Soler Piano Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross 

Soler! Gerardo Teissonniére, pianist. Steinway & Sons 30242\

In my December writeup of Johan Dalene’s Mendelssohn and Bruch album, I noted how often my views diverge from those of other critics. Well, here we go again. I’m already seeing what I consider to be excessive enthusiasm for this disc. Either I am living in The Twilight Zone, or some folks aren’t listening that carefully. Forgive my candor (see what I did there?), but it does get lonely being the one to say the most negative things in Google search results. Nonetheless, I have to call it like I see it. My responsibility as a critic is reporting what I hear in the recording, rather than what I hear about the recording. If that puts me alone in a corner, so be it. Thus positioned, my regretful verdict is that Gerardo Teissonnière’s playing doesn’t match his obvious sincerity. The main culprits are rhythmic inconsistency and a mediocre tone. Let’s jump in.

 

First off, an admission: I was unfamiliar with Teissonnière’s work before taking on this review task. I would have sampled his other performances in any case, but now I had a pressing question: does he always play like this? Yes and no. His Schubert Impromptus show the occasional wobbly stretch, but nothing to rival a crass, even poundy approach to loud dynamics. His debut recording for Steinway, featuring Beethoven’s final three sonatas, also begins to tell the tale for this latest release. Teissonnière likes big, thick chords and thundering octaves. He’s even capable of an attractively soft tone, as his Opp. 109 and 110 prove. But his biggest weakness is a lack of rhythmic control, particularly in intricate passages.

 

Soler doesn’t offer many of the Romantic-style textures Teissonnière clearly relishes. This music tests the performer in other respects. Unfortunately, they expose Teissonnière’s vulnerabilities to a greater degree. Runs of quicker notes sometimes sound uneven. Simpler figurations fare better in this respect. But if there is a group of four 16th or 32nd notes, especially many in succession and with lots of concurrent activity in other voices, there is a decent chance he fudges the timing of at least one. The hand-crossing passages in the R. 84 D Major sound herky-jerky. Ditto the accompaniment to the tail motive of the R. 39 D Minor, and certain right-hand thirds in the same sonata. These stretches and others throughout seem insufficiently practiced even if they weren’t. Similar issues plague parts of R. 15. Tone quality is also a problem, as when some of the rapidly repeated notes get underplayed in R. 88.

 

The impression I get of Teissonnière’s playing overall is that of a strong but not elite talent trying to make the most of his gifts. There are many fine moments, but strain and inconsistency rear their heads nearly as often. Soler is not Beethoven or Schubert in terms of recording saturation. But there are several other available options for his sonatas, including a quality Naxos series. Best of all is Alicia de Larrocha, whose own selections partially overlap with Teissonnière’s. If comparing her performances to his doesn’t demonstrate at least some of what I said here, maybe I really am living in an alternate universe.

Recent Releases No. 83 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Dedications. Randall Woolf: going home; Pierre Jalbert: Two Sides – I. Freely, lyrical II. Propulsive, driving; David Del Tredici:  Farewell, R.W. (from Facts of Life); Bun-Ching Lam: Five Contemplations – I. Search Search II. Seek Seek III. Ennui IV. Wutang in Light Rain V. Let Go; João Luiz: MadrigAfro II: Part I – Curandeiro Part II - Movido, tempo de Afoxé; Laura Kaminsky: Ruminations; Carlos Crillo: Mariluna – 1. Reflejo de la luna sobre la superficie de el agua… 2. Y la mar se refleja en la luna; Marilyn Ziffrin: Rhapsody; Chester Biscardi: Finding Beauty in Small Places; Peter Sculthorpe: *Oh, T.I.! – I. Island Song II. Night Song. David Leisner, guitar; *w/Alan Moverman, piano. Azica Records ACD-71389

As you can see from the track listing above, the composers are all modern-day. Guitarist Leisner (b. 1953), who is also a composer himself, writes that during the COVID-19 pandemic, “artists, like everyone else, were struggling to find ways of being useful and keeping up their spirits. One idea that occurred to me was to create a series of commissions of solo guitar works by composers I greatly admire, who happen to be friends as well. Chester Biscardi, Pierre Jalbert, Laura Kaminsky, Bun-Ching Lam and João Luiz, an illustrious group, all responded enthusiastically and generously to my proposal.” He goes on to recount that there had been other pieces he had commissioned in previous years that he had not yet recorded, a piece by Marlyn Ziffrin that he had not commissioned but wished to record, and a movement from a piece by the late David Del Tredici that he desired to re-record. The album starts off promisingly with the opening going home by Randall Woolf, but listeners expecting much in the way of melodic or harmonic richness may find themselves feeling let down. Most of the compositions have a sparse sense about them, although that can be interesting in its own way, as in the compositions by Bun-Ching Lam, Laura Kaminsky, Marilyn Ziffrin, and Chester Biscardi. Adding the piano to the mix in the final Sculthorpe piece provides some welcome sonic richness. 

 

Vesper. Thomas Adès: Forgotten Dances; Harrison Birtwistle: Beyond the White Hand: Construction with Guitar Player; Guitar and White Hand; Adès: Habanera from ‘The Exterminating Angel’; Birtwistle: Oockooing Bird (arr. for guitar by Forbes Henderson); Sleep Song; Berceuse de Jeanne (arr. for guitar by Forbes Henderson); Sad Song (arr. for guitar by Forbes Henderson); Je sui aussi; James Dillon: 12 Caprices. Sean Shibe, guitar. PENTATONE PTC 5187 518

Sean Shibe (b. 1992), who was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, of English and Japanese parentage, is one of the world’s leading guitarists. Over the past several years we have reviewed several albums on which he has appeared as a contributor, plus one of his solo albums, Camino PENTATONE PTC 5186 670), about which we observed (you can read the full review here) “none of the playing here is overtly virtuosic or ostentatious; instead, Shibe employs his skills on the guitar to lead the listener gently into a sound world of calm and reflection that is not, however, devoid of energy and color.” But where Camino had featured music by composers such as Mompou, Satie, and Ravel, this new release titled Vesper features music by composers including Adès (b. 1971), Birtwistle (1934-2022), and Dillon (b. 1950) – when I saw those names, I must confess that I was not expecting to be led gently into a sound world of calm and reflection. My exposure to the music of Birtwistle and has been limited but unimpressive. I’ve never heard any music by Dillon. That leaves Adès, whose music I have encountered reasonably often over the past few years but have never really cared for. So, then – full disclosure: from the list of composers, I was not very optimistic about this release; however, this was a guitar album, not an orchestral album, and Sean Shibe is an amazing guitarist, so I was willing to try to put my prejudices aside and give it a good listen.

