it was sung by a young Pedro Aznar, then soon after the passing of his old bandmate and friend Lyle Mays in 2020, the mature Pedro Aznar, now an established musician in his native Argentina, recorded the tune on YouTube in tribute (you can watch that video here). Hearing Side-Eye III+ with Leonard Patton singing this tender melody brought back memories of Pedro, of Lyle – and with those memories came tears of both sadness and joy. Such is the power of music. Should you ever get the opportunity to catch Pat Metheny in concert – whether solo or in a group – do not hesitate, because he is one of the master musicians of our time.