Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Piano Works

 by Bill Heck

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Piedigrotta 1924,  Op. 32; Alghe, Op. 12; I naviganti, Op. 13; Cielo di settembre, Op. 1; Calma (A Giramonte); Terrazze; Le stagioni, Op. 33. Adriano Murgia, piano. Piano Classics PCL10347

Sharp-eyed readers may recall my review some months ago of Platero y Yo, a series of vignettes for solo guitar composed by Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, as played by Niklas Johansen. The review here illustrates the old saying that “one thing leads to another”, at least in the musical world: my interest in those works for guitar led me to the current release of the same composer’s music for solo piano.

Let’s start with a quick note about Castelnuovo-Tedesco, and please excuse a bit of repetition if you’ve read the Platero review. Born in Italy in 1895, he studied music early in the 20^th century and quickly became fascinated with the work of Debussy, who remained one of the major influences on Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s own path. He later was influenced by the contrapuntal techniques of mentors like Ildebrando Pizzeti (whose name is the basis of one of the works on this album). By the 1930’s, he was a rising star internationally, developing musical relationships with figures such as Andres Segovia, Jascha Heifetz, and Gregor Piatigorsky.

In 1939, however, he fled the racial (antisemitic)  policies of Mussolini’s fascist Italy. His reputation inspired prominent American musicians to support his entry into the US and then to relaunch his career, first as a piano soloist and then as a composer. While he continued to compose in the classical tradition, he became better known (and presumably better compensated) for his work on film scores. He also taught composition, with a significant number of subsequently famous musicians in his classes. Castelnuovo-Tedesco passed away in 1968.

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco

Contemporary listeners might be forgiven for asking why, if Castelnuovo-Tedesco was so great, has his music passed into obscurity today? Well, first, obscurity is not quite the right word. Although one would hardly call him well-known, a good number of recordings of his music are out there, especially of works for orchestra, including two piano concertos; for guitar; and for solo piano. More generally, though, I've noticed perhaps a little more interest in the works of lesser-known composers lately, particularly with the rise of independent record labels. And, if I may be allowed a little speculation, I suspect that several factors may have played a role in his relative eclipse, including not only the tendency of both concert promoters and attendees to go with safe, well-known choices but also the nature of his music. His compositions are not the sort that produce shouts of praise and standing ovations in concerts, nor are they the subject of music appreciation lectures. Whatever the causes, although Castelnuovo-Tedesco may not be top of mind for many listeners, I think that he's one of those composers whose music, once given a chance, turns out to be interesting and enjoyable, exhibiting some real depth.

Consider, for instance the first movement of Piedigrotta, the Tarantella scura (“dark tarantella”). The folk dance zips right along at first as we think it should, but storm clouds intrude in the form of odd bass lines and strange harmonies. This is not a simple country celebration, but a more emotionally complex occasion.

Or take the Fantasia e fuga sul nombre di Ildebrando Pizzetti: the music keeps trying to be a straightforward fugue, but is frequently distracted, so to speak, with all sorts of musical exclamations and interludes, not in a bad way but in imaginative variety.

Meanwhile, Murgia’s playing is fine. He conveys the music with a nice mix of control and freedom; I might have a few minor quibbles here and there but distracting mannerisms are nowhere to be found. One might ask how his performances compare to those on other available recordings, but there’s a snag: the composer's prodigious output means that pianists recording his works won’t often choose the same ones. For example, David Witten’s list of tracks overlaps this one only with the Piedigrotta 1924; same for the fine album by Mark Bennington; that of Jordi Masó has only the brief I naviganti in common; and so on. I certainly haven’t heard anywhere near every album of Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s music for solo piano, not to mention albums on which his compositions appear alongside works by other composers. But to my ear Murgia’s performances hold their own and he does have the benefit of Piano Classics engineering for superb sound. All in all, this album is a great place to start for those interested in exploring Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s work.