 

So, then – did I have a complete change of heart about these composers after spending many hours listening to Camino? Well, yes and no. The opening Forgotten Dances by Adès comprises six fascinating pieces that somehow manage to stretch the limits of what can be done on the guitar while at the same time alluding to traditional dance forms. It’s a delightful set, a little quirky but highly entertaining. It was a relief to be pleasantly surprised by Adès, but alas, such was not to be the case with Birtwistle. His Beyond the White Hand: Construction with Guitar Player; Guitar and White Hand sports the longest title on the album, the longest duration (18:26), but the least amount of melodic inspiration. It broods, meanders, and draws some thumps and bumps from the guitar – overall, it strikes me as a composition more interesting to play than enjoyable to hear. He much briefer (1:55) Guitar and White Hand comes as a kind of echo, easier on the ear, but without much substance. The Adès Habanera is forceful, giving Shibe quite a workout.

 

The mood changes with the next set of short selections by Birtwistle, which are much more melodic and easy on the ears than the White Hand music; really, folks, it’s hard to believe it’s the same composer. (And thus you can see why I wrote “yes and no” above.) As for composer James Dillon, his 12 Caprices, which are brief little snippets – the whole set coming in at 10:35 – the gentle mood established by the preceding Birtwistle set continues, although a tad more, well, capriciously. These are pieces that are at once playful and thoughtful. 

 

The booklet packaged with the CD contains a wealth of information about the composers and the music, plus a background narrative about the influential guitarist Julian Bream. PENTATONE has released a truly first-class production in Vesper, which earns a solid recommendation for fans of classical guitar. By the way, Sean Shibe did an NPR Tiny Desk concert at which he performed some of the music on this CD: you can find that video here. Enjoy!

Mozart & Beethoven Piano Concertos (CD Review)

 by Ryan Ross

Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 24 in C Minor, K. 491; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 37; 32 Variations in C Minor, WoO 80. Rafał Blechacz, pianist; Kent Nagano, conductor; Dresdner Philharmonie. DG 486 8940

While the most recent International Chopin Piano Competition was underway, I had a debate with other classical music fans on the app formerly known as Twitter. I remarked that all of the competition’s participants could technically run circles around Alfred Cortot, and that no amount of musicality overcomes my impatience with his messy playing. I received some hard pushback for these remarks, but remained trenchant. True, more than a few competition participants produced interpretations that were pristine yet soulless. But I thought I preferred this. “Just give me the music” I said, “and stay out of its way!”

 

I’m still something of a heretic for being allergic to Cortot’s pianism. But as I keep listening to and reviewing new recordings of standard repertoire, I’m gradually coming around to my debaters’ general point of view. You see, I’m getting bored with “pristine yet soulless.” I have heard multiple great recordings of both Mozart’s 24th Piano Concerto and Beethoven’s 3rd. Almost all of them are decades old. Many more recordings of both works have appeared since, even many technically excellent ones. But I’m afraid I cannot recall details in most of these. Rafał Blechacz’s new and nearly-pristine performances with Kent Nagano and the Dresden Philharmonic will likely belong to this second group.

 

Blechacz happens to have won the Chopin Competition more than two decades ago. Yeah, his skills are the envy of most pianists: flawless technique, impeccable control, and a sheeny polish overall. But “most pianists” isn’t “all pianists.” And when I listen to Blechacz here I’m faced with excellence that outpaces individuality. What can I get in these interpretations that I cannot get elsewhere? If this were the year 1900, probably quite a lot. But it’s 2026, and the world now teems with elite technicians.

 

Earlier, I said that Blechacz is nearly pristine in this recording. I stand by that, but there are still some drawbacks that only bolster my preference for other interpretations. The first mostly isn’t his fault: Nagano and the Dresden Philharmonic are at times too forceful in the Mozart. Tutti passages boom disproportionately to Blechacz’s comparatively subdued approach. Once or twice the orchestra moderately obscures the soloist where both play together. In short, I don’t think Blechacz and his supporting cast are precisely matched. The Beethoven concerto is better balanced, though even here I sense that Nagano wants to do more than his soloist. Which brings us to the second problem, and full circle to my initial statements: Blechacz doesn’t take any risks. At nearly every turn he declines to really lean into the music expressively. True, his reticence is often subtle, but subtleties weigh when I have umpteen other Op. 37 and WoO 80 takes to choose from. I need more fire than he’s prepared to supply, and there are plenty of other places where I can get it.

 

In past reviews I have emphasized a separation of purpose between live performances and recordings. Yes, record companies have bottom lines, and artists like lucrative deals. But the business of music often conflicts with less immediate concerns. Call me idealistic, but I happen to believe that what gets recorded should merit such preservation. It should also repay consumer investment. Frankly, I can’t muster related enthusiasm for this one. Performers like Blechacz are needed to share these works in person, foster communal joy and appreciation, and thereby keep the tradition alive. But apart from their desire to make nice livings, I see less value in every pianist committing standard rep to disc. If the riposte is that this release is a perfectly fine product for people to get to know these concerti, or to listen casually, I’ll concede the point. But how many more of those do we need? And when will diminishing returns finally force some sort of reckoning? 

James Brawn in Recital, Volume 3. Scarlatti: Sonatas – Ingenuity and Delight (CD Review)

 by Karl Nehring

Domenico Scarlatti: Sonata in D minor, K.1 ‘Toccata’; Sonata in D minor, K.9 ‘Pastorale’; Sonata in B minor, K.27; Sonata in D minor, K.32 ‘Aria’; Sonata in D minor, K.34 ‘Larghetto’; Sonata in D major, K.96 ‘La Caccia’; Sonata in D minor, K.141 ‘Toccata’; Sonata in A minor, K.149; Sonata in C major K.159 ‘La Caccia’; Sonata in A minor, K.175; Sonata in A major, K.208 ‘Cantabile’; Sonata in A major, K.209; Sonata in E minor, K.291; Sonata in A major, K.322; Sonata in B minor, K.377 ‘Bourée’;Sonata in E major, K.380 ‘Le Cortége’; Sonata in D major, K.430 ‘Un Ballo’; Sonata in F minor, K.466; Sonata in D major, K.491 ‘Le Cortége’; Sonata in C major, K.513 ‘Pastorale’; Sonata in E major, K.531 ‘Tarantella’; Allesandro Scarlatti: Sonata in D minor, ‘Arioso’. James Brawn, piano. MSR Classics MS 1829

Long-time followers of Classical Candor should be familiar with the English pianist James Brawn (b. 1971), who now resides in Shanghai. Over the years, we have covered his recordings of the complete Beethoven piano sonatas, which John Puccio, Bill Heck, and I have found praiseworthy for both their musical and sonic virtues (you can find examples of those reviews here, here, and here. In addition to his “Beethoven Odyssey” recordings, Brawn has also released two other recordings, both of which were reviewed by John Puccio: James Brawn in Recital, which featured Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition plus works by Bach, Bach-Busoni, Liszt, and Rachmaninoff (the review of that release can be found here) and James Brawn in Recital, Volume 2: The Time Traveller and His Muse, a 2-CD set that featured works by Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin, Gershwin, Grieg, Liszt, Mozart, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff, Scarlatti, Schubert, and Scriabin (the review of which can be found here).

