Chopin: Waltzes

by Bill Heck

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

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.) 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.

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.

Anouar Brahem: After the Last Sky (CD Review)

 by Karl Nehring

Remembering Hind; After the Last Sky; Endless Wandering; The Eternal Olive Tree; Awake; In the Shade of Your Eyes; Dancing Under the Meteorites; The Sweet Oranges of Jaffa; Never Forget;Edward Said’s Reverie; Vague. Anouar Brahem, oud; Anja Lechner, cello; Django Bates, piano; Dave Holland, double bass. ECM 2838

 

Over the past decade or so I have grown into an admirer of the music of the Tunisian oud player and composer Anouar Brahem (b.1957). In preparing to write this review of his most recent release, I thought I would do a quick search of the archives to see whether I had ever previously reviewed any recordings by this remarkable musician. I felt as though I had, but could not remember which recording it would have been – The Astounding Eyes of Rita (ECM 2075), perhaps? Or maybe Souvenance (ECM 2423/24)?  As it turned out, my search revealed that much to my surprise, I never have reviewed any of his albums here at Classical Candor. However, my search did not come up blank; happily enough, it revealed that four years ago I had reviewed an album (Lontano, ECM 2682) by one of the musicians here, German cellist Anja Lechner (b. 1961), in which along with pianist François Couturier she plays among other things some music composed by Brahem (you can find that review here). Now Lechner finds herself in Brahem’s quartet alongside with veteran members British pianist Django Bates (b. 1960), who appeared on Brahem’s Blue Maqams album (ECM 2580)  from 2017 along with legendary Chicago-born drummer Jack DeJohnette (b. 1942) and the bassist on this album, the equally legendary British musician Dave Holland (b. 1946), who first recorded with Brahem on the former’sThimar album (ECM 1641) from 1998.

The CD booklet offers an essay on the music that Brahem briefly introduces by writing: “While preparing the music for this album, the tragedy of Gaza was very much on my mind. After reading author Adam Shatz’s previous writing on the subject, I invited him to contribute this essay.”  In his essay, Shatz, who is the American editor for the London Review of Books, assures prospective listeners who might be put off by Brahem’s reference to Gaza that “the glory of music, formalists teach us, lies precisely in its pristine, non-referential nature, its transcendence of politics and history. Rest assured, formalists: After the Last Sky stands on its own as music.”

 

All the compositions are by Brahem except for The Eternal Olive Tree, which is by Brahem and Holland. The interplay among the four musicians flows naturally and unforced, the music coming across as an amalgam of chamber and world music. The opening track, for example, Remembering Hind, is a brief duet for cello and piano that sounds as if it could be an excerpt from a cello sonata. The mood throughout the album is generally restrained, reflexive, at times – as in the track Endless Wandering – bordering on somber. The Eternal Olive Tree livens things up a bit, however, as Holland and Brahem engage in an energetic exchange. The penultimate track, Edward Said’s Revenge, is a melancholy reverie played, as was the opening track, by Lechner and Bates alone. The closing track, Vague, brings back the full quartet, with Lechner’s cello weaving a melancholy spell echoed and augmented by the other three players. Shatz points out in his notes that Brahem had long hoped to work with Lechner; he had never before featured a cello on one of his albums. The end result is an album of extraordinary beauty, the four musicians combining to produce an album of breathtaking beauty, chamber music of haunting emotional subtlety. The warm, natural, spacious ECM engineering makes this just adds to the luster of this sparkling gem. 

Liszt: Via Crucis & Solo Piano Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Liszt: Via Crucis; Consolations; Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (Nos. 8-9). Øystein Stensheim, tenor; Olle Holmgren, bass-baritone; Ditte Marie Bræin & Magnhild Korsvik, sopranos; Mari Askvik, mezzo-soprano; The Norwegian Soloists’ Choir; Grete Pedersen, conductor; Leif Ove Andsnes, pianist. Sony 19802856672

 

“During his Weimar years,” writes Malcom Hayes in the liner notes, “Liszt revised for publication many of his earlier piano works. Among these were Consolations and Harmonies poétiques et religieuses – two cycles differing in many ways, but both showing how an anti-virtuosic aspect of his piano style was there from the start. Consolations, especially, has the feeling of music imagined almost as a conscious antidote to the world of the spectacular virtuoso performer.” 

It is understandable to promote this disc’s music as embodying another aspect of Liszt apart from the virtuosic one. But “anti-virtuosic”? “A conscious antidote to the world of the spectacular virtuoso performer”? Hayes comes across as apologetic. One senses behind his words the sentiment of “I get that some don’t like Liszt’s virtuosic music, but they should try this stuff instead!” Thus do these offerings get deployed in opposition to the virtuosic works, couched in an antagonism that doesn’t actually exist. And for what? To placate a longstanding snobbery that really ought to be confronted and shamed instead? True, the included works show another side to Liszt, but can’t something be non-virtuosic rather than anti-virtuosic? Much more apt is pianist Leif Ove Andsnes’s shorter statement on a preceding page. As someone who has successfully performed and recorded Liszt’s virtuosic music (check out the fine EMI 724355700223), Andsnes thankfully avoids Hayes’s ‘self-own.’  

