Fred Hersch: Silent, Listening (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Billy Strayhorn/Duke Ellington: Star-crossed Lovers; Fred Hersch: Night Tide Light; Akrasia; Silent, Listening; Starlight; Aeon; Little Song; Russ Freeman: The Wind; Hersch: Volon; Sigmund Romberg/Oscar Hammerstein II: Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise; Alec Wilder/Ben Berenberg: Winter of My Discontent. Fred Hersch, piano. ECM 2799 589 0962

The veteran American jazz pianist Fred Hersch (b. 1955) has had some daunting challenges in his life, which you can learn from the pianist himself in this YouTube video  We previously reviewed an album that Hersch recorded in his home during the dark early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. That album was recorded on a less than ideal piano in a less than ideal (at least in terms of recording acoustics) room; however, Hersch’s talent and love for the music made his 2021 release Songs from Home (Palmetto PM2197) a winning collection of tunes that is well worth a listen (you can find our review here). Fast-forward to April 2024 and we have a new release from Hersch on the ECM label, this one recorded under much different circumstances, on a beautifully tuned piano in an acoustically perfect European hall under the watchful eyes and ears of a world-class producer and engineer.

 

As you can see from the list of titles above, the program is a mix of covers and originals by Hersch. The mood throughout, however, is consistent from one track to the next. I nearly typed “cool and calm,’ but then thought the better of it. “Warm and calm” might be a better way to put it, for Hersch’s playing is intimate, poetic, communicative, searching, measured – warm and calm, reassuring and inviting. His compositions have at times the feeling of being improvised on the spot. Listeners will find themselves being drawn into Hersch’s musical imagination, in some sense searching with him for the next notes along his musical path. This sense of closeness is enhanced by the superb engineering. The only thing that would make this release even finer would be liner notes; fortunately, however, you can glean more information about the recording from the pianist himself by watching this video from ECM. 

Even without notes (not unusual with ECM), Silent, Listening is an album that offers a remarkably rewarding listening experience to those music lovers who appreciate commitment and communication expressed with probing simplicity. It is a beautiful album, highly recommended.

A Beethoven Odyssey, Volume 9

by Bill Heck

Beethoven: Piano Sonatas 28, 29. James Brawn, piano. MSR Classics MS 1473

I had mixed feelings as I started listening to this, the last volume in James Brawn’s traversal of Beethoven’s piano sonatas. Not mixed feelings about the performances: see below for more on that front. No, it was just that we have reached the end of this excellent cycle. Those who have seen reviews of several earlier volumes by our colleague JJP and me will recall that we were, to say the least, favorably impressed. Naturally I was eager to hear the latest. But it was a bit like opening that last present at the birthday party when I was a little kid: the cycle is complete; there’s nothing to anticipate, no wonderful surprises to look forward to. 

Those who have followed this cycle know that these volumes have not comprised a cycle in the common sense of starting with Number 1 and counting up; instead, the volumes have been a series of programs, each consisting of two or three sonatas chosen for musical reasons. This final volume does include two consecutive sonatas, though, and the two present both similarities and interesting contrasts.

No. 28 usually is considered the first of Beethoven’s “late period” sonatas; I had not heard it in some time, so it was fun to be reacquainted. To me, the first movement sounds improvisatory, bringing to mind a pianist jamming, playing with a series of themes and riffs – although in this case, the jam is at an otherworldly musical level. (Readers who are taken aback at such a comparison should feel free to dismiss this as crazy rambling.) It is astonishing to realize that Beethoven was composing things like this despite his near-total deafness. More generally, this work, as the excellent booklet points out, looks back to earlier sonatas in terms of structure, but a few moments listening reassures us that Beethoven is probing more deeply, is experimenting more freely than in those previous works. At the same time, the mood here is fresh and light in what is a rather short sonata (Brawn completes it in just over 20 minutes). Perhaps the most likely listener reaction to this work is simple joy.

No. 29 (Hammerklavier) is harder to categorize. Beethoven seems to throw in everything, and the technical demands on the pianist are outrageous:  the work not only may be the most difficult of Beethoven’s piano compositions but is one of the more difficult by any composer. Moreover, this is a huge, sprawling work; Brawn’s timing here is about 48 minutes.

I mentioned earlier the favorable reception of previous volumes in this series by JJP and me, so it will come as no surprise that I am more than satisfied with this one as well. Indeed, this review can be relatively brief because most of what I could say would simply repeat positive comments that I’ve made earlier. As in the previous volumes in the series, there is a certain rightness about Brawn’s playing: upon listening, one is left with a feeling that yes, of course, that’s exactly the way it should be done. It’s always possible to hear what’s going on: Brawn eschews excessive use of the sustain pedal, his articulation is clear without being so ostentatious as to distract from the music. I don’t mean to say that the performances are without character; rather, in each case, the “character” seems to fit well with the work being performed. 

