Keith Jarrett: A Tribute

by Karl Nehring

Earlier this month, American pianist and composer Keith Jarrett celebrated his 80^th birthday. Although best known as a jazz pianist, his body of work extends far beyond jazz – and beyond the piano. We have reviewed a few of his recordings in the past; you can find those reviews here (Budapest Concert), here, (Bourdeaux Concert), and here (C.P.E. Bach Sonatas). Like many people, my first encounter with his playing was from listening to Forest Flower, on which Jarrett played piano as a member of the Charles Lloyd Quartet in a live set at the 1966 Monterey Jazz Festival that was released on Atlantic Records in 1967. In 1971, Jarrett, who was then touring with Miles Davis, had a fateful meeting with producer Manfred Eicher that resulted in Jarrett recording a solo piano album, Facing You, which was released in 1972 on Eicher’s ECM label. In 1973, had released Solo Concerts: Bremen/Lausanne, the first of what would become a series of concert recordings during which Jarrett played improvised music. Popular music critic Rick Beato has posted a YouTube video (which you can see here) describing a segment of this recording as “two of the most beautiful minutes in music.” 

While in the Army in 1974, I picked up both of his “American” quartet albums – Fort Yawuh and Treasure Island – on the Impulse! label, the latter of which featured Jarrett picking up the soprano saxophone on one of the cuts. As a side note, his “American” quartet included the late Dewey Redman, father of Joshua Redman (whose recent performance we mentioned here), on tenor saxophone, along with Charlie Haden on bass and Paul Motian on drums). 1974 also saw the release of the album Belonging on the ECM label, this by Jarrett’s “European” quartet, with Jan Garbarek on tenor saxophone, Palle Danielsson on bass, and Jon Christensen on drums. It’s a beautiful recording, highlighting Jarrett’s skill as a composer as well as a pianist. Then in 1975, ECM released what would become the best-selling piano recording in history, Jarrett’s The Köln Concert. It’s a spellbinding album that still sounds fresh and new 50 years after its initial release.

In 1976, Jarrett received a commission from the Deutsche Grammophon to compose a piece for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It was to be conducted by Seiji Ozawa and feature Jarrett on piano. Jarrett completed his 200-page, 40-minute score for The Celestial Hawk in 1978. The BSO had been expecting a jazzy piece with Jarrett doing a lot of improvising, apparently thinking that would guarantee box-office success; when they saw it was a serious classical composition, they lost interest, and the project was dropped. Instead, Eicher decided to record the work for his ECM label, with Jarrett on piano accompanied by the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra conducted by Christopher Keene. It was released in 1980.

 

In 1984, Eicher decided to expand ECM into the classical realm and brought a new sound into the musical world with the release of Arvo Pärt’s Tabula rasa, the first album on the label’s New Series imprint. This recording also marked the intersection of some of the most longstanding, significant musical collaborators in the label’s history: Arvo Pärt, Gidon Kremer, and Keith Jarrett. I was quite familiar with Jarrett, somewhat familiar with Kremer, but my familiarity with Pärt extended only as far as having heard his name but not his music when, late at night in 1984 while sitting in my car having just finished a shift as a security guard while I was still in grad school, over the radio came music that immediately held me under its spell. The late-night host on WOSU-FM announced that he was playing some tracks from a new album of music by the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, and that we had just heard his composition Fratres, performed by violinist Gidon Kremer and pianist Keith Jarrett. Keith Jarrett?! Although the music sold itself, Jarrett’s endorsement made me even more eager to run out and purchase the CD just as soon as I could find it; I have been an enthusiastic Arvo Pärt fan ever since.

Jarrett went on to release many, many recordings over the ensuing decades, both as a soloist and as part of an ensemble. Many of these were jazz, of course, but there were also many classical efforts, in music of Bach Handel, Mozart, Shostakovich, Bartók, Barber, Harrison, and Hovhaness. (If I may be permitted another personal aside, it was Jarrett who introduced me to the 24 Preludes and Fugues for Piano by Shostakovich – I had many recordings of DSCH’s symphonies and was somewhat familiar with his concertos and chamber music but had no idea this marvelous piano music even existed until ECM released Jarrett’s recording in 1992. I now own several versions and continue to delight in this music that Jarrett first revealed to me.) 