Hourglass: Music by Philip Glass (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Simone Dinnerstein, director and pianist; Baroklyn, strings. Naïve V9238

In one of his film reviews, Roger Ebert commented that he judges a movie by what it’s trying to do and how well he thinks it does it. I don’t review every classical music release this way, because I place unequal value on the different things composers and performers try to do. But when tasked with reviewing the music of Philip Glass, I’m faced with special challenges that remind me of Ebert’s quip. The central problem is this: I’m a firm believer in postminimalism, and especially Glass’s brand of it; but I’m awkwardly aware that the standards by which I come down on others’ music don’t apply here. For example, see my February 11th Avril Coleridge-Taylor review. Glass flouts those standards more completely than she does. The difference is that he does so on purpose. I used to sneer at this purpose, much like the haughty critics who still do. But I no longer hate what he does. Indeed, I’m quite won over. If that makes me kind of a hypocrite, so be it. 

 

In minimalism’s early days the emphasis was on subtle changes over extended repetitive structures. Something of that pattern carries over to postminimalism of the 1980s and beyond, but with more commercial appeal and less biting experimentalism. Repetition and commercial appeal aren’t the ingredients formalist critics tend to espouse. But I think we’ve had enough biting experimentalism in classical music during the past century to last us five more. And by now composers have integrated and ‘organicized’ everything under the sun, to cheering generations of pedants who should have been mathematicians instead of music pundits. Can we ever take a break from all of that? My focus is instead on distinctiveness and communicative power. When it comes to those, Glass has much going for him. He composes with the pragmatism of a man who once installed appliances to make ends meet, and who understands the importance of a good paycheck. 

If you’re like the people I’ve just spent two paragraphs scolding, you’ll hate this new disc. It is difficult to think of two works by Glass that more epitomize his style since the 1980s. The score for The Hours is perhaps his best-known film music, deftly coloring the picture’s themes of alienation and tragedy. Here it’s arranged by Michael Riesman for piano, strings, harp, and celesta. In this guise it loses no expressive strength; indeed, it almost seems like an extension of the original that Glass himself might have scored, so often does his postminimalism leverage timbre for its most powerful effects. Nor does one necessarily need to have viewed the film for a meaningful listening experience. Maybe that’s true in order to get the most out of it. But “most” isn’t everything, and that’s what film music scoffers repeatedly fail to understand. When I listen to The Hours score I hear an “end of history” type of world-weariness that surfaces in much of Glass’s music, and that quite transcends the movie itself. He does this better than almost every other living composer I know. Many of us living through the West's turbulent recent decades have confronted the kinds of existential questions this music evokes. We Glass fans hear a singular mixture of reflection, hope, gloom, tragedy, spirituality, and more, where his detractors only hear interminable arpeggios. It’s a unique but highly communicative voice, something that has eluded the likes of Riley, Reich, and even Adams.

 

That same voice animates the second selection. This is not the first recording of the Tirol Concerto (Piano Concerto No. 1), but to my ears it’s the best. The Baroklyn strings’ decision to focus “on the larger beats” and wanting “every voice to have its own ebb and flow, coinciding with other voices in certain larger pulse divisions” (liner notes) pays off for the listener. Compare their sound to the competition — it works to this music’s decided advantage. The feel of large-scale pulsation with each repetition and thematic iteration is crucial to the work’s experience. Rather than feeling exhausted, the sympathetic listener comes through properly appreciating one of Glass’s grandest slow movements. The outer sections of this postmodern masterpiece appreciatively hop and sparkle here, helped by wonderful tunes all the way through. A healthy momentum keeps the music from getting bogged down. The latter must be avoided at all costs — it’s minimalism’s most tender vulnerability.   

 

The title Hourglass is a clever bit of wordplay — Glass becomes hourglass, with a nod toward both The Hours and a nearly 60-minute run time along the way. But it also speaks to ensemble director Simone Dinnerstein's perceptive remarks in her liner notes. "When I think about the music of Philip Glass," she writes, "I think about time. The music is intricate and polyphonic. It's layered, with patterns that keep shifting in the subtlest of ways." It's "multi-linear." Quite so. If you listen carefully, there is definitely more here than initially meets the ear. But I still think that what animates everything is Glass's extraordinary melodic gift. I keep telling people that the history of Western music bears this out with few exceptions: the most successful stuff has good melody. Maybe it doesn't only have that, and maybe good melody isn't the most intellectually compelling component. Yet, this nearly consistent truth relates back to the notion that music must reach the heart and not just the head. So yes, the themes of time, cycles, waves, and pulses all contribute to splendid music and performances here. But all of it would amount to little without an X factor that resists analysis — and that's exactly from where Glass's memorable themes come.