Beethoven in later life

And I certainly don’t mean to say that Brawn, or anyone else, plays any of the sonatas, particularly the late ones and even more particularly the Hammerklavier, in the only possible way. As just one example, a point that struck me upon listening was the range of possible approaches in the fourth and final movement of the Hammerklavier. In the central section of this movement, the titanic fugue, it strikes me that Brawn focuses on clarifying inner details of the intertwining voices. Contrast this with, say, the early 1950’s recording by Rudolph Serkin (which miraculously still sounds quite good), with its stricter adherence to, and even emphasis on, an almost metronomic tempo. Again, I don’t mean that one fails to play in tempo or the other obscures the notes, just that one performance can’t do everything, especially is such a formidable work as this. Which is “correct”, which is “better”? Obviously neither, they are simply different, and both are the products of deep insight (and undoubtedly of incredibly difficult work during practice sessions).

Given the number of Beethoven sonata cycles out there, it would be silly to proclaim one “the best” or to suppose that one set of interpretation has said everything that there is to say in such musically rich works. But Brawn’s entire odyssey is one to which I shall return often.

As usual in this series, the recorded sound is excellent, with the rich tones of the Steinway D presented in all their glory. As the booklet notes, Beethoven “…often complained about the limitations of the piano, proclaiming…’It is and remains an inadequate instrument’”. Not to denigrate the often insightful recordings relying on “original instruments” or copies thereof, but I can’t help wondering what Beethoven would have thought of the contemporary use of period instruments to allow us to hear that with which he was so dissatisfied. At least in this case, I have to think that Beethoven would have approved of the newer instrument.

In summary, if you’re not familiar with Brawn’s Beethoven Odyssey, now would be a good time to check it out. Start anywhere and enjoy some fine performances of this wondrous music. Oh, and that business that I mentioned earlier about nothing to look forward to? Brawn’s Facebook postings indicate that, for now, after twelve years of work on this project, he wants to spend more time on performance and music education (one of his great passions). That’s understandable. But I hope that we’ll see something new in the way of recordings in the not too distant future.

Rachmaninoff/Gershwin Transcriptions by Earl Wild (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Rachmaninoff: Songs transcribed for the piano by Earl Wild - Dreams Op. 38 No. 5; The Little Island Op. 14 No. 2; Midsummer Nights Op. 14 No. 5; O, Cease Thy Singing Op. 4 No. 4; On the Death of a Linnet Op. 21 No. 8; Do Not Grieve Op. 14 No. 8; George Gershwin: Three Preludes; Earl Wild: Fantasy on Porgy and Bess. John Wilson, piano. AVIE Records AV2635

Sadly enough, Earl Wild (1915-2010) has become somewhat a forgotten figure among followers of classical music. Perhaps Bill Heck and I are a bit more tuned into his name than most, because for many years, Wild resided in Columbus, Ohio, where Bill and I both attended graduate school and where we both live today. In addition, we are both quite fond of his recordings of the Rachmaninoff piano concertos, which he originally made for Reader’s Digest with Jascha Horenstein conducting the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and have subsequently been rereleased on other labels including Chandos and Chesky. Wild was a remarkable virtuoso who was skilled not only as a performer (he was the first American pianist ever to be invited by Arturo Toscanini to perform as soloist with the New York Philharmonic) but also as a transcriber, particularly of the music of Gershwin and Rachmaninoff.  Interestingly enough, accordion to Wikipedia, Wild also holds the distinctions of being both the first pianist ever to perform a recital on U.S. television (1939) and evert to stream a performance on the internet (1997). He is also the only pianist ever to have been invited to the White House to perform before six consecutive U.S. Presidents: Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson. What a career! 

On this release from the American pianist John Wilson (not to be confused with the English conductor of the same name), we hear Wild's transcriptions of seven songs by Rachmaninoff, three brief preludes by Gershwin, and then Wild’s own Fantasy on Porgy and Bess. The Rachmaninoff transcriptions are elegant and expressive, richly romantic as you might expect. Wilson clearly loves this music, and that love comes through in his playing, which is clear, confident, and convincing. These are songs, imbued with melody and emotional overtones; however, they are not sappy or sentimental, but are carefully crafted pieces of serious music. The three Gershwin Preludes are in turn bouncy, moodily reflective, and finally a bit skittish. None, however, sound legitimately jazz-like or particularly inspired. At least to my ears, this is not top-drawer Gershwin. YMMV.

The needle on the old Gershwin-O-Meter bounces back up the scale with Wilson’s rendition of Wild’s take on Gershwin, however – the Fantasy on Porgy and Bess is in an entertaining romp through the familiar themes from Gershwin’s tuneful work. You can tell that Wild enjoyed putting these tunes together for the keyboard, and you can tell that Wilson enjoys playing them for us at the keyboard. In the liner notes, which are based on a conversation between Wilson and the English music broadcaster Jeremy Nicholas, Wilson recalls that it was Gershwin’s music that first lured him into classical music. He goes on say, “the first Earl Wild piece I learned was his Porgy and Bess. I just loved it. I’d played most of it since I was 19, so when I came to record it, it was in my heart. I think it’s perhaps his perhaps his best crafted transcription.” 

The liner notes, although not extensive, are heartfelt and revealing. And as we have come to expect from AVIE, the engineering is first-rate, capturing the sound of Wilson’s Steinway in fine fashion. If you are a fan of melody, this release is one that should be right up there on your audition list. 

3 Shades of Blue/Kind of Blue (Book/CD Review)

by Karl Nehring 

Kaplan, Janes. 3 Shades of Blue: Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, and the Lost Empire of Cool. New York: Penguin Press, 2024. 