 

In 1994, Jarrett’s Bridge of Light album appeared on the ECM New Series label, containing four classical compositions by Jarrett: Elegy for Violin and String Orchestra, Adagio for Oboe and String Orchestra, Sonata for Violin and Piano, and Bridge of Light for Viola and Orchestra. Jarrett said of these works, “Actually, all of these pieces are born of a desire to praise and contemplate rather than a desire to "make" or "show" or "demonstrate" something unique. They are, in a certain way, prayers that beauty may remain perceptible despite fashions, intellect, analysis, progress, technology, distractions, "burning issues" of the day, the un-hipness of belief or faith, concert programming, and the unnatural "scene" of "art", the market, lifestyles, etc., etc., etc. I am not attempting to be "clever" in these pieces (or in these notes), I am not attempting to be a composer. I am trying to reveal a state I think is missing in today's world (except, perhaps, in private): a certain state of surrender: surrender to an ongoing harmony in the universe that exists with or without us. Let us let it in.” It is a charming album, pastoral and serene. If you were to listen to it today without being told who the composer is, your guess might well be a British composer such as, say. Butterworth. 

Tragically enough, in 2018 Jarrett suffered the first of several strokes that robbed him of the use of his left hand, thus leaving him unable to continue his career at the piano. However, ECM has since released several albums of past concert performances; in fact, there is a release of a recording he made in Vienna that we will be reviewing in a forthcoming post. For more insight into this fascinating musician, whose music blurred the boundaries between classical and jazz, between composed and improvised, there is a an in-depth interview that the notoriously press-shy Jarrett granted to Rick Beato; that fascinating video can be seen here.

Recent Releases No. 53 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Prism V. J.S. Bach: Choral prelude Vor deinen Thron tret ich hiermit, BWV 668; Beethoven: String Quartet No. 16 in F major, Op. 135; Webern: String Quartet (1905); Bach: Contrapuctus XIV from The Art of Fugue, BWV 1080. Danish String Quartet (Rune Tonsgaard Sørensen, violin; Frederik Øland, violin; Asbjørn Nørgaard, viola; Fredrik Schøyen Sjölin, cello). ECM New Series 2565 485 8469

 

With the release of Prism V, the Danish String Quartet has now reached the end point of the Prism series of releases, in which, as the note on the back of the CD cover explains, “Lines of connection are drawn in the Danish String Quartet’s five Prism volumes from a Bach fugue through one of the late Beethoven quartets to the music of a subsequent composer.”  In the previous release in the series, Prism IV, which was reviewed here, that subsequent composer was Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847); with Prism V, however, the Danes take a longer leap forward in time, this time connecting Beethoven’s music with the 20th-century music of the Austrian composer Anton Webern (1883-1945). Another passage of time marked by the release of this album is the time it took the group to record all five albums. From the CD booklet: “Almost eight years have passed since we first put our bows to the strings and started one of the longest journeys we have embarked upon as a quartet. The five Prism albums, our recording project on ECM anchored around the five last string quartets by Beethoven. We started the series with the resonant chords of  Beethoven’s quartet in E-flat major op. 127. This monumental opening forms the entry gate into the promised land of the late Beethoven quartets, but in this case it also became the exit door from our life as a young string quartet. The Prism albums became our string quartet rite of passage… The Prism albums were an important part of our final development into what one might call a fully-fledged string quartet, and the recording process has gone hand in hand with substantial changes in our personal lives. The first album was recorded by four relatively fresh young men, now we are father of babies, toddlers and school kids. If nothing else, this project proves that you don’t need much sleep to play a string instrument.”

Something else this project proves is that there is more than one way to enjoy and appreciate the late Beethoven quartets. As I mentioned in my review of Prism IV, my introduction to string quartets period was a dive into the deep end of the pool: I went from never listening to a string quartet in my life to purchasing a box set of the late Beethoven quartets on LP (Yale Quartet on Vanguard Cardinal) and listening to them over and over again. I still tend to gravitate toward sets (now on CD), possessing currently the Calidore (review pending), Emerson, Medici, Takacs, Tokyo, and Yale. Occasionally I will listen to all five of the quartets from one of the sets over a day or two, but to be honest, once I finally became aware of the Prism series (alas, not until Prism III), I have begun to think that the Danish group has really come up with a brilliant concept: Hearing Beethoven hearing Bach, then moving forward. In Prism V, the Danes close the loop. They start with Bach, then on to Beethoven’s final quartet, culminating in the question and answer: “Must it be? It must be!” And then it is on to the quartet of Webern, a spare, haunting work in one movement. Although it is not all that long (18:01), it is the longest work that Webern ever wrote. Then for the final piece on the program the four musicians of the Danish Quartet play a Bach fugue, the music at the heart of the Prism project. But for this album they have chosen to present not just any Bach fugue, but rather the final, uncompleted Contrapunctus XIV “Fuga a 3 Soggetti” – the fugue that marks the end of the great master’s The Art of Fugue. Thus on Prism V we are presented the finale of the Beethoven’s immortal quartet cycle and the finale of the Bach’s immortal fugue composition, the abrupt ending of which is always haunting to hear.