 

All of that aside, here is a splendid project that shows Andsnes’s pianism at its best. It begins with him serving as accompanist in the version of Via Crucis Liszt arranged for vocal soloists, choir, and piano. While all of the music on this recording might be called “introspective,” Via Crucis radiates a pious austerity that may surprise those accustomed to the composer’s more famous works. Absent is the flair of the first Mephisto Waltz, or the rollicking fun of some of the Hungarian Rhapsodies. The seriousness suggested by the subject matter (the 14 “Stations,” or meditations, relating to Christ’s suffering and death during Good Friday) is alleviated slightly only by some lyrical tenderness in the final two numbers. Andsnes plays his part with a gentle strength that fits the atmosphere perfectly. It’s not music I’d listen to every day, but I don’t know how it could be done much better.

I’m a longtime devotee of the six Consolations, having played most of them myself. I find this music every bit as comforting as the title suggests. Good interpreters are plenty, including Sandrine Erdely-Sayo on a recording issued just last summer (Navona NV6632). But Andsnes applies a skill and conviction that are difficult to match. Although Hayes is correct insofar as this is not the most technically demanding fare by Liszt, I doubt any novice would be able to replicate Andsnes’s animating sweep. In his hands these pieces seem to have life and breath of their own; in the hands of someone like me they merely tinkle along pleasantly (if I’m lucky). Virtuosity doesn’t only manifest itself in the fast, loud, and notey.

What the two included selections from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses reinforce for me is that Liszt knew how to reconcile the numinous with ordinary human experience better than almost everyone else. He did this in his introspective and virtuosic music alike. The Andante lagrimoso may lack the technical brilliance of its collection-mate, Funérailles, but the outpouring of grief is no less affecting. It speaks as directly as anything Liszt wrote, enriched by his distinctive character and imagination. With the Miserere, d’après Palestrina we start to veer back toward the virtuosic with rapid arpeggios later surrounding a hymn-like tune presented at the outset. It’s a short piece, but just the right length to match the plaintive prayer for mercy inscribed on the score. Andsnes gives wonderful renditions of both pieces.

In his book The Romantic Generation, Charles Rosen tackles the perennial charge of vulgarity against Liszt and seems to suggest that this vulgarity somewhat paradoxically comprises part of the composer’s unique greatness as a Romantic artist. But maybe Liszt’s willingness to indulge the popular impulse is not so much vulgarity as it is a valid wish to connect with listeners on an immediate level. Maybe what many haughtily see as bad taste in Liszt is instead an incomparably big-hearted artist embracing the visceral as part of music that is both exhilarating and poignant. In the end Liszt’s “introspective” works aren’t anti-virtuosic; they’re just different corners of the vibrant world that he invites us to inhabit with him. 

Fernande Decruck: Concertante Works Volume 2 (CD Review)

Decruck: Concerto for Cello and Orchestra; The Trianons: Suite for Harpsichord (or Piano) and Orchestra; Sonata in C# for Alto Saxophone (or Viola) and Orchestra; The Bells of Vienna: Suite of Waltzes. Jeremy Crosmer, cello; Mahan Esfahani, harpsichord; Mitsuru Kubo, viola; Jackson Symphony Orchestra; Matthew Aubin, conductor. Claves 50-3108

From time to time in past reviews I have remarked about how delightful it is to come across a recording of some music by a composer whom I have never encountered previously and find it to be a rewarding musical experience that makes me glad I took a chance on someone new and different. The excitement of discovering “new” music from a “new” composer and my subsequent eagerness to pass my discovery along to others makes those reviews the ones that are especially exciting to write. Well, grab your garters, Gertie, and hold on to your hat, Harry, because what we have here is a release where I’m willing to bet that you’ll discover just like I did that not only is the composer featured on this new release unfamiliar to you, but so are the conductor, the orchestra, and -- with the possible exception of harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani – so are the soloists. And come to think of it, although the Claves label sounds vaguely familiar to me, if I ever purchased any of their previous releases, it was a long time ago – i.e., at least a decade – if at all. Truly, this is all fresh, new, unfamiliar, stimulating stuff.

According to Wikipedia, the composer Fernande Decruck (1896-1954), whose maiden name was Breilh, was born in France and began piano lessons at the age of eight. Later, she studied organ and composition at the Paris Conservatory. She traveled to America to give recitals, and in 1928 moved there with her family. Her husband, Maurice Decruck, whom she had married in 1924, played both saxophone and bass with the New York Philharmonic. In 1932, Maurice returned to Paris and started a publishing company that would go on to publish Fernande’s compositions. She returned to France in 1933, but resided in Toulouse, where she began teaching at the Toulouse Conservatory.  In 1942 she moved back to Paris and many of her works were premiered between 1943 and 1947. She and her husband divorced in 1950. According to the liner notes, during her time at the Paris Conservatory, she served as an assistant professor of harmony; one of her students went on to become quite famous and in fact went on later in his own career to dedicate a score to her, “To Fernande Decruck, with all the gratitude and fond memories of the author – O. Messiaen.”