 

Travel in time more than a decade and we now have before us this most recent release in Brawn’s recital series, this one devoted to the music of Scarlatti, who was born in Naples in 1685, which makes him contemporaneous with Bach and Handel. In his CD booklet notes, Brawn includes a quotation from Scarlatti that explains where Brawn drew the inspiration for the “Ingenuity and Delight” subtitle for this release: “Do not expect, O Dilettante or Professor, whoever you may be, in these compositions any profound intention, but rather an ingenious jesting with art, to accustom you to the frankness of the harpsichord… Show yourself more human than critical, and so you will increase your own delight… Live happily.” (As an aside, I must say – with considerable delight – how personally I can relate to Scarlatti’s invitation as I reflect on how our own Ryan Ross, a learned professor of music, is a devoted fan of the Scarlatti sonatas, while I, a music lover but dilettante nonetheless, have come to love Scarlatti’s sonatas the more I have listened to them over the past few years. Yes, they truly have increased the delight of dilettante and professor alike, at least here at Classical Candor…)

 

Brawn writes of Scarlatti’s sonatas that they are “mostly single-movement works in binary form – compact, self-contained dramas full of musical contrasts. These pieces are not sketches or fragments, but fully formed miniatures: some wistful, others playful or bold. Together, they form a kaleidoscopic view of 18^th-century imagination, filtered through the sensibilities of one of its most original minds. Each sonata unfolds like a scene in a theatre – shifting in mood, surprising in character, sometimes masking complexity behind apparent simplicity. Their impact lies in their conciseness and immediacy. Rather than elaborate development, Scarlatti favors quick turns, sudden key changes, and textures that alternate between elegance and raw energy.” When I listen to the Scarlatti sonatas, I sometimes find myself comparing and contrasting them with some of Bach’s keyboard works (as I write this, many of my grandkids are getting ready to return to school, and thinking about comparing and contrasting takes me all the way back to junior high – now I guess they now call it “middle school” – English and History classes with their “compare and contrast” essays). They are similar in overall sound, but Bach sounds more structured, Scarlatti a bit looser. Bach can sound more formal, Scarlatti more casual. But my goodness, they both give so much pleasure, they are both such masters!

 

But for sheer entertainment – delight! – Scarlatti sets an incredibly high bar. Just stick this CD into your machine (or stream it, if you must), hit PLAY, and prepare to be delighted by the exuberant high spirits of the opening K.1 Toccata, a two-minute romp that will bring a smile to many a music lover’s face. Other highlights include the high-spirited K.96 ‘La Caccia,’ the gently melodic K.208 ‘Cantabile,’ the sprightly K.430 ‘Un Ballo,’ and the stately K.513 ‘Pastorale.’ Other listeners will doubtless discover other favorites, for the album is a musical treat from the first track to the last, captured in pristine sound quality. Highly recommended.

Schubert: Piano Sonata No. 17 in D Major, D. 850; Schumann: Kinderszenen (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Arcadi Volodos, pianist. Sony 19658879292

Schubert is one of my favorite composers. I adore almost all of his music. Almost. But I’m afraid the D. 850 sonata is one of very few works by him that leaves me indifferent. Sure, it’s grand in scope and impressively crafted, not to mention one of his more technically difficult entries in the genre. But I feel that the quality of its materials is below his usual standard. Compared to D. 664, D. 784, and the stupendous D. 958-D. 960 trio, it’s the affective runt of the litter. What’s so odd is you hear the harmonic surprises and turns of phrases that so enrich his more distinctive music, but they’re in service of themes that fail to land as hard emotionally. What would be one of the stronger works by Dussek or Moscheles is for Schubert an expressive low point, however structurally ambitious.

 

Which makes reviewing recordings of it difficult for me. When listening, I have to keep my mind from wandering. But I know plenty of enthusiasts somehow swear by this sonata, so I buckled down and did my homework. Arcadi Volodos is an excellent pianist who is capable of compelling interpretations. What I look for in any Schubert performance is a versatility that captures his many different moods, from melancholy to glowing intimacy to moments of joy that arrive like sunbeams through the clouds. Known for his big, bright sound, Volodos is unsurprisingly more than equal to the first movement’s technical brilliance. (Indeed, I often sense his virtuosity testing the sonata’s seams.) What impresses me more, however, is his adoption of a plaintive sotto voce in the slow movement and in later passages. Overall, I think I still prefer superlative accounts by Kempff (DG 423 496-2) and Gilels (RCA 09026 61614 2), who traverse an ineffable extra inch and natively inhabit subtle shades of introspection. But while I’m a D. 850 agnostic, I feel confident recommending this performance as a generally strong alternative to more celebrated picks.

 

The competition stiffens with Schumann’s Kinderszenen. Perhaps consequently, Volodos’s interpretation slightly comes off as a good one trying to be great. True, he churns out some quality playing. His Nos. 2, 3, and 10 I found particularly strong, despite wearing a deliberation that is more cumbersome elsewhere. But I hear plenty of dynamic and articulative peccadillos that Volodos might mistake for artistic risks. In multiple places there is good piano-versus-pianissimo shading from one area to another (for example in Nos. 4, 7, and 12), but in others not (as in No. 11). More bothersome is when he ignores or under-observes these markings. The second section of No. 1 is too loud for piano, and ditto the opening chords of No. 13. The Schneller section of 11 is too loud for an indicated pianissimo throughout. Sometimes crescendos get mangled, as when the apex notes of the same No. 13’s opening chords (marked with that sign) are withheld dynamically. Other lapses include: a failure to fully execute marked slurring in No. 8, occasionally accenting first beats rather than last ones in No. 9, and playing the tied chord in the seventh measure of No. 13 staccato instead of maintaining its full written duration.

 

I should cut Volodos some slack, this being a live recording. As far as those go, the sound quality here is fantastic despite a brief crashing noise marring No. 13 at 1:15. Otherwise I had to remind myself this isn’t a studio disc, which I suppose is a testament to stellar engineering. The flip side is that the performance itself is more suited to a live concert. Which doesn’t make it a bad recorded interpretation, but I believe its misses (or liberties) better suit the stage. On CD they make it a few notches below the best. Volodos clearly attempts special moments – and sometimes succeeds. If he doesn’t quite have the same poetry for Kinderszenen as a Radu Lupu (Decca 440 496-2) or an Ivan Moravec (Supraphon 11-0359-2), who does? But there is enough interest across the entirety to justify storage space in most collections. Even the collection of an Imperfect 850-ite like me.

Elgar & Dvořák Cello Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Elgar: Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85; Dvořák: Cello Concerto in B Minor, Op. 104. Alban Gerhardt, cellist; Andrew Manze, conductor; WDR Sinfonieorchester. Hyperion CDA68486. 