In addition to the booklet note by the quartet itself, there is a stimulating essay on the music by the British music critic and novelist Paul Griffiths. As music listeners have come to expect from ECM, the sound quality is first-rate. The recording, which was done in Copenhagen, was engineered by veteran ECM engineer Markus Heiland and produced by Mr. ECM himself, Manfred Eicher. My hope is that ECM will release the series as a boxed set, which would be a formidable contender in the late quartet sweepstakes. But for now, Prism V is a simply wonderful way to enjoy Beethoven’s final string quartet, perfectly paired and marvelously recorded.

 

Bartók: 4 Orchestral Pieces, SZ 51 ()p. 12); Concerto for Orchestra, SZ 116. Karina Canellakis, Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra. Pentatone PTC 5187 827

 

Karina Canellakis (b. 1981) is an American violinist and conductor who currently serves as  Chief Conductor of the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra, the orchestra featured on this new release, and as Principal Guest Conductor for both the London Philharmonic Orchestra and the Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Berlin (Radio Symphony Orchestra Berlin). She clearly has a deep affection for these two works by the Hungarian composer Béla Bartók (1881-1945), as evidenced by her detailed and impassioned recounting of the story of how he came to write what would turn out to be his most famous work, his Concerto for Orchestra: “As Beethoven wrote his joyful Second Symphony in the midst of deep despair at the loss of his hearing, so did Bartók write his brilliant, often witty, atmospheric and riveting Concerto for Orchestra in a moment of profound desperation. An outspoken anti-fascist, he and his wife had reluctantly fled Europe in 1940 after he had made his anti-nazi sentiments clear in the midst of the increasingly terrifying political situation. His lack of comfort with New York life was worsened by financial strain and illness, although it wasn’t until 1944 that leukemia was diagnosed, too late, before his death in September 1945. It was during the summer of 1943 that he lay in a hospital bed, feverish and dizzy, where the famous conductor Sergei Koussevitzsky visited to offer him $1000 to write an orchestral work for the Boston Symphony. These five masterfully orchestrated movements then seemed to pour out of him. In the mere two months it took to complete, he managed to construct something both deeply personal and wildly entertaining. He would never have imagined the success it would achieve.” (Note that $1,000 in 1943 would have been equivalent to about $17,500 in 2023 terms.) She then goes on to offer a detailed analysis of both the Concerto and its companion piece that leads off this CD, the Four Pieces for Orchestra.

 

The affection that Canellakis feels for as well as the insight she has into these two compositions is evident from the outset, with the first few measures of the opening Preludio seeming to lead us into a mysterious, unknown world. As Canellakis writes: “Bookending the majority of Bartók’s creative output, we begin this album with his Four Pieces, originally written for two pianos

in 1912 and then orchestrated in 1921. Bewilderingly unknown even to experienced listeners and musicians, these four vignettes give a brilliant and enchanting look into his earlier mentality as a composer, reveal the immense influence of Debussy, and foreshadow many of the works he would write during the following three decades.” The Scherzo movement that follows exhibits more of the energy and dynamic contrast listeners have come to expect from Bartók, with some growling brass and swirling strings. The Intermezzo movement calms the waters to some degree, but then Bartók ends things with a Marcia funebre that is far from a Beethoven or Mahler funeral march, although it does sound like it could be music played at a funeral. 

 

In contrast to the Four Pieces, The Concerto for Orchestra is one of those pieces that has been recorded over and over again. Canellakis and her Netherlands forces offer a perfectly fine performance, although I felt she had a slight tendency to linger a bit in the beginning. Still, this is a very good performance, and the sound quality is excellent, full and robust. For the person new to classical music looking to pick up a recording of the Concerto for Orchestra, this new Pentatone would be a solid choice, with its combination of a good performance, excellent sound, and unbeatable booklet. For the more experienced listener, my top two choices for the Concerto both feature the Chicago Symphony Orchestra: Boulez on DG (also paired with the Four Pieces) and the classic Reiner on RCA (usually paired with Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celeste). But as a further nod toward this new release, if you are interested in the Four Pieces for Orchestra, then I strongly recommend that even if you already have the Boulez, you give this new Canellakis version a listen. The two performances are different, but both are truly excellent and well worth hearing.