Recent Releases No. 81 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

 

Martinu: (CD1) Symphonies Nos. 1 & 2; (CD2) Symphonies Nos. 3 & 4 (CD3) Symphonies No. 5 & No. 6 “Fantaisies Symphoniques.” Bamberger Symphoniker; Jakub Hrusa, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7810

First, please allow me to apologize for not including the appropriate diacritical marks in the names of the composer and conductor; frustratingly enough, my computer did not make those available for me, alas. However, I hope that sharp-eyed readers will be able discern the correct typography from the album cover image. Moving on to another consideration, I was surprised to discover that (a) at the time I write this, there are only three listings for Martinu reviews on the Classical Candor website [it will show four when this review is posted, of course] and (b) of those three, none was for any of his symphonies. But what we have here is a fine new release that includes first-rate performances in excellent recorded sound quality of not just some but rather of all six of his symphonies. For fans of these works, this set will be a welcome breath of fresh air, something for which they have been waiting for a long time indeed. For those unfamiliar with Martinu’s symphonies, they are certainly pleasant, if not particularly memorable. To be honest, I have listened over and over and over again to this set, trying and trying and trying to get a handle on it. But the best I can say is what I just said: it is pleasant, at times quite interesting, but to these ears at least, is never quite memorable. For me, Martinu never quite seems to know just where he is going with his symphonies. I can enjoy them, but never do I feel they are moving me emotionally or intellectually. But having listened to other Martinu symphony recordings, I can recognize this one as especially fine; as a result, I recommend it highly to longtime Martinu fans as well as those newcomers looking to explore his music. It’s a superb account.

 

Walton: Orb and Sceptre; Symphony No. 1 in B flat minor; Symphony No. 2. City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra; Kazuki Yamada, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 486 8227

The English composer Sir William Walton (1902-1983) wrote music in a variety of formats, including film scores, operas, concertos, and symphonies. Back in 2018, when my old friend and colleague from The $ensible Sound audio magazine days invited me to contribute to Classical Candor, my very first review (which you can read here) was of a recording of Walton’s Viola Concerto, which is a bit ironic, given that in the course of my otherwise quite positive review I did happen to mention that “although I have a fair number of recordings of Walton's music in my CD collection, I must confess that I seldom play any of them.” But one that I do play and enjoy from time to time is the Previn/LSO recording of the First Symphony. Compared to Previn, Yamada seems a bit less intense, missing some of the fire and drama inherent in the music, especially in the opening movement. The advantage of this new release from DG is having both symphonies on one disc, in excellent sound and smooth, professional performances. However, the vintage Previn recordings are still the gold standard. 

 

Marilyn Crispell/Anders Jormin: Memento. Crispell/Jormin: For the Children; Crispell/Jormin: Dialogue; Crispell/Jormin: Embracing the Otherness; Crispell/Jormin: Contemplation in D; Jormin: Three Shades of a House – Morning; Three Shades of a House – Evening; Crispell: Song; Crispell: Memento; Crispell: Beach at Newquay; Jormin: The Dark Light; Crispell: Dragonfly. Marilyn Crispell, piano; Anders Jormin, double bass. ECM 2867

American pianist Marilyn Crispell (b. 1976) was trained as a classical pianist, beginning her studies at age seven at Peabody Conservatory, then later graduating from the New England Conservatory of Music in 1968. It was not until 1975 that she developed an interest in jazz, her interest having been triggered by her exposure to John Coltrane’s legendary recording A Love Supreme, which she found spellbinding. She began to hang with jazz musicians playing in an intense style that left little space between the notes. But this began to change in the early 1990s when on a trip to Europe she encountered an ensemble that included bassist and composer Anders Jormin (b. 1957). Hearing this more lyrical style of music touched something deep inside her, and before long she wound up touring and recording with Jormin’s Bortom Quintet. Since then, both Crispell and Jormin have appeared on numerous ECM albums, both as leaders and supporting players; in fact, we have reviewed some albums featuring Jormin on double bass, and those reviews can be found (here) and (here). Throughout Memento, you can feel the joy and empathy these two musicians share as they unite to create music. From Crispell’s opening piano notes of For the Children, soon joined by Jormin’s bowed bass, the music simply flows. Never is there a hint of note-spinning for the sake of virtuoso display from either player; rather, the atmosphere is one of contemplative beauty throughout. Memento is an ideal fusion of jazz and chamber music, recommended highly to fans of both genres.