In 1952, Ralph Vaughan Williams wrote the following in a letter to fellow English composer Rutland Boughton: “The truth is, I think, that when I am with Conservatives I become Socialistic and when I am with Socialists I become true blue Tory.” I feel a similar tension in multiple walks of life. With regard to classical music recordings, I have a tendency to talk out of both sides of my mouth: on the one hand I abhor performances that haphazardly heap on rubato and cheap theatrics in ladles, and on the other hand I want more than simply mechanical or workaday accounts. I am tempted to say it’s as simple as finding that sweet spot in between, but it isn’t always. Some performers go “all in” and seem to embody the music’s spirit in a way that my binary hardly tracks. Think Horowitz playing Schumann, or Bernstein at his best in Mahler. 

 

But not Alban Gerhardt playing Elgar’s and Dvořák’s Cello Concertos. It would be unfair to say that these new performances with Andrew Manze and the WDR Sinfonieorchester sound mechanical, but they do tend toward the workaday. Actually, Gerhardt gives the game away with his liner note remarks. He writes: “I grew up with the legendary recordings of these two extraordinary cello concertos by Mstislav Rostropovich and Jacqueline du Pré. Their interpretations have shaped generations of cellists and established a powerful performance tradition that continues to resonate today. While I have always admired both artists for their intensity and individuality, I found myself questioning certain interpretive choices from early on. When I began performing these works some 35 years ago, I felt a growing need to look beyond inherited conventions and return to the sources: the scores.”

 

Gerhardt goes on to say that he believes in maintaining a steady pulse, and that major disruptions to it do not necessarily translate to expressive depth. Read my review of Edward Gardner’s Brahms Second Symphony to see that this argument has resonated with me. But I’d be more torn about Gerhardt’s decisions here if it weren’t for one thing: the scores of these works themselves stress an emotional fervor (with markings like nobilmente and espressivo in the Elgar, and appassionato and grandioso in the Dvořák) that he largely undersupplies. And I am not simply referring to rubato, though there could be more of that given these markings. Gerhardt also employs limited tone color and abrupt phrasing, to mention only two further elements. In other words, he is selective about score instructions in a way he chooses not to acknowledge. The result is that tempi in both works are invigoratingly brisk, but in service of playing that too frequently sounds square and perfunctory, like a kid reciting memory work at parochial school. There’s a feeling of routineness that you certainly don’t get in the great performances to which Gerhardt brashly compares his own. 

 

The Elgar concerto suffers most from his approach. I have said elsewhere that too many contemporary performers are out of touch with Sir Edward’s sensibilities and cultural circumstances. He had, and his music reflects, values that they hardly recognize at best and disdain at worst. Paul Johnson, in his popular history Modern Times, writes that the concerto “conveys better than any words the unappeasable sadness of those days.” It represents Elgar at the end of a career he had struggled mightily to build, finding him a committed patriot witnessing the losses of the First World War and the beginning of an Empire’s decline, and a widower living his twilight years without a beloved wife who was his best friend and unfailing confidante. Rostropovich and du Pré capture these feelings and more. Gerhardt hardly does at all. The latter’s selective score-following can be heard at the very beginning, where he fudges a very clear largamentedirection in the opening figures as part of an impatient start. That sets the tone for what follows. Multiple espressivos are virtually ignored; it’s often difficult to differentiate them from unmarked soloist passages. Or observe how frequently Elgar indicates a largamente or ritardando followed by some sort of a tempo. What more does he have to do to write judicious rubato into his score?! Gerhardt’s reluctance on this point defines the proceedings. The dotted-rhythm figure at the beginning of Rehearsal 22 in the second movement is emblematic. Ideal performers dispatch this with savory relish. Gerhardt is comparatively free of gusto. Gusto, of course, is something distinct from overall tempo. Speed should not be confused with passion. Too often do Manze and his soloist blow through music that should be more deliberate. For instance, Elgar indicates Allegro, ma non troppo (quarter = ca. 108) for the march in the finale. These performers instead approach quarter = 116-118 in a manner that is almost flippant. I’m usually a fan of faster paces, but theirs is unsupported by requisite rhetorical intensity. Worst of all is the last major theme. Both soloist and orchestra strip it of its breathtaking fervor in what is a frail handling of the conclusion. This is virtually Elgar’s autumnal farewell, and should be rendered as such. 

 

Dvořák’s concerto fares considerably better, mostly because it more easily withstands Gerhardt’s reserve. Certainly the work is grand and emotional, but it does not quite wear the creator’s tender vulnerabilities on its sleeve in the way that Elgar’s does. What we get is a boilerplate performance that goes through the motions well but unremarkably. Our performers even make attempts at passion, particularly in the second movement. Once more, however, the difference between good and great becomes apparent when we compare it to one of my favorite classic recordings: Pierre Fournier with George Szell and the Berlin Philharmonic (DG 423 881-2). Gerhardt for once doesn’t lack earnestness, but both he and his orchestra sound heavy and forced, whereas Fournier and Company supply a supple warmth that better accentuates the music’s flavor. Still, the present interpretation is sturdy, and in the final analysis a respectable option if no more. 

 

And so here I am once again having to remain honest by dealing glumly with a new release of well-worn repertoire. The difference this time is that Gerhardt himself is explicit about what his “schtick” is, which, far from distinguishing this catalogue entry, betrays conceptual flaws that I could only speculate about if he had remained mum. But we don’t really need his justifications to know that what we have here is essentially another musician who is too afraid of being sentimental. In that sense, Gerhardt is all too typical of our times. To a certain extent I get it. Guarding against interpretive overreach is a valid precaution. But becoming one of C. S. Lewis’s “Men Without Chests” should equally be avoided. 

Fusions (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross 

Kapustin: Piano Sonata No. 2; 8 Concert Etudes, op. 40 (selection); Variations, Op. 41; Gershwin: 3 Preludes; Earl Wild: 7 Virtuoso Etudes after George Gershwin. Nikolay Medvedev, pianist. SOMM CD 0724

 When Nikolai Kapustin died in July of 2020, The New York Times failed to run an obituary. Of course, the newspaper provided glowing tributes to Kaija Saariaho and Sofia Gubaidulina when they passed away in 2023 and 2025, respectively. Not that the latter two composers should not have been recognized, but the contrast speaks to a disconnect between elite agenda-setters and the wider world of performers and music lovers. As they did with Gershwin and Rachmaninoff, critical and academic establishments tend to underestimate composers with direct appeal, especially those who shamelessly incorporate popular idioms into their works. Today Gershwin and Rachmaninoff have critical respect to an extent that belies their press treatment 75-100 years ago. True, some of this amounts to eccentric attempts to make them over as some or other kind of “modernists.” But it is clear by now that previous generations of pundits often got tripped up by their own customary snobbery.

 

I think a similar thing is happening with Nikolai Kapustin. His name now regularly graces concerts, competitions, and recordings. He has enjoyed the advocacy of such high-profile pianists as Marc-André Hamelin and Yuja Wang. But with occasional exceptions, his critical and academic standing remains paltry. The NYT’s omission, while lacking the vituperative flavor of early-20th-century criticism of Gershwin especially, speaks volumes about a figure some still view as a crossover curiosity rather than one of the most vibrant voices of late 20th- and early 21st-century classical music. It will be clear by now that I am firmly of the latter persuasion. Indeed, I’ll go further: Kapustin is the most recent in a historical line of great keyboardist-composers stretching at least back to Bach and Scarlatti, continuing through Chopin, Schumann, and Liszt, and blossoming anew via Rachmaninoff, Medtner, Scriabin, and Prokofiev.