Víkingur Ólafsson: From Afar (CD review)

Bach: Christe, du Lamm Gottes, BWV 619 (Arr. G. Kurtág); Schumann: Study in Canonic Form, Op. 56 No. 1; Bach: Adagio from Sonata for Solo Violin in C major (Arr. Víkingur Ólafsson); Kurtág: Harmonica (Hommage á Borsody László) (From Játékok / Book 3); Bartók: Three Hungarian Folksongs from Csìk; Brahms: Intermezzo Op. 116, No. 4; Kurtág: A Voice in the Distance (From   / Book 5); Birgisson: Where Life and Death May Dwell (Icelandic Folk Song); Bach: Trio Sonata No. 1, BWV 525: 1. Allegro moderato (arr. G. Kurtág); Kaldalóns: Ave María (Arr. Víkingur Ólafsson); Kurtág: Little Chorale (From Játékok / Book 1); Mozart: Laudate Dominum (Arr. Víkingur Ólafsson); Kurtág: Sleepily (From Játékok / Book 1); Schumann: Träumerei Op. 15, No. 7; Kurtág: Flowers We Are (From Játékok / Book 7); Adès: The Branch (Az Ág); Kurtág: Twittering (From Játékok / Book 1); Schumann: Vogel als Prophet Op. 82, No. 7; Brahms: Intermezzo Op. 116, No. 5; Kurtág: Scraps of a Colinda Melody – Faintly Recollected (Hommage à Farkas Ferenc) (From Játékok / Book 3). Víkingur Ólafsson, grand piano, CD1; upright piano, CD2. Deutsche Grammophon 486 1681.

By Karl W. Nehring

Having enjoyed and reviewed some previous albums by Víkingur Ólafsson (b.1984) in which he played music by Bach, Philip Glass, Debussy, and Rameau, all of which were really first-class releases in every way, I fully expected this new release by the young Icelandic pianist to be a good one; however; I was not fully prepared for what a delightfully rewarding release this unusual two-disc album turned out to be. As high as my expectations might have been, they were surpassed. This is an unusual album with an unusual backstory that involves Kurtág meeting the venerable Hungarian composer György Kurtág (b. 1926), whose music the pianist had been first introduced to by a recording given him by his father in the late 1990’s. More than 20 years later, much to his surprise, Ólafsson received an unexpected message while on tour: “György Kurtág would love to meet you while you are in Budapest for your upcoming concert.”

Although he was at first intimidated by the thought of meeting what he regarded as such a “fiercely intellecfual musical thinker and formidable teacher,” Ólafsson soon found Kurtág to be warm and welcoming, inviting the younger man to play for him on a beautiful Steinway that had belonged to Kurtág’s late wife. About this experience, Ólafsson recounts “I soon began playing the music that came to mind: Bach, Mozart, Haydn, Bartok, Icelandic folk songs. Kurtág would comment, make suggestions, tell a story – always full of insight and inspiration. In what felt like 15 minutes, two hours had gone by.” Later, after more of his routine of practice, travel, concerts, and meetings, Ólafsson found himself recalling that evening in Budapest, recalling “I felt like I had been reacquainted with some musical essence, and it gave me a feeling of lightness and joy. Wanting to write him a letter to thank him, I found myself at the piano instead, drawing up a map of works with Kurtág’s own music as a compass. The result is this album.”

The program on From Afar consists of 22 tracks that Ólafsson has chosen along the lines suggested his account above – some Bach, Mozart, Bartok, Icelandic folk songs (Haydn didn’t make the cut), et al., along with a generous helping of Kurtág. The musical selections for the most part are brief, many lasting less than two minutes. Although the brevity of the tracks and variety of the composers might seem to portend a crazy quilt of styles and moods, the overall impression given off by the album as the program moves along from track to track is actually quite consistent. From the opening brief snippet of Bach, which is calm and reflective, Ólafsson seems to be inviting us to join him in contemplating the beauty, peace, and joy to be found among the 88 keys of the piano. As he puts it, “throughout the album, there are intimate conversations and messages from afar – closely knit canons, transcriptions and dedications, as well as distant echoes of nearly forgotten, ancient melodies. And like a trail of shiny little stones in a moonlit forest, there are the works of Kurtág: his transcriptions of Bach and his on ever-growing selection of piano works, Játékok, or Games. In these works it is clear that Kurtág’s primary method of inquiry in the world of musical ideas is the same as that of the child: play.” Sprinkled among the works of the works of the composers of the past, these miniatures by Kurtág do indeed bring an element of playfulness to the proceedings -- never in an ironic or mocking way, but rather by offering upbeat, encouraging interjections from time to time.

As I have suggested above, intimacy and playfulness are two defining characteristics of the music on From Afar. And that music has been recorded not once, but twice, for this release, as Ólafsson explains: “This album contains two recordings of the same music, one made on a Steinway concert grand and the other made on an upright with a layer of felt covering the strings, a permanent soft pedal… For me as an artist, nothing will ever replace the large, resplendent canvas and unlimited colours of the grand piano, but the familial sincerity of the upright should not be underestimated. There is a confidentiality, a whispering intimacy to the sound of the upright piano that I love to experiment with. In this recording, the microphones are so close you can hear the keys depressed and released, the pedals creak, even the pianist breathing. I want the sound to reach the listener as if sitting on the piano bench with me… The upright piano interpretation as well. Its percussive materiality and the absence of forgiving overtones demand new timings and textures, a different attention to structure.” So yes, these really are two different albums. Each has a different sort of intimacy, a different sort of playfulness. My guess is that most listeners will give the Steinway disc the most attention; however, I hope they will not neglect the upright disc, for it is utterly fascinating and well worth serious and repeated listening. There really is something to be said about the “familial sincerity” of Ólafsson’s upright piano, especially when it is recorded in such a way that it seems to have been transported directly into your listening room – with the pianist himself in tow.