Miles Davis: Kind of Blue. So What; Freddie Freeloader; Blue in Green; All Blues; Flamenco Sketches. Miles Davis, trumpet; John Coltrane, tenor saxophone; Julian “Cannonball” Adderley, alto saxophone; Wynton Kelly, piano (Blue in Green only); Bill Evans, piano (all other tracks); Paul Chambers, bass; Jimmy Cobb, drums. Columbia/Legacy CK64935

 

In a couple of recent posts I have shared some thoughts by jazz musicians concerning the influence of classical music on jazz (you can find those posts here and here). In his new book, 3 Shades of Blue, James Kaplan tells the interlocking life stories of three key figures in jazz: trumpeter Miles Davis, saxophonist John Coltrane, and pianist Bill Evans. Those with even a passing knowledge of jazz history are no doubt familiar with at least one of those three names, while those with a bit more knowledge will likely recall all three from their appearance on what today is probably the most widely known jazz album in history, Miles Davis’s landmark 1959 recording, Kind of Blue. Of course, all three musicians released other notable albums, such as Davis’s Sketches of Spain, Birth of the Cool, In a Silent Way, and Bitches Brew; Coltrane’s Crescent, Giant Steps, and A Love Supreme; and Evans’s Sunday at the Village Vanguard, Everybody Digs Bill Evans, and Conversations with Myself.

 

Those with an interest in jazz will gain an insight into the musical and biographical influences that contributed to the sound of those and other recordings by not only these three but other jazz luminaries as Kaplan weaves the three biographies into an overview of the development of different forms of jazz such as swing bebop, post-bop, cool jazz, modal jazz, harmolodics, and free jazz. But of special interest to fans of classical music might be to learn that all three of these jazz giants were influenced by classical music. For example, Kaplan writes that one piece that Miles almost became obsessed with was Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli’s 1957 recording of Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G… Miles wanted to put wide-open space into his music the way Ravel did. He wanted to use different scales the way Khachaturian, with his love for Asian music, did… Davis told Evans that the new album he had in mind would make use of some of the Western classical themes they’d analyzed together…”

 

Evans had been classically trained, but ultimately decided that he wanted to become a jazz pianist. He moved to New York, the hub of jazz, determined to try to make the transition. As Kaplan describes his tiny apartment, “on the music stand were pieces by Chopin, Ravel, and Scriabin, as well as Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier. When he practiced he loved to play classical and then modulate into improvised jazz. The tempo turning to idiosyncratic rhythm, the harmonies close cousins to those in the European music.”  (An interesting fact not mentioned in Kaplan’s book is that at some point later in his career, Evans struck up a friendship with the legendary Canadian classical pianist Glenn Gould; in fact, Evans recorded his famous overdubbed solo album Conversations with Myself using Gould’s piano.)

 

As for Coltrane, Kaplan observes that “almost everyone associated with John Coltrane took note of his voracious appetite for learning about music in general and his instrument in particular… Like Charlie Parker, he made a point of learning to play in every key; also like Parker, and like Miles, he listened broadly and deeply, not just to jazz but to the modern Europeans. ‘Trane and I,’ Jimmie Heath recalled, ‘used to go to the Philadelphia Library together and listen to Western classical music – they had the headphones, you know. We would play Stravinsky and people like that and listen to all this music we could.’”

 

There.is of course much, much more to be found in this deeply researched, engagingly written book that lays out the life stories of these three giants of jazz who combined to give us one of the great recordings of the twentieth century. If you are a fan of Kind of Blue, Kaplan’s book will give you an inside look into its creation and creators. But if you are one of the few people who have not by now given a listen to Kind of Blue, you really ought to give it a listen. It is one of those rara albums that most people – even those who profess not to like jazz – seem to be able to enjoy once they give it a listen. It has a gently swinging quality to it that soon will have you bobbing your head or tapping your tors. In fact, chances are good that you have heard some of this music before – So What and All Blues are floating out there in various arrangements all over the place. Like a great recording of a great symphony, Kind of Blue is an album that can be enjoyed over and over again – it always proves to be just as satisfying a musical an emotional experience each time. It truly is a landmark recording well worth seeking out.

Schubert: The Complete Impromptus (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Four Impromptus, D 899 - Impromptu No. 1 in C minor; Impromptu No. 2 in E flat major; Impromptu No. 3 in G flat major; Impromptu No. 4 in A flat major; Four Impromptus, D 935 - Impromptu No. 1 in F minor; Impromptu No. 2 in A flat major; Impromptu No. 3 in B flat major; Impromptu No. 4 in F minor. Gerardo Teissonniére, piano. Steinway & Sons 30220. 

The last time we encountered the American pianist Gerardo Teissonniére (b.1962), it was in his recording debut for Steinway & Sons (you can read our review here). Teissonniére, who was born in Puerto Rico and now resides in Cleveland, where he has long served on the faculty of the Cleveland Institute of Music, certainly made a bold move in leading out with such monumental repertoire. However, he delivered a memorable performance that the label captured in audiophile-worthy sound. When I saw what Teissonniére had chosen to record for his next release, I could hardly contain my excitement, because Schubert’s piano music is right up there in the same exalted atmosphere as Beethoven’s. Once again, Teissonniére is clearly showcasing his desire to record music of the very highest quality.