 

This new SOMM release featuring pianist Nikolay Medvedev suggests a self-conscious advocacy of jazz-meets-classical with its title Fusions. If that is the case, I have a quibble. It is a mark of how much high modernist rot has infected our discourse that we look at what is offered here – works by Gershwin, Kapustin, and Earl Wild (paraphrasing Gershwin) – as its own special thing rather than a reflection of what high-handed commentators often ignore: popular and “classical” elements have long enjoyed interweaving throughout the tradition. Just because we are far removed from Beethoven’s incorporation of folk culture into his works, or Chopin’s massive debt to ethnic Polish dances and other vernacular manners, for example, does not mean they do not find clear reflection in what both Gershwin and Kapustin practiced. So, while Fusions is a technically correct description of what is going on here, I would love to see a point at which underlying self-consciousness becomes unnecessary.

 

Medvedev’s disc adds to Kapustin’s increasing traction. By my count, this performance of the Second Piano Sonata puts the total commercial release tally at just under 10 (depending upon how you count), while his selection of Op. 40 Concert Études shares company with well past two dozen others. The Op. 41 Variations here enjoy an outing in nearly as robust a crowd. In other words, the Kapustin discography alone (which scheduled future releases will only grow) is starting to reflect his true stature. It is clear to anyone who has followed this growth that Marc-André Hamelin’s and Steven Osborne’s Hyperion releases (CDA67159, CDA67275, CDA67433, and CDA67656) from the early 2000s really kick-started the present enthusiasm. In a sense, these stunning releases have been a blessing and a curse: a blessing for their effective advocacy, and a curse because of the dauntingly high bar they set for subsequent recording artists. When Kapustin heard Hamelin perform the Second Sonata in London, he gifted the super-virtuoso a signed copy of the score with a note that he didn’t think it likely anyone could play the piece better. I somehow doubt this will be true for all time, but right now Hamelin’s interpretation on CDA67656 seems consistent with Kapustin’s frank assessment.

 

To let the cat entirely out of the bag, Medvedev’s Second Sonata interpretation here is overall on the second tier. The culprit is the first movement, which admittedly makes fearsome pianistic demands. To a greater extent than the rest of the piece, this section at once needs firm technical command, inner-voice sensitivity, formal awareness, rhythmic drive, and a certain sense of sweep all at once. Keeping it together requires ability of a high order. Medvedev makes a valiant attempt, but his inner voices are sometimes smudged or underplayed, his phrase endings occasionally abrupt, and his narrative grip sometimes slightly off. The issue is not one of insufficient technique, but rather a shaky conception of the movement that gives the impression of drowning in its difficulties. This is all the more unfortunate because Medvedev dispatches the remainder of the sonata very solidly indeed. The resplendent Largo in particular is a thing of beauty, and shows the performer’s gift for velvety atmospheres that he will again demonstrate in later offerings.

 

The other Kapustin works here receive good to excellent treatment. Together with most of Ligeti’s and Glass’s études, Kapustin’s Op. 40 set is now staple late-20th-century fare. Expectations are therefore already high, and for the most part Medvedev acquits himself admirably in five of eight total numbers he has chosen. The opening and closing ones exude a polish that is substantially missing in the first movement of the sonata, while the Reverie and Intermezzo also come off very convincingly. Slightly less impressive is his Pastorale, a piece with breezy tunefulness and intricate rhythms. Medvedev slightly under-shoots the tempo, and does not consistently highlight different layers of activity. Still, the overall Op. 40 outing here is quite good. Better yet is his performance of the Op. 41 Variations, a work well on its way to canonic status. This is as good an interpretation as I have heard. Medvedev illuminates every little mood and intricacy along the way to a thrilling finish. Would that such panache and control have made their way into the sonata opening.

 

The remaining selections are Gershwin-focused. We get a fine account of the famous 3 Preludes, which stands tall even against ubiquitous competition. Medvedev is able to transfer what works so well in the slow movement of Kapustin’s Second Sonata to the more languid moments of this small masterpiece. Perhaps best of all are the complete 7 Virtuoso Etudes after George Gershwin by Earl Wild, which are essentially miniature paraphrases on some well-known popular songs. These accentuate Medvedev’s strengths and show that his playing can be superlatively smooth and well-judged in the right setting. Highlights include the fabulously rendered No. 5 (based on Lady Be Good) and No. 3 (The Man I Love). Perhaps the penultimate number (based on I Got Rhythm) could use a tad more melodic accentuation, but such a criticism strains at gnats compared to what Medvedev does right across the whole. Together with the Kapustin Variations, the Wild studies are the best reason to purchase Fusions.

On the whole, then, a quality release. If some playing does not quite measure up to the rest, the lows are not low enough to negate many very real highs. Most importantly, with each strong entry into the Kapustin discography his music becomes ever more difficult to ignore, and increasingly harder to square with the outdated view of music history represented by The New York Times’s obituary snub. A wise person once said that history does not repeat, but it rhymes. Gershwin won immortality out of all proportion to how he was treated by the haughty critics of his day. I predict that if Kapustin’s current slighters could read the music history books of times hence, they might be surprised at the fleeting relevance of certain present preoccupations, as well as the rising stock of specific figures now assigned lesser worth. Medvedev’s album is a sturdy brick in that long road.

Chopin Orbit (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Sumino/Chopin: prologue; Chopin: Étude “Aeolian Harp op. 25/1; Sumino: Lydian Harp; Chopin: Prélude “Raindrop” op. 28/15; Sumino: Raindrop Postlude; Chopin: Étude “Black Keys” op. 10/5; Sumino: White Keys; Chopin: Mazurka op. 24/2; Adès: Mazurka op. 27/2; Chopin: Nocturne in C-sharp minor; Sumino/Chopin: Larghetto after 2^nd mvt. of Piano Concerto No. 2; Chopin: Berceuse op. 57; Janácek: Good Night!; Chopin: Polonaise-Fantaisie in A-flat major op. 61; Sumino: Imaginary Polonaise; Chopin: Grande Valse brillante in E-flat major op. 18; Godowsky/Chopin: Concert Paraphrase of Chopin’s Grande Valse brillante. Hayato Sumino, piano. Sony Classics 19958400662

Japanese pianist Hayato Sumino (b. 1995) holds a master’s degree in engineering, but he is also a skilled musician with a special affection for the music of Chopin. On his new Sony Classic release titled Chopin Orbit, he presents not a standard recital of Chopin piano works, but rather an album that includes Chopin’s music plus some of his own compositions as well as works by other composers. The end result is an album that maintains a consistent mood and aesthetic from start to finish, showing the high regard Sumino holds for Chopin and highlighting the range and depth of the Polish master’s creative output. Following the gentle prologue that opens the program, we then hear some Chopin pieces paired with responses; first by Sumino (his Raindrop Postlude in response to Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude and his White Keys in response to Chopin’s “Black Keys” Étude), then by Adès (his Mazurka in response to Chopin’s). The Sumino pieces follow very much in the style of Chopin, complementing them nicely; the Adès, however, presents an unexpected splash of notes. The first time I heard it, I frankly thought it was awful – but on further listening, I have become less harsh in my judgment. It’s, well, interesting, good-natured, fun in its own way – but does not seem to quite fit in with the rest of the program. (In his liner notes, Sumino explains why he included the piece, closing with, “the result is not so much a dance as a reflection on the idea of dance itself, disassembled, reimagined, and delicately surreal.”)