Ólafsson’s liner notes are both interesting and informative. In addition to the background essay material from which the excerpts above were taken, he also includes commentary on the musical selections included in the album. The title of the album might be From Afar, but the music, the sound, the liner notes, and the photography all work together to draw us close to the music and Ólafsson’s love for it. This is an interesting, involving, and endearing album that further enhances the growing reputation of this supremely talented and insightful master of the keyboard.

KWN

Recent Releases, No. 21 (CD Reviews)

By Karl W. Nehring

Vasks: Concerto for Oboe and Orchestra; Vēstījums (Message) for Two Pianos, Strings, and Percussion;  Lauda. Albrecht Mayer, oboe; Andris Poga, Latvian National Symphony Orchestra. Ondine ODE 355-2.

This new release of music by Latvian composer Peteris Vasks (b. 1946) comprises two older works, Message (1982) and Lauda (1985), plus a much more recent work, the Concerto for Oboe and Orchestra (2018). The program opens with the concerto, a richly melodic work that should prove enjoyable to a wide variety of listeners. Of this work, Vasks writes, “In my view, the oboe is a pastoral instrument – drama and tragedy do not first come to mind when thinking about the oboe sound and its possibilities. Overall, the concerto could be viewed as akin to a human life with its beginning, period of maturity, and departure. However, I would prefer to think of it as something more like a long cosmological day which lasts, say, a hundred years.” (I must say that as someone who is getting on in years, Vasks’s euphemism “departure” is a welcome, gentle touch.) The work is cast in the traditional three-movement form, all three offering passages of great imagination and beauty, the closing minutes of the final movement sounding especially poignant and moving.

Both of the two earlier works are in one movement. Message and Lauda were actually among the first works by Vasks I ever heard on an old CD on the Conifer label that is now out of print (a copy is buried in a pile somewhere in my listening room) and it is nice to have them back together again on this excellent new recording. Regarding the central message of Message, Vask states, “I wanted to talk about how exquisitely beautiful the world is and what we, in our hubris, are doing with it.” That message is expressed through an energetic interplay among piano duo, strings, and percussion. Although you can feel the tension building, Message never veers off into discordant unlistenability. It maintains musical interest throughout its 16 minutes. Lauda continues in the same dramatic vein, but now employing the full symphony orchestra. Of this work, Vasks notes, “Lauda was my form of spiritual protest. It is an anthem to my nation, my culture, the very existence and being of my people.” (Lest we forget, when Vasks composed this piece, Latvia was still under Soviet control.) Once again, this is powerful music, moving and expressive. The Latvian forces play with conviction, and the Ondine recording quality does not stand in the way of the music. For those unfamiliar with the music of Vasks, this new release would be a fine introduction.

Bartók: Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta; Concerto for Orchestra. Susanna Mälkki, Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra. BIS BIS-2378 SACD.

My guess would be that the majority of classical music lovers are quite familiar with the Concerto for Orchestra (1943) by the Hungarian composer Bela Bartok (1881-1945), which he wrote on commission for the Boston Symphony Orchestra in only 54 days while in ill health. The work was given its premiere by the BSO under the direction of Serge Koussevistsky on December 1, 1944, only 10 months before Bartók’s death. It is one of those pieces that people who are just starting to show an interest in classical music are often introduced to, as it allows the various sections of the orchestra to strut their stuff while playing music that is consistently musical and entertaining yet serious enough to withstand repeated listening over years and years.

There have been many, many recordings of the piece over the years, the touchstone recording for most music lovers and audiophiles being that by Fritz Reiner and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Their performance was taped in 1955 and released on an RCA LP in 1956. Long prized for both its performance and its sonic qualities, it has has been rereleased digitally in CD and SACD format with the same pairing as on this BIS new disc, Bartók’s Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta, a piece not typically as likely to appeal to the person new to classical music; rather, it is a piece that often takes time to grow on you, but once it does, its “spooky” passages will give you musical chills and thrills. Mälkki and her Helsinki forces do great justice to both pieces, as do the BIS engineers. This is a truly fine recording. For those who already own the Reiner, there may be no need to run out and get this one; however, for those just getting into classical music, especially those who may be contemplating a move into and SACD- or streaming-based multi-channel listening experience, this new BIS release would clearly be the way to go, and even for those with two-channel systems, this is a highly recommendable release of some truly remarkable music that belongs in every classical music lover’s collection.