 

As the American composer Evan Fein so aptly describes this music, “the elements of dance, song and storytelling permeate the entire oeuvre of the early Romantic Austrian composer Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828). They are combined and uniquely represented in each of Schubert’s eight individual yet intrinsically connected works for the piano known as the Impromptus, D 899 and D 935, two sets of four pieces each written in the last year and a half of the composer’s short life.” Teissonniére artfully projects that feeling of dance, song, and story as he weaves his way through these fascinating pieces. He plays with a sense of confidence, with a big tone – not in a loud, brash way; rather, in a confident, assured way. As it was in the Beethoven release, his Steinway is captured in sound of lifelike clarity and power (it was engineered by Daniel Shores at Sono Luminus Studios – they do great work there). Great music, great music, great sound – Great Caesar’s ghost, it’s a good one!

A Jazz Musician on Classical Music and Jazz

by Karl Nehring

In a recent review of a CD that paired the Duruflé Requiem with Four Lenten Motets by Poulenc (review to be found here), I appended an interview with the late jazz saxophone player Jackie McLean in which he spoke of borrowing chords from Poulenc and then going on to discuss the influence of classical composers on other jazz musicians. Those who have followed Classical Candor for any length of time may recall that we have offered occasional reviews of jazz releases, justifying those reviews with the argument that there is a sense in which some forms of jazz can reasonably be regarded as examples of chamber music.  One jazz musician who holds strong views about the relationship between jazz and classical music is the pianist Ethan Iverson (see photo), two of whose albums we have reviewed previously: Every Note Is True (see review) and his latest, which includes a formal piano sonata of his own composition, Technically Acceptable (reviewed here). 

 Iverson, who like many jazz pianists has classical training, recently caused quite a kerfuffle with a recent New York Times column about Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue with the provocative title, “The Worst Masterpiece,” which, as you might imagine, raised a few eyebrows.  Perhaps even yours?

While in Oslo on a European tour earlier this year, Iverson sat down for an interview with Norwegian journalist Filip Roshauw. Among other things the pair discussed the Gershwin controversy and delved into the relationship between classical music and jazz. With Iverson’s kind permission, I have included some key portions from that interview below. You can find the full interview at Iverson’s substack website, Transitional Technology (see TT 373 here). By the way, Transitional Technology is a treasure trove of musical knowledge of value to anyone with an interest in music – and not just jazz, but classical as well. Iverson is a delightful writer s well as a gifted musician; Transisitional Technology is well worth checking out by classical and jazz fans alike.

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Filip Roshauw: I thought I'd ask you about the title of the new album, Technically Acceptable. You’ve mentioned that it’s a quote from a book, but I wondered if it has more meaning than that?

Ethan Iverson: It's not a serious title. I want to make people smile! But if you want me to becomparatively serious for a moment, between the trio and the sonata, this is the set of tools that I’m going to be using from now on: Playing open and loose trio music on one hand, and writing serious formal music on the other. I am confident in my abilities in these fields. I’m technically acceptable.

FR: Does the idea of letting those two aspects live within the same album feel new to you this time around?

EI: Yeah, I think so. Of course, nothing's truly new. There's always a precedent. But as far as I know, no jazz pianist has put a sonata on a record on a jazz label like Blue Note.

FR: When I read the title, I was also reminded of something you mentioned somewhere. You wrote an article about Billie Holiday, and you considered the title “Billie Holiday: Technician.” And it seems that a lot of stuff that you've written is about assessing jazz from, I guess, a technical standpoint in some way. That it is music that can be explained in those terms. And the piece that you've chosen for this title is a deceptively simple, Count Basie-ish tune..

. 

EI: Well, that's right. A lot of the time, something simple on the surface is full of complexity underneath.  Many people think they've got Billie Holiday's number, but, actually, they don't have her number. The same goes for all great jazz. The composed melodies of Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue can be scratched out on a paper napkin, but there are so many other elements that make the album very sophisticated. Often there hasn't been enough of the proper terminology to describe those sophisticated elements, and as a writer and critic, I am trying to move that discussion forward. The song “Technically Acceptable” is a medium tempo rhythm changes tune in the Count Basie idiom. You're correct, that does not seem very hard. But I was talking to the great bass player Ben Street, and I mentioned I was taking that piece on the road to play with local rhythm sections. And Ben said to me,  "There's nothing harder than medium tempo rhythm changes.” 

FR: Let's talk about the idea for the Piano Sonata. Obviously you've composed stuff before, but what was the idea behind this specific piece?

EI: Longer formal composition started happening about a decade ago. I have worked a lot with the choreographer Mark Morris and his wonderful Dance Group, and Mark asked me to arrange a set of Beatles themes for Pepperland, the evening-length celebration of the album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. We could only get rights to a certain number of songs, only six pieces, and we needed an hour show. So to fill up the time, I wrote some original compositions that were related to The Beatles or the idea of the swinging ‘60s.  Paul McCartney liked classical music, when they worked on “Penny Lane,” he told George Martin to put in the piccolo trumpet from Bach's Brandenburg Concerto. In fact, there's obviously a lot of European classical music references in the Beatles. So…well…even though I never did this before, I realized I should write a sonata allegro for Mark Morris’s dance. The composition went very quickly, and I really liked the result. After that, I thought, “What am I, a sonata composer now?” Apparently I was! During the pandemic I wrote six sonatas for diverse instruments plus piano. In fact, there were seven because one didn't go well and I withdrew it. So the Piano Sonata was actually the eighth full-length sonata, which meant I’d already done a certain amount of groundwork in terms of refining the aesthetic and learning how to shape a longer narrative. What I like about the Piano Sonata is that it sounds like me, meaning it doesn't sound that different than when I'm playing jazz. The frame is new, but the actual chords and melodies are kind of the same. When I've shown the Sonata to other people I trust, they all say, yeah, this is what you do. So it's not a big stretch. I don't have to suddenly think, what do I do now that I'm writing formal music? It's like I am just doing what I always do, and it just happens to be notated — which may make it more valid than it might be otherwise. 