 

Following a Chopin Nocturne we then come to a truly entertaining track, Sumino’s Larghetto, which he explains, “is a recomposition of the second movement from Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2. Imagined through a contemporary lens, it poses the question: ‘What if Chopin were alive today, performing in a jazz club instead of a 19^th-century salon?’ The intimate and improvisatory spirit found in his music resonates naturally with the atmosphere of jazz.”  Although that description might lead some to expect something hokey or vulgar, rest assured that Sumino delivers a performance that manages to capture both the spirit of Chopin and the feeling of a jazz pianist in an intimate setting. It’s utterly spellbinding. 

 

Sumino then presents a pair of introspective compositions, Chopin’s Berceuse and Good Night! by Janácek, before raising the energy level with two more pairings. First, he follows Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantaisie with his own Imaginary Polonaise. Sumino notes that he is “mindful that the polonaise carries deep cultural meaning for Chopin and his homeland. To honor that spirit, I let my own heritage speak. While the rhythm follows the polonaise’s steady pulse, I wove in gentle waves of Japanese dance at certain moments.” Finally, Sumino brings the album to an energetic close by following Chopin’s Grand Valse brillante with Godowsky’s rousing Concert Paraphrase. 

 

Thanks to Chopin, Sumino, and the engineers (Jonathan Allen, Philipp Nadel, and Martin Kistner), this is a release of beautiful music that should appeal to a wide range of listeners – from those just beginning to discover classical music to those who have enjoyed it for many decades. And if you want to get some young person you know interested in something other than pop music, you might try suggesting they give this one a try. You never know… 

Joep Beving: Liminal (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Beving: Through the Looking-Glass; Ida; Arcadia; From Where One Hears the Willow Speak; Wild Renaissance; Elysium; When Humans Do Algorythms; Incantation in B-flat Minor; Sfumato; Play; Heterotopia; Immanence; Ghostly Chicken. Joep Beving, piano, electronics. Deutsche Grammophon 486 8427

When I went back to look at the review we published back in 2022 of one of Beving’s previous releases, the fascinating Hermetism (the review of which you can read here), I was surprised to find that the post with the Hermetism review also included a review of a book by the esteemed music critic Alex Ross, who, sadly enough, recently left his post as classical music critic for The New Yorker. Read the review, read his book… Anyway, back to Dutch composer and pianist Joep Beving (b. 1976). He was interested in music in his youth, studied the piano, but an injury to his wrist forced him to give up serious piano study. Instead, he wound up studying public policy and ended up with a career in the advertising business, but his musical talent enabled him to work his way into composing jingles and background music for commercials. In 2010, he composed the soundtrack for a short film; then in 2015, he not only scored another short film, but he also released his first album, titled Solipsism.

 

Fast-forward to 2026 and we have Liminal, Beving’s most recent release for Deutsche Grammophon. Like the music on Hermetism, the music on Liminal is a collection of tunes that hover in that space somewhere between modern classical and New Age. According to Beving, “the album moves between two sides. Sometimes, I try to shape and refine sound into its purest form. Other times, the music seems to flow on its own, shifting, fading, and returning to silence as if guided by something natural. It’s less about structure and more about connection, resonance, and change, closer to ecology than architecture.” The majority of the music is on the contemplative end of the spectrum, but there is always an underlying feeling of motion and energy – the music never feels static or repetitive. The tune When Humans Do Algorythms, in fact, is quite lively and bouncy in its own way. Two especially engaging compositions are Arcadia and Wild Renaissance (you can find a YouTube video of the latter here). For those willing to explore music beyond the standard classical repertoire, but don’t want to be assaulted by dissonance, I humbly recommend this lovely album.

Korngold & Barber Violin Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Korngold: Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35; Barber: Violin Concerto, Op. 14. Paul Huang, violinist; Jun Märkl, conductor; London Philharmonic Orchestra. Naïve V8121

On a whim I typed into Google Gemini, “The Barber and Korngold Violin Concertos are sentimental.” The surprisingly lengthy response I got was something along the lines of, “that’s a fair criticism, but these works are actually very soundly constructed.” Say what you want about the perils of AI (and I would probably agree), but sometimes our electronic assistants soberly reflect real tendencies of human beings. In this case, Gemini reasonably assumed I was being negative, because that’s how the term frequently gets used nowadays. When I replied that I meant “sentimental” as a compliment, and was praising these works’ fervent emotional expression, it confirmed that this indeed was long the primary definition, eclipsed since the early 20th century by pejorative connotations. If you dig even a little into these concertos’ reception histories, you will soon find more than enough to justify Gemini’s defensive pose. Or just observe how often reviewers praise a performance of Romantic repertoire because it ‘avoids dipping into sentimentality.’

 

Who do such critics think they’re trying to reassure? Surely not the performers and audiences who have long treasured these concertos, even as the music was being panned for flouting modernist sensibilities they scarcely shared. In other words, I think your average listener enjoys them precisely because they are so heartfelt and melodically memorable…and yes, because they remind them of the film scores some critics also like to trash. So, by this measure, performances that embody sentimentality may just strike a chord with a wide swath of people. Thus reoriented, I can tell you that Paul Huang’s interpretations here with Jun Märkl and the LPO actually do avoid much of this sentimentality, but maybe that’s not what the music really needs.

 

If Huang’s intention was to establish a distinctive sound, he succeeds. Especially in the Korngold. The soloists in what I would consider to be its benchmark performances (Shaham, Heifetz, and Perlman, in that order) each adopt fuller, more lush tones that capture a certain Hollywood wistfulness. By contrast, Huang’s rendition gleams with sharper edges. I wouldn’t say that he ducks the lyrical themes and climactic points, exactly, but they do come across differently in his hands. Compare, for instance, his middle movement with Heifetz’s on RCA (LM 1782). Huang is bright and clear, while Heifetz silkily weaves a web of nostalgia or some other dreamlike state. The one elicits respect, the other, love. Huang’s finale similarly undersells the music’s inherent warmth by accentuating some percussive aspects on top of his preference for cooler precision. I kept thinking how adroit he would be in Bartók. He should make those concertos a future project.