Peter Gregson: Patina. Includes Hidden; Patina; Sense; Cluster; Schema; Sequence (Seven); Over; Don’t Wake; Continuum. Peter Gregson, solo cello, piano;  Warren Zielinski, Magnus Johnston, Matthew Denton, Richard Blayden, violins; James Boyd, Eoin Schmidt-Martin, Meghan Cassidy, Stephanie Edmundson, Richard Harwood, violas; Reinoud Ford, Ben Chappell, Tim Lowe, cellos; Laurence Ungless, double bass; Anthony Weeden, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 0029 486 0567.

Although I was familiar with compositions by composer and cellist Peter Gregson (b. 1987) from CDs by other musicians, Patina is the first recording I have encountered led by Gregson himself. As you can see from the header, the music is scored for traditional classical instruments, with no synthesizers being employed. That being said, the music itself lies somewhere between classical and something else entirely – not New Age, not ambient; I’m not quite sure how to categorize it. You can get a quick sample of the music here, and here is what Gregson himself has to say about the it: “What happens when you remove a melody? Supporting melodies change in importance; harmonies, cadence, phrasing all take on a different role. But the blueprint of the absent melody can still be felt, even if it isn’t heard.” Note that he says remove a melody, not remove all melody. There are still plenty of what he calls “supporting melodies” that make the album a pleasant, engaging musical experience.

Interestingly enough, despite professing a desire to remove the primary melody from this music, in a sense hiding it from his listeners so that they would at best experience it only indirectly, Gregson professes quite the opposite approach to the way the album is recorded: “These ‘songs without words’ are recorded to sound honest. I want to bring you, the listener, right up close to the instruments, next to the scratches of the bow on the string, the fingers on the keyboard, the breath in the room… This is a collection of pieces where the sounds have aged, where the music has levied a life; where the reverbs are shadowy, dusty crevices, subtly degrading as they decay. In this album, musical distortion is not used for aggression, but for playing with the perception of the sound like a trick mirror at a playground… All of the sounds in all of the music on this album are the sounds of a life that has been lived. This may be mechanically reproduced – a perfect snapshot in time, never changing, the same forever – but accepting imperfections and appreciating the everyday impact of life is, for me, what PATINA is all about.” That last sentence might strike some readers as a bit over the top, but the more I listen to the album, the more I believe I understand what Gregson is trying to say. The music really does seem to have a sense of resignation about it, but a contented, mellow resignation that signifies an appreciation for beauty, for music, for life. Those looking for high-energy musical excitement will not find it here; rather, this is music for those seeking shelter from the storm.

KWN

Juilliard String Quartet: Beethoven, Bartok, Dvorak (CD review)

Juilliard String Quartet. Sony 19439858752.

By John J. Puccio

The Juilliard String Quartet needs no introduction. They are an American institution. But for the few unenlightened, here is a brief description. The already knowledgeable may safely move on to the next paragraph. The Juilliard School’s president at the time of the quartet’s founding, William Schuman, suggested the creation of the Juilliard String Quartet in 1946, where it has been the quartet-in-residence ever since. From then until now, it has received numerous awards, including four Grammys; it has recorded countless albums; and it has known seventeen different members. Its present configuration consists of Areta Zhulla, violin; Ronald Copes, violin; Roger Tapping, viola; and Astrid Schween, cello. Yet despite the years and despite the changes in personnel, the quartet has remained remarkably the same in tone, temper, precision, and style.

On the present album, the quartet celebrates its seventy-fifth anniversary with three cornerstone works of the quartet repertory: Beethoven’s String Quartet in e minor, Op. 59, No 2; Bartok’s String Quartet No. 3, SZ.85; and Dvorak’s String Quartet in F Major, Op. 96, “American.”

The program opens with Beethoven (1770-1827), who published the String Quartet in e minor, Op. 59, No 2 in 1808, one of his middle-period quartets. It’s also the eighth quartet he wrote, so sometimes people just refer to it as No. 8. To further complicate its naming, the quartet’s benefactor was a Count Rasumovsky, who provided one of the tunes. So the quartet is also known as “Rasumovsky.” By whatever name, it’s lovely.

So is the playing of the Juilliard team. Their care and accuracy are things of beauty. Their inflection, their tone, their graduated stresses are letter perfect. Their nuance is above reproach. One can easily hear from the opening movement of the Beethoven that we are in the company of greatness, both from the composer and from the Juilliard Quartet. They understand the nature of the music, the succinctness of Beethoven’s writing, the appropriate points of emphasis, and the length of sustained silences. Yes, lovely, and ending in befittingly high spirits.