 

Miroslav Vitous: Mountain Call. Miroslav Vitous/Michel Portal: New Energy; Second Touch; On the Way; Vitous: Unexpected Solutions; Tribal Dance; Vitous/Portal: Rehearsal in Theatre; Discussion; Vitous: Epilogue; Vitous/Portal: Delusion; Vitous: Evolution – Path Begins/Nature Opening/Fulfillment Final; Rhapsody – In You/Fun and Games/Africa/In Me/Lullaby; Mountain Call. Miroslav Vitous, double bass; Michel Portal, clarinet, bass clarinet; Jack DeJohnette, drums; Bob Mintzer, bass clarinet; Esperanza Spalding, voice; Gary Campbell, soprano and tenor saxophones; Members of the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Miroslav Vitous. ECM 2763

It was quite a pleasant surprise to find this CD by the veteran Czech bassist Miroslav Vitous (b. 1947), who had a long and distinguished career in jazz having played with a veritable who's who of jazz stars such as Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, Herbie Mann, Roy Ayers, Billy Cobham, Jan Garbarekand others. In 1970, he teamed with keyboardist Joe Zawinul and saxophonist Wayne Shorter to form the core of Weather Report, the jazz fusion super group. Recent back problems have forced Vitous to give up playing the double bass, although he is still active as a composer. Mountain Call consists of music that was recorded in by Vitous in Prague at various sessions from 2003 through 2010. Sadly enough, the two musicians given top cover billing along with Vitous are no longer with us, French clarinetist and composer Michel Portal (1935-2026) the revered American drum demigod Jack DeJohnette (1942-2025). Such a delight it is to hear the interplay between Portal and Vitous as the dance and weave their way through the first four tracks; DeJohnette proves that he too is an able dance partner. Some listeners may find themselves put off by Spalding’s vocals; those tracks are brief, and then the album end with an impassioned duet featuring Portal on bass clarinet and Vitous wringing sheer passion from his bass. For the many fans of Miroslav Vitous who have missed hearing him for quite some time now, ECM has given us quite the treasure.

Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Vasily Petrenko, conductor; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Harmonia Mundi HMM905421.22 

I have a problem with Mahler 3: I love the music in each of its movements, but I don’t really buy into the work’s broader pretensions. That business about what man, animals, flowers, the voice in his head, a little elf, yada yada, tell him? Meh. What we have here is just too many different things strung together somewhat unnecessarily to make the longest symphony in the canon. The recycled Des Knaben Wunderhorn settings could have stayed in that collection and the symphony would still have been “complete.” Heck, the six movements we have were shortened from an intended seven. (Can you imagine?!) Mahler was always a songwriter wearing symphonist garb. In the Third Symphony, he struggled to reconcile song cycle instincts with monumental symphonism, then fashioned a veneer of programmatic cohesion to hold everything together. But I don’t think he quite succeeds in having his cake and eating it, too. Great music is something distinct from a great work concept. 

 

I suspect that Vasily Petrenko doesn’t entirely buy into Mahler 3’s pretensions, either. The very best performances have a thoroughgoing sense of sweep that resists (however vainly) its discursiveness. But this live performance is a study in self-containment. Any of its movements as one-off hearings would work fine. Experienced in succession, however, they amount to a pedestrian journey. And if there’s one thing this symphony won’t bear, it’s pedestrian treatment. 