FR: It’s hard not to think about the article you recently wrote in The New York Times about Rhapsody in Blue, “The Worst Masterpiece,” which in a sense is about how Gershwin’s piece became the road not taken in American classical music.

 

EI: Exactly! With my sonata, I am trying to say this is the road we could take. It's the 21st century, and we should all know all these idioms. 

FR: There’s been a lot of debate about decolonizing classical music or music education in the last years, and it seems like your point has been that jazz deserves a different place in all of this, that it needs to be defined and analyzed on its own merits.   

EI: My mentor Billy Hart says jazz is America's classical music. Billy gets that phrase from John Coltrane, who said that every culture has its classical music. And I know what they mean, and I respect that opinion. Still, at this point, for better or for worse, when we talk about classical music in casual conversation, we're talking about the European tradition. I love the European tradition. I'm a piano player, after all – all piano players love the European tradition. I don’t like the word “decolonizing” because that sounds like you want to shame people who love Bach, Beethoven, and Chopin — meaning, you want to shame me! Get out of here! Bach, Beethoven, and Chopin are truly great! But when you get to the establishment and the academy in America, someone like John Coltrane is definitely not considered to be as serious as someone like Gershwin or Aaron Copland. But honestly, Coltrane was bigger and better than either. I like Gershwin, I like Copland – I'm not against those guys. But in terms of some sort of absolute peak of an aesthetic, Coltrane was much, much greater. Coltrane is actually like Bach, Beethoven, and Chopin. My dream is that classical musicians, especially in America, could learn to be a little more humble and take John Coltrane more seriously. That goes for all of us: let’s take Duke Ellington seriously. Let's take Count Basie, Thelonious Monk, and Billie Holiday seriously. Let's use their techniques for our American music, regardless of what genre we call it. The specific issue of swing and blues is still not too well understood in classical circles. And that was part of my argument about Rhapsody in Blue, for I feel like it has obscured the issue of how hard black rhythm really is. Since it's a flashy, virtuoso number with a few big beautiful tunes, no one has to swing or even really play in steady tempo. It's got this sort of quick-change musical theater “bluesiness” to it. While it's good for what it is, at this point — a hundred years later! — I’m ready for the people on those classical concert stages to be able to dig in and really swing and really play some blues. It's about time. 

FR: But do you see any movement there? 

EI: There is some movement, but there could be a lot more. Look at all those people who were so upset about my piece! It just shows how I'm right. While foaming at the mouth, my critics don't see the obvious piece that's missing with rhythm, blues and frankly, black music. 

FR: It’s surprising that people became that upset. I mean, the title is well chosen, it’s a bit provocative, but I didn’t read the article as a diss on Rhapsody in Blue. Rather, it felt representative of how many people have perceived that piece, from Leonard Bernstein and onwards.  

EI: I had thought of that phrase, “the worst masterpiece,” when practicing Rhapsody in Blue in order to perform it in concert. One day I said to myself, somewhat in despair, “God, this is the worst masterpiece.”  Aha! That’s a good title, I've got to use it…Unfortunately, many read the title and did not consider the essay. If I had the chance to publish again, would I change the title? I don't know. 

FR: How did your jazz interest start?

EI: My parents weren't musicians or music fans. Music came in through the TV set. Early things I liked weren’t really jazz, but they were jazz-adjacent. The James Bond movies, what was that music by John Barry? The Pink Panther cartoon, what was that music by Henry Mancini? Vince Guaraldi’s Charlie Brown Christmas music. Stuff on Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. When I was ten years old or so, I started on a journey to find my first jazz records.

FR: Are you able to pinpoint what you liked? Was it the chords, the texture of the music, the rhythms?

EI: I don’t know exactly, but I can say this: Jazz is equally dependent on harmony and rhythm. Probably a lot of folk and pop music is rhythm first, and probably all European classical music is harmony first. But jazz is right in the middle. At a subliminal level, that reliance on both sides must have been part of my attraction in the beginning  — and it's still part of my attraction now.

Rachmaninoff: Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini; Respighi: Toccata for Piano and Orchestra; Casella: Partita for Piano and Orchestra (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Joshua Pierce, piano; Anton Nanüt, conductor; RTV Slovenia Symphony Orchestra. MSR 1839                  

This disc’s program notes by Eric Salzman state that all the works on it are “modernist pieces with strong connections to tradition,” and “can be regarded as neo-classical.” While he qualifies the latter label for each in turn, these claims seem variably strained to me. Despite the fact that two of the pieces are by Italian contemporaries, it would be truer to acknowledge the heterogeneity of the music here and gladly stick to that. (As an aside, I am thoroughly exasperated by the looseness with which the term “modernism” is thrown around these days.) What really strikes me about this offering is not only how much each work should be considered on its own terms, but also how easily the familiarity and accessibility of the Rachmaninoff Paganini Rhapsody can impede fair hearings of its disc-mates here; what these other works need are fair hearings, regardless of the conclusions the listener may reach about them. 