 

Conductor Matthew Aubin (right) is the foremost scholar devoted to the music of Fernande Decruck. He has earned multiple research grants that have enabled him to study her life and compositions. As Music Director of the Jackson (Michigan) Symphony Orchestra, this is the second recording he has been able to oversee, the first having been released in 2022. Note that the engineering on this recording is by Soundmirror, Inc., one of the best in the business. This is a fine sounding CD.

The program opens with Decruck’s Concerto for Cello and Orchestra, which is in the typical three movements. Composed in New York in 1932, it is her first known concerto as well as her first large-scale orchestral composition. The opening movement, marked Andantino non troppo, could be mistaken for a lost work in the pastoral mode by an English composer such as Vaughan Williams. Cello soloist Jeremy Crosmer is given no virtuoso passages to wow the listener; rather, he weaves some lovely melodic lines in harmony with the orchestra for a touch over 10 minutes – the longest movement of the concerto. The briefer (6:15) second movement, marked Adagietto, molto tranquillo, maintains the peaceful mood, with Crosmer continuing to provide meaning through warmth of expression rather than speedy playing. Even the faster (5:19) finale, marked Allegro energico, does not devolve into virtuosic display for the sake of display but remains nicely balanced and in keeping with the previous two movements. Between Decruck being virtually unknown and the solo cello part lacking in showstopper passages to appeal to guest cellists, the chances of hearing this lovely work performed in concert are almost certainly nil (unless perhaps you happen to live in the Jackson, MI area). Thank goodness for recordings!

 

Grand Trianon

Next up is Les Trianons: Suite for Harpsichord (or Piano) and Orchestra, which dates from 1946, making it the latest of the pieces on this recording. Decruck dedicated it to Marcelle de Lacour, who later became a distinguished professor of harpsichord at the Paris Conservatory. And in case you might be wondering what “Les Trianons” might be, the liner notes inform us that “the suite is named after the Grand Trianon and Petit Trianon, two opulent royal buildings in Versailles which serve as an evocative backdrop to the music.” (Confession time: Prior to reading that explanation, I assumed that between the “Tri” in Trianons and the fact that the suite had three movements, there must have been three of those Amigos – er, Musketeers.) It’s a bit of a strange piece, straddling Baroque and 20th-Century instruments and styles. We have a harpsichord, at times struggling to be heard over the sound of its accompaniment; on the other hand, we have modern instruments such as saxophone, celesta, and concert toms. Its three brief movements (4:06, 6:41, 6:25) follow a fast-slow-fast pattern. In the opening movement, Esfahani does his best to make his harpsichord compete with the orchestra, but one can’t help but wonder whether a piano would have worked better. The second movement seems much more suited to the harpsichord, with Esfahani given more opportunity to be heard. The use of the saxophone in this movement is especially fascinating. Esfahani’s harpsichord kicks off the finale and is given some sonic space throughout; again, however – and with no disrespect to Mr. Esfahani, a master of his instrument – I can’t help but wonder whether a piano would be better suited here. Overall, it’s an interesting piece, but it would be most interesting to hear the piano version. (In a future Volume 3, perhaps?)

Petit Trianon

Next on the docket is what is said to be Decruck’s most widely known work, her Sonata in C# for Alto Saxophone (or Viola), which dates from 1946. She composed the work in two versions, one for solo instrument (saxophone or viola) and piano, the other for solo instrument and orchestra, which is the version played here. The opening measures from the orchestra have such weight to them that one wonders what the piano version would sound like. As in the Cello Concerto, the solo instrument – in this case the viola of Ms. Kubo – plays primarily lyrically rather than in an intensely virtuosic style. The four movements are relatively brief, especially the two inner movements, the timings being 6:05, 3:34, 3:05, and 5:30 respectively. The orchestral accompaniment is colorful and varied; overall, it’s an engaging composition. The sound of the solo viola tends to blend in well with the orchestra; the alto saxophone might stand out more as a solo instrument. No, I’ve not heard them both, but my guess is that this might well be the more balanced and thus aesthetically pleasing version of the two.

The program closes with the lively The Bells of Vienna: Suite of Waltzes, which dates from 1935 and was performed in concert as well as broadcast in France at the time. It is easy to see why it was popular, as its colorful scoring and lively waltz rhythm make it hard to resist. Despite its initial popularity, the piece was nearly lost to posterity; Aubin had to do some rigorous detective work to reassemble it from parts he pulled together from the Decruck family, the music library at a Portuguese radio station, and some final missing parts that a friend found for him in a conservatory library in France. Aubin’s dedication and diligence was well worth it, for the restored score as performed by these Jackson forces and recorded by the fine folks at Soundmirror is just the sort of music that may get you out of your listening seat and onto your waltzing feet. 

 

The physical package is sturdy, the liner notes are informative and include photographs, and the sound quality is first-rate. This is not just another good recording of music with which you are already familiar, it’s an excellent recording of excellent music that you’ve never heard before but would most likely enjoy if you did – and is thus most enthusiastically recommended.