Next is Hungarian composer and pianist Bela Bartok (1881-1945), who wrote his String Quartet No. 3 in 1927, one of six he composed in the genre. Bartok intended the piece to be performed in one uninterrupted span, but in the score he indicated four distinct sections. The piece begins rather somberly but livens up by the second part (Seconda parte: Allegro). As always, the Juilliard foursome handle it with authority, capturing the forward and rhythmic pulses of the work with clarity and assurance.

The program concludes with Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904), who wrote his String Quartet in F Major, Op. 96, “American” while he was living in the United States, and thus the familiar name for the work. He wrote it just after he wrote his “New World” Symphony, and it, too, proved a success. Dvorak said of it, “When I wrote this quartet in the Czech community of Spillville in 1893, I wanted to write something for once that was very melodious and straightforward, and dear Papa Haydn kept appearing before my eyes, and that is why it all turned out so simply. And it’s good that it did." As with the Ninth Symphony, Dvorak credited Negro spirituals and Native American folk music as influences on his quartet, although he quoted nothing directly from them in the score.

If you like Dvorak’s Ninth Symphony and somehow have never heard the Quartet in F minor, you’ll find in it a surprising similarity in structure and melody to the bigger work, a resemblance the Juilliard players are keen to exploit. The music dances smoothly between restfully introspective passages and carefree, pulsating segments, the Juilliard players appearing to enjoy the contrasts and cadences as much as the listener.

Producer and engineer Steven Epstein recorded the music at the Recital Hall of the Performing Arts Center, Purchase College State University of New York in May 2019. I’m not sure I have heard a string quartet captured any better. Although they are slightly close, they are exceptionally well balanced, with excellent transparency, dynamics, and realism. There is no hint of hardness, brightness, or forwardness in the sound, just a totally natural presentation.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click below:

Motherland: David Aaron Carpenter (CD review)

Music of Dvorak, Bartok, Shor, and Walton. David Aaron Carpenter, viola; Vladimir Jurowski, Kazushi Ono, David Parry, London Philharmonic Orchestra. Warner Classics 0190295697693 (2-disc set).

David Aaron Carpenter is a relatively young (b. 1986) American violist who has been making a name for himself as a concert soloist these last few years. He began studying the violin when he was six and the viola when he was eleven, attending the Juilliard School, the Manhattan School of Music, Italy's Accademia Chigiana, Switzerland's International Music Academy, and the Verbier Festival Academy, studying with Pinchas Zukerman, Roberto Diaz, Seiji Ozawa, Robert Mann, Nobuko Imai, Boris Belkin, and Yuri Bashmet. By 2003 he was performing with leading orchestras and conductors throughout the world, and in 2006 he was the first Prize Winner of the Walter W. Naumburg Viola Competition.

"Motherland" is Carpenter's sixth major album and his second for Warner Classics. It's a combination of the old and the new, the familiar and the more unfamiliar. The first disc of this two-disc set begins with the old, Dvorak's Cello Concerto, although even that is somewhat new in that Carpenter plays it in an arrangement for viola. Next is Bartok's Concerto for Viola, followed by something a bit newer, Alexey Shor's Seascapes. Disc two gives us Walton's Concerto for Viola, followed by two more works by Shor. The pieces provide a healthy, varied, and attractive program.

Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904) wrote his Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104 late in life, between 1894-95, his last concerto work. Yet even that is slightly different since Carpenter performs it as arranged for viola by J. Vieland and Carpenter, with accompaniment by Maestro Kazushi Ono and the London Philharmonic. Aside from the novelty of hearing the cello part played by a viola (which takes a moment or two to get used to because you don't get as sonorous or mellow a sound), the performance appears good but not extraordinary. It's well prepared and well executed, but I found it a trifle routine. And in the slow movement the viola doesn't quite convey the kind of melancholy a cello can impart. Still, the combination of Carpenter's enthusiasm, the viola's vibrant, youthful tone, and the excellence of the orchestra make it worth one's time.

David Aaron Carpenter

Next, we get the Concerto for Viola and Orchestra, Sz.120 by Hungarian composer Bela Bartok (1881-1945). Like the Dvorak, the Bartok piece was among the last things the composer wrote. But even this piece is slightly different because Bartok never actually finished it himself, the completion done by Bartok's student, Tibor Serly, in 1949, several years after the composer's death. Maestro Vladimir Jurowski and the London Philharmonic accompany Carpenter in the music, which comes off nicely. Carpenter seems in his element here, especially in the instrumental virtuosity he's able to pull off so effortlessly. (That finale with its energetic Hungarian themes is a gymnastic tour de force, with Jurowski and his players keeping up well.)