 

Huang’s Barber Concerto carries some of these same tendencies but lies closer to the mean. The melodic lines, particularly in the first movement, are nice and expansive. But we’re still missing a last 10% expressively. The climactic tutti is a good example, and here for the first time I’ll implicate Märkl, who holds back the orchestra just a bit. Poise and clarity are everywhere to be found both here and in the following section. Torrid virtuosity brings the performance to a satisfying close. There is a certain radiance overall. But while I can hear everything uncommonly well, I don’t always feel everything as much as I want to. Those critics so worried about dipping into sentimentality (both in these concertos and elsewhere) should be at least as worried about dipping into sterility. Somehow, they hardly ever are.

 

Nonetheless, I do actually recommend this recording. While it isn’t my preferred take on these beloved works, it is an incisive one that provides a credible foil to what we’re used to. It is smart and certainly effective after its fashion; I admire that in this case. So, if you have room in your collection for multiple Korngold and Barber Concerto releases, by all means go ahead, scoop this up, and listen to it occasionally. But if you’re in the market for one trusty take and no more, it's still gotta be Shaham's pairing on DG (439 886-2).

Recent Releases No. 82 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Mahler: Symphony No. 5. Grand Teton Music Festival Orchestra; Sir Donald Runnicles, conductor. Reference Recordings FR-763SACD

Mahler is one of those composers who looms almost larger than life in the world of classical music – and beyond. Even those without much knowledge of his actual music seem to have heard of him, making him a kind of cultural touchstone, a name to be dropped in casual conversation to establish one’s credentials as a hip intellectual. His symphonies are grand, powerful, colorful, tender, expressive, intimate – the listener can find all manner of emotional and musical expression within Mahler’s world. His Fifth Symphony is a prime example of Mahler’s range of expression, with its opening funeral march, agitated second movement, the tender Adagietto third movement, and rollicking finale. Mahler’s music demands excellent engineering, and as expected, Reference Recordings once again delivers just that. But what about performance? The orchestra is not exactly a household name. However, we reviewed their previous release, also under the baton of Maestro Runnicles, and found it to be quite worthy of recommendation (you can see that review of the Beethoven piano concertos here). Runnicles has the orchestra in fine form; combined with the excellent engineering, you can listen right into the heart of the music. The Adagietto is a bit on the slow side (10:05) but does not feel overly sentimentalized. Overall, this is a fine performance in top-notch sound that will stay on my shelf along with other favorite accounts such as Bernstein (DG), Haenchen (Pentatone), Abravanel (Vanguard), Abbado (DG). and Boulez (DG). Mahler fans would do well to give it an audition.

 

Victor Le Masne: Ravel Recomposed. Ravel: Boléro; Le Jardin Féerique (from Ma Mére l’Oye ballet, M. 35); Assez Vif, Trés Rhythmé; Jeux D’Eau, M. 30); Il Est Bon, L’Enfant. Il Est Sage (from L’Enfant et Les Sortiléges, M. 71); Mouvement de Menuet (from Sonatine, M. 40); Pavane pour une Infante Défunte, M. 19; Adagio Assai (from Piano Concerto in G Major, M. 83); Chanson Hébraïque (from Chant Populaires, M. A17); Le Gibet (from Gaspard de la Nuit, M. 55); Une Barque sur l’Océan (from Miroirs, M. 43); Lever du Jour (from Daphnis et Chloé Suite No. 2, M. 57B). Victor Le Masne, conductor, Fender Rhodes, synthesizers, piano, kalimba, drums; Christine & The Queens, vocals, lyrics (on Boléro); Adrian Edeline, guitar; Scoring Berlin, ensemble, choir; Julius Asal, piano; Colette, lyrics (on Il Est Bon, L’Enfant. Il Est Sage); Laurent Vernerey, bass; Camille Thomas, cello. Deutsche Grammophon 4867530

Those readers who have been following Classical Candor for a long time may well be familiar with the concept of a composer’s works somehow being “recomposed” by another composer. “Now, hold on just a minute, Karl,” I can already hear some of you muttering amongst yourselves, “of course I’m familiar with this concept, a prime example being what Ravel himself did with Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, taking a piano suite and recomposing it into a beloved orchestral score.” Well, you certainly have a point, and if we give the matter a bit more thought, we might come to realize that Ravel never claimed to have “recomposed’ the music of Mussorgsky, but rather merely to have orchestrated it: i.e., taken a Mussorgsky work written for the piano and arranged it for orchestra. A more convincing case for the concept of recomposition can be made for what German-born British composer Max Richter (b. 1966) has done with Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. Richter says that he discarded about 75% of Vivaldi’s original score when coming up with his recomposed version for solo violin, synthesizer, and chamber orchestra; however, the new version retains much of the flavor of the original. We have reviewed three different recordings of Richter’s delightful composition – or recomposition – over the years: the original version, with Richter on synthesizer, Daniel Hope on violin, and Andre De Ridder conducting the Konzerthaus Kammerorchester Berlin (you can read John Puccio's 2014 review here); an “original instruments” version, this time with Richter playing a vintage Moog synthesizer and solo violinist Elena Urioste and the Chineke! Orchestra playing on gut strings (that 2022 review can be found here); and a recording by French-born violinist Etienne Gara and the Los Angeles-based chamber group Delirium Musicum (you can read that 2023 review here). And along similar lines, we also reviewed an instance of a famous composition being not recomposed, but rather “remixed,” in the case of Gabriel Prokofiev (b.1975), grandson of Sergei, who along with conductor Yaniv Segal and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales present a version of the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth reimagined for electronics and orchestra (you can find that review here).

Perhaps it was the widespread name recognition of Ravel’s Boléro that led to that composition being chosen as the first track on this release; unfortunately, however, Le Masne’s recomposition, which turns it into a melodramatic vocal piece featuring Christine & The Queens, retains the melody but loses all of the building tension which makes Boléro interesting in the first place. It’s the weakest track on the album, not a good way to kick things off. Things get better with the succeeding tracks, with the movements from the String Quartet, Sonatine, and Piano Concerto working especially well in in their arrangements for synths. Devoted fans of Ravel’s music might find these renditions of Ravel’s music of interest, but those new to Ravel would do better to listen to his music in its original settings first. Be forewarned that several of the cuts feature prominent levels of bass – it might be best not to turn the volume up right away. 

Saint-Saëns: Symphony No. 3 “Organ Symphony” (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Paolo Bordignon, organ; Park Avenue Chamber Symphony; David Bernard, conductor. Recursive Classics RC5230977

The last time we reviewed a recording by the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony, their sparkling account of the Mahler 9 , we offered a fairly lengthy explanation of why the name “Chamber Symphony” should not be taken to mean that they are anything other than a full-sized symphony orchestra – well-suited for Mahler, well-suited for Saint-Saëns. Wording on the cover of this latest release proclaims that this is a “Live InsideOut Concerts^® Recording.” Maestro Bernard has developed methods for seating audience members amongst the orchestra to enhance their listening experience, recently earning a patent for algorithms he has developed to precisely arrange seating based on the hall, orchestra, and other parameters. Although we have occasionally expressed reservation about live recordings, the engineering on this release is remarkably good, offering a stereo soundstage that is deep, wide, and coherent. The engineering perfectly complements the music, which as the delightfully informative notes by critic David Patrick Stearns points out, abounds with subtle details. As you listen to a fine recording such as this one, it’s easy to appreciate that it’s so much more than just a showpiece for the organ.