 

To be honest, I think Petrenko’s occasional refusal to hit the music’s highest heights also lends to a sense of indifference overall. I say “refusal” because he is more than capable of doing so. In moments of juiced drama in his Shostakovich symphony performances, he’s extremely effective. But for some reason, similar proceedings here are more muted. Perhaps tellingly, this happens mostly in the gargantuan opening movement and the drawn-out finale. There’s gusto noticeably missing from the former’s central march, with the climax falling flat. Even in performances where I don’t like some tempo decisions or balance, specifically Jascha Horenstein with the LSO (Unicorn-Kanchana UKCD 2006/7), the colors are comparatively vivid, and the drama palpable. But Petrenko strangely lays off that extra gear. Perhaps, shorn of the jaded irony in Shostakovich’s Mahler-influenced passages, he is less inclined to indulge barer sentimentality. I certainly got this sense in the finale, where the interpretation is “good” but lacking in the pure emotional energy of a Bernstein or Tennstedt reading. A lengthy sendoff to a lengthy symphony calls for something extra. 

 

Petrenko’s middle movements are solid stuff; they convince more than their bookends. Best of all are II and III, where he at least provides sharp (if not superlative) accounts. His movements IV and V are sturdy as well: if you’re unfamiliar with this music you’ll be well served by them…until you listen to more committed accounts. Again, I can’t entirely blame Petrenko here from a personal standpoint. I find the Nietzsche text pompous, and Arnim’s a silly low point in his Wunderhorn collection. But like I always say, if you’re going to perform a piece you should try mightily to take on its assumptions. For these stretches, here is where Haitink and the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks (BR Klassik 900149) shine. The music simply glows in their hands in a way it doesn't in Petrenko’s. (And going back to the Horenstein recording mentioned earlier, I have never heard the darker edges of Movement V illuminated more arrestingly!) Over 90+ minutes of a single work these differences absolutely add up. 

 

In sum, this is not a bad recording at all. Mahler collectors will certainly want it, and everyone else can rest assured of its competency. But in every respect I care about it is outclassed by other options. I haven’t heard Petrenko conduct Mahler 4, but I suspect that work fits him better. It’s a trimmer score that doesn’t sag beneath its own weight, with a lighter complexion that will reward his apparent instinct to avoid wallowing. In fact, I look forward to such a commercial release. In that scenario those who resent both my opinion of Mahler 3 and Petrenko’s treatment of it can compare the two cycle entries side by side and see whether they still think I’m barking. 

Bach: Goldberg Variations (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Yunchan Lim, pianist. Decca 487 1517

Yunchan Lim earns his adulation. He’s one of the best things to happen to classical music recently. What a gift to have someone who’s at once so serious about his art, so flawless in his technique, and so imaginative in his interpretations without compromising musical integrity. His previous release of the Chopin Études (Decca 487 0122) was a revelation – a disc I now delightedly place with the best performances. And while I do not agree with certain rubato decisions in his 2025 Tchaikovsky Seasons release (Decca 487 1022), I’ll pay that price for the most heart-rending realizations of some of them I’ve ever heard. These live Goldberg Variations are a worthy follow-up, an encouraging indication that Mr. Lim is a performer of enduring sensitivity rather than any flash in the pan. And speaking of flash, it’s nice not to be gimmicked by hamster-wheel virtuosity, performance-practice stuntsmanship, or skimpy concert attire that *covers* only a lack of substance

But Lim certainly has his detractors, and it is against their more unfair criticisms that I find it advantageous to begin evaluating this Bach. The first thing we need to get straight is that the “historically informed performance” people, contrary to their posturing, wouldn’t know how Bach actually played his variations from a hole in the wall. Joseph Kerman (Contemplating Music, HUP, 1985) and Richard Taruskin (Text and Act, OUP, 1995) have already exposed the stubborn HIP movement’s fallacies, and I won’t fully replicate their arguments here. I’ll just first point out that the manuscript score to the Goldbergs is sparse indeed. Mostly missing are dynamics (understandably), articulation marks, and tempo indications. If anything, Bach seems to be saying, “here are the notes: decide how to play them.” Second, even if we did have more evidence of Bach's personal preferences, he’s long dead and we have instruments he never imagined. I think we can let go of the gatekeeping. Wanda Landowska reportedly said, “you play Bach your way, and I’ll play him his way.” Talented musician, terrible music scholar. Let’s not pretend to be in the know when all we’re doing is being pompous. (This seems a good place to remind certain performers that sneering at musicology as a discipline may scratch an itch, but in the end the joke’s on them.)