I tried with the Respighi, I really did. But little do I see myself returning to the Toccata for Piano and Orchestra very often for the purpose of listening pleasure. That said, I cannot fault Pierce and company; they do as fine a job as one could ask. I just find the composition itself to be clunky and aimless. True, the title “Toccata” promises nothing in terms of strict form or consistency. But this 21-minute clump of undigested manners and influences is not the composer’s top-drawer product. That is not to say there aren’t beautiful moments and passages of exciting virtuosity – there definitely are both. But these elements do not make a strong impression in total. Still, I encourage listeners to give this piece a try and see for yourselves. Your experience may differ, and the music at least deserves a chance. I remain grateful to these performers and their recording for mine. 

 

I admit that my exposure to Alfredo Casella’s music has been patchy; this was my first encounter with his Partita for Piano and Orchestra. I did not think much of the piece at first, but I stuck with it for many hearings. I’m glad I did – this is music that needed time and exposure to grow on me. I could sense the composer’s distinctive voice from the start, but my affection was a bit slower to follow. What I hear now when I listen to it is refulgent, tuneful music that beams amiably. I also took the time to listen to a competing recording from Naxos (8.573005), and find the present rendering by Joshua Pierce and company to be more convincing. This Partita being the most squarely “neoclassical” work on the disc, I appreciated the latter’s crisp, brisk approach (excepting the finale, where the Naxos performance’s tempo is actually a bit quicker). 

Speaking of brisk, try out this Paganini Rhapsody! At 21:43 it is definitely one of the fastest performances I have ever heard (perhaps the fastest). Not even Yuja Wang (whose own recently recorded performance of this work I reviewed here some months ago) blazes through at such a pace. Technically, Pierce acquits himself very well. I also like his tone and articulation. While there are more soulful, more glowing performanes out there, his expressiveness is acceptable. But, not all that dissimilar to my feelings about Wang’s performance, there are just too many fine interpretations available for me to enthusiastically push this one. Even if it did not feel too breathless, which it does, this Paganini Rhapsody would be middling. I’m afraid my recommendation here is for collectors only. 

 

If the Rachmaninoff is the hook for customers to also sample the less-familiar repertoire, and the lesser-familiar repertoire lures the explorer to buy yet another recording of the Rachmaninoff, this disc was shrewdly calculated. There is likely something here for most classical listeners, and for me there is plenty: the wholly satisfying Casella Partita, the well performed but disappointing Respighi Toccata (which I’m nonetheless glad to have in my collection), and a fast Paganini Rhapsody. On balance, the price of the disc is worth what it offers. Maybe barely worth it, but worth it all the same.

Duruflé: Requiem; Poulenc: Four Lenten Motets (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

The Choir of Trinity College Cambridge; Harrison Cole, organ; Stephen Layton, conductor. Hyperion CDA68436

I will freely admit to knowing very little about the French composer Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986). To be honest, until studying the CD booklet and doing a quick bit of supplementary research, I had no idea he was so relatively modern, living until 1986. And although I am not a huge organ buff, I certainly recognize the names of the famous organists Pierre Cochereau, Jean Guillou, and Marie-Claire Alain – all of whom were students of Duruflé. However, although I knew very little about Duruflé the composer (pictured below), I was familiar with one of his compositions, because his Requiem was sometimes paired on recordings along with the Requiem of his fellow Frenchman, Gabriel Fauré. An outstanding example of that pairing is the Telarc release featuring Robert Shaw leading the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Chorus.

Whereas the Telarc recording of the Duruflé features the full scoring for chorus, organ, and orchestra, this new Hyperion release is of the version sans orchestra. Given Duruflé’s reputation as a master of the organ, however, one should not be surprised to hear the prominent role given to the king of the instruments in this performance. From the rich bass notes that open the piece through the chords that accompany solo voices, Harrison Cole’s organ plays a prominent role in the proceedings. If anything, this version with organ sounds more like an actual requiem than as the version which also includes the orchestra. The latter, although undeniably beautiful, sounds more of a concert piece. The rich, full-bodied sound of the choir combined with the powerful sound of the organ make this recording of the Requiem one to be treasured.

Also appearing on this release are Four Lenten Motets by another French composer of the twentieth century, Francis Poulenc (1899-1962). These are sung a cappella, with a leaner, cleaner, slightly drier sense of expression than the Duruflé, yet clear and direct. The CD booklet mentions that Poulenc (pictured right) had sought out some compositional advice from the composer Charles Koechlin (1867-1960), who proved to be a “very open-minded teacher, allowing sharp, grating dissonances as long as they could be expressively validated, and a combination of suavity and abrasiveness was to be a hallmark of Poulenc’s vocal writing during the last twenty-five years of his life. In each of these Lenten motes he tends to support the beginning and end of his phrases with a consonant chord, but on the way from one to the other he takes us through some agonizing sounds, as well as some seductive ones.” More the latter than the former, to be sure, is what you will find here. 