 

Of the potential problems presented by the organ, Stearns explains, “Saint-Saëns breezily remarked that his symphony should do well in America thanks to the presence of many organs. In fact, the organ is the primary challenge to be solved. Great organs are based in great churches – amid acoustics not favorable to orchestras. In many recordings, the organ has been recorded separately – sometimes continents away – and synched, not always comfortably, with the orchestra. Balances that favor the organ detract from the orchestra and vice versa. ‘For 140 years, the Organ Symphony has been approximated,’ remarked David Bernard in a April 2026 piece for Gramophone Online. ‘It has never quite been performed.’ Modern digital organs are one possibility. But as Bernard reveals, the ideal solution is highly elusive.”

 

Is this new recording by Maestro Bernard, his Park Avenue players, and organist Bordignon that highly elusive ideal solution? The answer to that question will depend upon the expectations of the listener, of course. In terms of the precision of the playing, the transparency and balance of the sound, and the integration of the sound of the organ with the sound of the orchestra, this release is certainly top-notch. To my ears, I enjoyed not being overwhelmed by the sound of the organ; however, I believe that there may be some listeners who might wish for a bigger, more dramatic organ sound. To them, I can recommend the old Telarc with Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra and Michael Murray at the organ. But to my ears, the sonic balance on this new Recursive Classics release is perfectly suited for the appreciation of this remarkable symphony. The organ takes its place as part of the music-making, not as the main attraction. 

 

In summary, what we have here is an audiophile-quality recording of a live performance of the Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony” which does not highlight the organ but places it in balance with the orchestra. The CD booklet features an essay by David Patrick Stearns that offers some insights noy only into the Saint-Saëns work but also into the French symphonic scene in general. For fans of Saint-Saëns – or anyone just starting to get into classical music, for that matter – this release earns my highest recommendation.

Copland: Symphony No. 3; Walker: Sinfonia No. 5 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Sir Antonio Pappano, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. LSO Live LSO0916

Aaron Copland’s Third Symphony has often been criticized for not being “symphonic” enough. It’s too ballet-like, too theatrical, and insufficiently structured to be a true symphony, goes such “wisdom.” (And to that the cardinal sin against pedantry: it’s too crowd-pleasing.) But as I have suggested elsewhere, the joke is firmly on these critics. They’re an object lesson in how selective historical understanding and mythmaking can turn intelligent commentators into purveyors of fiction. I’ll repeat what I’ve said here before: Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven burst onto the stage when the symphony genre was already underway. They did not determine what it must be for all time. There is no True Symphony, and especially not one forged by them in Vienna like The One Ring by Sauron in Mordor. Furthermore, Copland wasn’t a rare example of someone who failed to toe some immutable symphonic line; he was one of a large number of composers aware of classical precedent but who flouted it anyway.

Where symphonic whipping-boys like Copland (and, famously, Tchaikovsky before him) were actually heirs of Beethoven was in their conscious use of the symphony as a vehicle for monumentality. And it is difficult to think of a more monumental American symphony than this Third by the “Dean of American Composers.” Sure, you could make the case that several others are every bit as impressive in certain respects, or variously more deserving of the storied “Great American Symphony” label. (Roy Harris’s own Third is a frequent candidate in such discourse.) But in terms of monumentality, virtually no other symphony from these United States competes. A monument to what, you say? Copland himself divulged that the music captures the United States’ euphoric mood after the Allied victory over the Axis powers. Others have pointed to the finale’s incorporation of the Fanfare for the Common Man, and akin motives throughout, to suggest that the whole is also a tribute to the American spirit and landscape. If all of these associations hold (and I think they do), they’re under-served by this otherwise solid performance at the hands of Antonio Pappano and the LSO.

What’s amiss in this interpretation are subtle things that end up mattering disproportionately for the total experience. The orchestral playing is fantastic, and Pappano’s conception of the work even has a reasonable consistency of its own. But I think he misses the music’s character in several respects. In the first movement he elicits a big sound from his players. He clearly wants to hit those dynamic highs and strong brass statements. But they’re often just short of noisy, when a touch of understatement might better capture moods of steady gravitas. Equally, I find the motives sometimes a bit crimped and the pacing slightly abrupt. There’s a subtle strangeness of musical prosody that makes large swaths sound wooden.

The following scherzo movement is one of two low points. Its opening flourish proceeds promisingly enough, but the quicker outer sections are sluggish, sometimes mildly overworked, and lacking a necessary breeze. The tempo direction here is Allegro molto, but this does not even feel like Allegro. LSO personnel nail the intricate passages, but under direction that dulls their effect. It almost reminds me of someone speaking too formally in a setting that doesn’t call for it. If you’re new to classical music, imagine covering the Baja Men’s hit tune but singing, “Who Let the Canines Out?"

Movement 3 comes off best, but is still not free of such issues. The Andantino quasi allegretto tempo gets its due. Pappano correctly takes the hint and resists the lagging that burdens previous passages. His ear for sonority here is excellent, and some fine orchestral colors emerge. The latter portion of the finale likewise benefits from strong execution but remains on the heavy side. Most of all, the opening Fanfare phase sounds off to my ears. Once more, conception rather than playing is at fault. This is too pompous, too ceremonial. We need more Bob Costas and less King George…more liberty and less royalty.

If Copland 3 is a monument partially to the American spirit, that’s exactly what’s missing here. For someone who has spent so much time in the United States, it is surprising that Pappano hardly ever captures the experiential world Copland seems to be evoking. The next time he visits, someone should take him to Fenway for a ballgame and a hotdog. Or better, he might find his way to some hole-in-wall diner in Nowhere, Nebraska, where from a laminate-topped table he can hear the rhythms of surrounding conversations, and watch through a window while big John Deeres harvest corn. Or, if that’s a bridge too far, I would prescribe some John Steinbeck fiction, in which a certain psychological ease leavens even the heaviest circumstances. As it stands, Sir Antonio’s Copland has a definite European accent.

Whereas some think Copland’s Third Symphony works better as monumentality than as “symphonic structure,” George Walker’s Sinfonia No. 5 has structure to recommend it and little else. While I haven’t studied the score, I can well imagine that this music dots every integrative “i”. But absolutely nothing memorable transpires during its mercifully short 15 minutes. The decision to pair it with the Copland is a real head-scratcher, as many much more deserving companion pieces could have been chosen from the American repertoire. If another Harris 3 coupling was undesirable, what about David Diamond’s The Enormous Room, or Howard Hanson’s Elegy in Memory of Serge Koussevitzky, or one of Barber’s Essays? A sharp outing of any could have salvaged the whole project nicely and made a merely decent Copland 3 a better buy. Instead, we have multiple shades of missed opportunity.