Critics of Lim’s Goldbergs say he plays some ornaments a little funny, or that he disrupts certain polyphonic lines while unusually bringing out some inner voices. Maybe he does. I also don’t negatively care. These detractors seem to think that the highest aim of all new Goldberg Variation recordings is to recreate the sound of the harpsichord on the piano, or to satisfy some stale formalist paradigm. I for one believe we have enough recordings of this work on the harpsichord. If that’s what you want, you’ll always have these performers to satisfy you. But do we otherwise need to be so pedantic? An unorthodox elongation of a trill’s upper auxiliary note (or some comparably innocuous thing) is still miles away from Glenn Gould’s humming and howling. There’s contrapuntal style, and then there’s artificially adding lines of counterpoint that Bach never wrote, even in a manuscript mostly restricted to notes!

But the complaint that Lim achieves a Romantic sound is for me one of this recording’s selling points. When I listen to some of these variations, I hear colors and atmospheres that the heretofore best performances on piano (Perahia, Hewitt, etc.) only began to explore. This is easily experienced in the slower, dreamier numbers (particularly 15, 21, and 25). But somehow even more impressive is the “velvety virtuosity” that Lim achieves in many of the quick pieces, fully exploiting the timbral possibilities of the modern instrument. Variations 9, 22, and 24 are emblematic of the entire performance in this respect, and bespeak extraordinary pianistic command.

If this weren’t enough, Lim also brings refreshing spontaneity with varied repeats. Sometimes his daring is breathtaking, as when he plays the right hand part an octave higher on repeat in Variation 7, or alters rhythms in a quasi-improvisatory manner the second time through No. 20. I can imagine some purists raging at these liberties, but just as easily can I imagine Bach grinning appreciatively if he could somehow listen from beyond the grave. My favorite of all is Variation 17, which in Lim’s hands is a virtuosic tour de force of piano dynamics and technical control.

The truth is that I listen to too many new recordings of familiar repertoire that are no better than highly competent (and sometimes considerably worse). “Why did we need yet another of these?” I often wearily ask myself. But then someone like Lim comes along, threads the needle of personal vs. tasteful, and revives my flagging faith in the whole industry. There really are new things that can be said with this old music. Lim certainly says some; his Goldbergs burst with flavor and are all the more astounding for having been performed live. I understand that he’s tackling the Mozart sonatas next: more well-trodden ground that risks exposing him ruthlessly. Like others, I’d love for him to champion some newer works in need of high-profile advocacy. But until then I’m more than happy to see if he can maintain his stellar showing within the canon. 

In Memoriam: Sonny Rollins

by Karl Nehring

On May 25, we lost a giant in the world of jazz, Sonny Rollins, the “Saxophone Colossus,” who was widely regarded as the greatest improviser on his instrument; moreover, he was widely regarded as a wise, kind, generous human being. Even those not generally familiar with jazz history may recall the famous story of Sonny Rollins and “the bridge.” In the summer of 1959, Rollins, who was already recognized as a great young talent and had released two widely acclaimed LPs. Saxophone Colossus and Way Out West, abruptly stopped touring in 1959 and instead began a daily routine of practicing his horn on the Williamsburg Bridge over New York City’s East River, often playing as much as 14-15 hours, refining his craft for two years until finally going back on tour in the fall of 1961. Then in early 1962, he stepped into the studio to record an album titled The Bridge, which featured guitar virtuoso Jim Hall. Sonny was finally forced to hang up his horn in 2014 because of respiratory illness, but he remained a beloved elder statesman in the jazz community. 

In the wake of his passing, many tributes to Sonny Rollins have been posted, two of which I have included here. The first is by bassist Christian McBride (you can read Christian's tribute here), while the second is by the Detroit based jazz critic Mark Stryker, kindly made available courtesy of pianist and author Ethan Iverson (which can be found here). Stryker offers recommendations about Rollins’s recordings; ideally, late one evening soon you will look over his list, find an album that sounds promising, and give Sonny a listen.