All in all, what we have here is another first-class release from the good folks at Hyperion. Excellent performances, superb engineering, informative liner notes with text, attractive cover art – the whole package exudes quality and earns a solid recommendation.

 

Further Thoughts: On Poulenc and Jazz Cats

 

I’ve been intending for a while now to post some thoughts about the relationship between classical music and jazz. I’ve mentioned before that jazz can be viewed in some respects as a kind of chamber music; however, today I would like to throw something else out there -- -- the influence of classical music on jazz musicians. As it turns out, at the time I was listening to the Hyperion recording I reviewed above, I was just finishing the book Three Shades of Blue by James Kaplan (review forthcoming) which covers the lives of jazz giants Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Bill Evans (the key figures responsible for the seminal  jazz album Kind of Blue) and mentions how all three were influenced by classical music. 

Then, just was I gathering my thoughts and going over my notes in preparation for writing my review of the Duruflé/Poulenc release, lo and behold, what did I happen to see on X (formerly Twitter) but this March 25 post from the estimable San Francisco-based critic Richard Scheinin: This great 2000 interview with Jackie McLean is full of surprises... e.g., he describes early days with Miles & Sonny -- but also how he stole harmonies from Poulenc for "A Ballad for Doll."  Scheinin then includes a link to the interview, in which the found the famed alto saxophonist Jackie McLean (1931-2006) in conversation with a musician from a younger generation, the innovative composer and saxophonist Steve Lehman (b. 1978). 

 

I’ve included below the portion of the interview in which the two musicians discuss the influence of classical composers upon jazz musicians. This is a theme that I will be exploring at greater depth in future postings. 

 

Steve Lehman: If I asked you who some of your influences were as a composer, would some stuff come to mind at all?

Jackie McLean:  OK. Alright. It would be like, I guess…it’s a funny combination of people whose music I can get a feel for. Thelonious would be one of them. Thelonious, Tadd Dameron, kind of, and then a little later, Gil Evans, his interpretations of some of that harmony and stuff. But all of them come from Duke, I learned that later on, you know, that they all come from Duke. But I had never thought of Duke as my inspiration for writing. I mean, I always loved his stuff. The more I learn about music the more amazed I am at what he was doing so early.

SL:  His concept.

JM:  Yeah, you know. But for the time that I came along, it was Thelonious, and then Bud and Bird together, kind of their compositional style.

SL:  Stuff like “Quadrangle,” the opening where it’s two horns and just a drummer, or maybe just drums and bass, it made me think a little bit of like the beginning to “Ko-Ko.”

JM: “Ko-Ko.” Right. Yeah, those kind of things. And then of course, there’s some harmony that I draw from, like for instance, on that piece that I did…. I think it was (on the chord changes to) “Star Eyes” on “Capuchin Swing,” on the bridge, I stole that right out from Bach: a direct line from him.

SL:  Wow. Another thing that made me think of possible Classical influences…the chord, the voicing for “A Fickle Sonance,” that stacked harmony. Or is that something you just heard?

JM:  No, I think I just heard that. But I did steal from Poulenc on “A Ballad for Doll.”

SL:  On Jackie’s Bag.

JM:  Yeah, the second to last section, that harmony at the end of the melody, those chords coming down I took from Francis Poulenc, a French composer that I liked a lot.

I can’t explain what it is about him that I like. He’s got a little sense of humor or something in his classical concept.

SL:  He’s hard to categorize.

JM:  Yeah [laughs].

SL:  Because, there’s definitely some, like you said, humor. And he also, I feel like if you look at when the piece was written, and then you hear the thing, it makes you feel like it would have been much later.

JM:  Yeah. He’s quite an incredible guy. A lot of people don’t like him.

SL:  That’s true.

JM:  You know. And I can’t help but feel…I can’t understand it. It’s something about his writing that really gets me, you know?

SL:  Yeah. Yeah. I haven’t heard that much of it.

JM:  And then of course there’s all the other beautiful things. The whole idea of the word beauty as it fits in music, of something that’s beautiful to your ear, without having to put them in a category of Jazz or Classical. Take “Romeo & Juliet” by Tchaikovsky.  Miles, I always admired something in Miles’s playing because Miles heard all these things, you know. He quoted a lot of beautiful melodies.

SL:  From Western Classical music?

JM:  Yeah. Oh yeah.

SL:  OK. I didn’t know that.

JM:  Oh yeah, man. All of those influences, you know?

SL:  And what about, I know you mentioned Stravinsky?

JM:  Oh, well of course. Yeah.

SL:  That goes without saying.

JM:  Yeah, and Bartok, you know, those guys. And there’s another guy that I liked a lot, Alec Wilder. This guy really touches me, man.

SL:  The tunes you wrote in the early 50s, they all have such a modern feel to them.

JM:  Uh huh.

SL:  You know, “Dr. Jackle,” “Little Melonae,” even this tune on that album with George Wallington…"Snakes.”

JM: “Snakes,” yeah. Well, that was after I had listened to Stravinsky and them cats.

Lang Lang: Saint-Saëns

by Bill Heck

Saint-Saëns: Carnival of the Animals, Piano Concerto No. 2; Ravel: Pavane pour une infante defunte; Debussy: Petite Suite 71; Fauré: In paradisium; Delibes: Delibes: Lakmé: Flower Duet; Saint-Saëns: Toccata after the Fifth Concerto (from Six Études pour piano op. 111); Fauré: Pavane op. 50; Farrenc: Étude No. 10; Sohy: Song without Words; Tailleferre: Valse lente; Bonis: The Little One Falls Asleep; Boulanger: Of a Bright Garden; Saint-Saëns: The Swan. Lang Lang, Gina Alice (pianos); Gewandhaus Orchestra; Andris Nelsons, conductor.  DG 5058

Based on an admittedly very small sample, it seems that DG is interested in producing events as much as producing recordings. I suppose that’s their business, and but my curmudgeonly side is, shall we say, a little jaded.

There’s no doubt that Lang Lang is a musical superstar, and I suppose that it’s natural for DG to be trading on that fame. Thus, you can find video sections from the Carnival of the Animals on YouTube and, at least on streaming sources, hear a version of the Carnival with the movements interspersed with accompanying verses originally written by Ogden Nash; here they are read by Jimmy Fallon. And the “exciting audio-visual project” (DG’s words) extends to a concert film of the Piano Concerto made live in concert at Leipzig’s Gewandhaus  and a performance film of the Carnival to be shown on TV internationally and on DG’s video streaming service, STAGE+. Meanwhile, for true collectors, this set is available in multiple versions: LP, signed “crystal” (clear plastic) LP, signed CD set, plain old CD set, and downloads in several resolutions, plus streaming on DG’s own service. Whew!

The promotion continues in the booklet that accompanies the CD: the cover is dominated by a photo of Lang Lang, eyes closed as he blissfully sniffs a flower. The next page shows a hand shot, then we see a repetition of the flower photo, then a close-up of Lang Lang’s head resting on a keyboard, then of him and his wife and co-artist, Gina Alice, embracing, and… Well, you get the idea. The text of the booklet does have some information about the works along with sometimes gushing explanations of why Lang Lang chose the particular works included.

But the premise of the album is odd. The notes tell us that this is a voyage of discovery, but the Saint-Saëns Second Concerto, which we are told is something of a neglected masterpiece, is perhaps the composer’s most frequently recorded, while the Carnival surely is Saint-Saëns’s most popular work. The idea of discovery seems more plausible when referring to the miniature solo pieces, of which more anon.So what about the music found here: are these performances to be recommended? Well, it seems to me a mixed bag. To begin with, there is the recording itself. The sonic presentation greatly emphasizes the pianos, which are up front and, even accounting for the fact that there are two of them, appear unnaturally wide. Meanwhile, the orchestra is a good way farther back on the stage. The resulting imbalance makes both the Carnival and the Concerto into works for piano with orchestral accompaniment rather than real partnerships.

Camille Saint-Saëns

And then there’s the playing. There are plenty of passages in which Lang Lang’s complete mastery of his instrument comes through, with precision of touch and lovely tone. But the interpretations mostly left me thinking of Lang Lang rather than of carnivals, animals, Saint-Saëns, or the exchange between soloists and orchestra. For example, the Carnival is supposed to be a bit of musical fun; indeed, Saint-Saëns would not allow it to be published during his lifetime for fear that it’s perceived frivolity would damage his reputation. But, to cite two examples, the lion depicted in the first movement doesn’t seem very ferocious, and the fourth movement’s elephant, which should be humorously harrumphing, just ambles along in a nondescript way. The Swan (number thirteen) is the one movement that Saint-Saëns did allow to be published in his lifetime, and it  is a lovely miniature. If you hear it on this album, you certainly will be impressed – but if you hear it on, say, our own JJP’s recommended performance (Previn/Pittsburgh), you will be swept away by the sheer beauty, with the voice of the cello soaring above the perfectly balanced piano, not the other way around. The performance of the Concerto is in much the same vein: extraordinary in spots but facing stiff competition. (JJP recommends those by Jean Philip Collard on Warner, Stephen Hough on Hyperion, and Chamayou on Erato). In totality, this one leaves me feeling that the current production is just another version – and again, independently of interpretation, there’s the issue of the imbalance between soloist and orchestra.

Earlier, I mentioned the other short solo pieces on the album. Most were not composed by Saint-Saëns, but I won’t quibble about their relation to the title: these are, at least for me, the most interesting pieces here. While the first few are by familiar composers, including Debussy and Fauré, with the remainder we hear little-known works by little-known female composers. These, not the far better known earlier pieces, are the ones more appropriately described as the advertised “discoveries”. While each of these works has been recorded elsewhere, having them on an album that is sure to receive major publicity and high availability is a good thing. Lang Lang’s playing here is expressive; some may find it over the top, but that’s a matter of taste. My only real complaint here goes back to that booklet: each of these works receives a single sentence. Surely an album of discovery should devote a little more space to the works most plausibly thought of as needing to be unearthed.Where does all this leave us? For “us,” readers of this review, who likely have some familiarity with classical music and who are looking primarily for recordings that they will enjoy on musical and sonic terms, my instinct is to say move along, nothing to see here. But if the superstar project approach generates excitement, or even a modicum of interest, among the wider public and brings others into the classical music fold, can that be all bad? We'll see how it goes.