Disc one ends with a short piece in four parts called Seascapes by Ukrainian-born composer Alexey Shor (b. 1970), who now resides in the U.S. Here, Maestro David Parry and the London Philharmonic accompany Carpenter. Although it may be a modern work, it doesn't sound like one. It's filled with dancing melodies and lively, mostly cheerful tunes. Carpenter's treatment of it makes for a delightful listen.

Disc two contains only three works, one by English composer Sir William Walton (1902-1983) and two more by Alexey Shor. The Walton piece is his Concerto for Viola and Orchestra, written in 1929. The Shor pieces are the brief Two Songs for My Children and the lengthy Well Tempered Chanson. Jurowski leads the London Phil accompanying the Walton piece, and Parry again conducts the orchestra in the Shor works. As on disc one, Carpenter displays a command of the music as well as of the viola. The musical lines are always clear and clean, as well as the performer's conviction.

Overall, I'm not sure Carpenter shows us anything new, but it's good to know there are accomplished musicians ready to assume the mantle of an older generation.

Producer Andrew Walton and engineer Deborah Spanton recorded the music at Saint Augustine's, Kilburn and Lyndhurst Hall, Air Studios, London, England in 2017. As with many of the recordings made in Lyndhurst Hall, especially, the sense of orchestral depth is quite good, adding to the overall realism of the sound. There are also good dynamics and a moderately wide frequency response. Transparency is more than adequate, and the extremes of bass and treble seem reasonably well extended. In other words, we have fairly lifelike sound, making the set a pleasure to listen to.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click below:

Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra (SACD review)

Also, Kodaly: Concerto for Orchestra. Jakub Hrusa, Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Berlin. Pentatone PTC 5186 626.

The last time I heard a recording by Czech conductor Jakub Hrusa, he was doing Dvorak tone poems. I said at the time that I thought he was a little conservative for my taste. This time out, he is doing two concertos for orchestra by the Hungarian composers Bela Bartok and Zoltan Kodaly, both pieces requiring a red-blooded approach. While Maestro Hrusa still seems to favor a fairly cautious reading of the scores, his interpretations are undoubtedly appealing in their own way.

Bela Bartok (1881-1945) wrote his five-movement Concerto for Orchestra in 1943, during the height of the Second World War. The composer was near the end of his career, and the work has since become one of his most-popular and most-accessible compositions, so he went out in style. However, the title of the piece is something of a misnomer because the music's form doesn't really resemble a traditional concerto. Bartok's Concerto is in five movements instead of the conventional three, and it involves no solo instruments. He said he called it a "concerto" because of the way the score treats each section of instruments in "a soloistic and virtuosic way." Fair enough.

Bartok's concerto begins with some soft, light "night music," giving way to more robust themes as things move along. The second movement, titled "Game of Pairs," has a different pair of instruments playing together in five sections. The middle movement is a slow elegy, also of the "night music" variety, a sorrowful lament. The fourth movement is an Allegretto, a smoothly flowing affair, which includes much folk music as well as a reference to Lehar's Merry Widow (although the composer claimed never to have heard the operetta, only Shostakovich's play on it). The work concludes with another big movement, labeled Finale - Pisante (heavy or ponderous), which most conductors nevertheless take at a moderately quick, high-spirited pace.

Jakub Hrusa

I like the way Hrusa opens the concerto; it's appropriately mysterious, even eerie. Then he takes an almost lyrical approach to the big melodies, which is pleasantly refreshing if slightly unexpected. Tempos throughout are leisurely, relaxed, though not sluggish. I was hoping for more bite, but it never materialized. There is an agreeably sedate playfulness about Hrusa's "Pairs" that seems in tune with the occasion. Next, Hrusa's third-movement elegy is in part haunting and in part dragging. It's actually a hard act to pull off, so I'd give him credit for trying. I liked Hrusa's treatment of the fourth movement; perhaps it's the conductor's own love of folk music that carries the day. The orchestra, too, responds splendidly to the light rhythms. In the finale, Hrusa lets go a bit more, even if he's still somewhat tame compared to some other conductors.

I know that a lot of readers would prefer that I not compare recordings to one another at all, that I should judge each new disc on its own merits alone. But I've never been able to do that. Other, favored recordings always come to mind as I'm listening to something new. So, for me the question arises, Is Hrusa's performance (and Pentatone's sound) any better or worse than my old standbys in the Bartok: Fritz Reiner's interpretation (RCA or JVC remasters) or either of Georg Solti's renditions (Decca)? I'd say Hrusa's reading is smoother, softer, gentler than either of my comparisons. Reiner is more acute, more incisive, and Solti is bolder and more brusque. I suppose it's just a matter of how you like your Bartok; personally, I still prefer the older recordings.

Zoltan Kodaly (1882-1967), a friend, contemporary, and fellow countryman of Bartok, wrote his own Concerto for Orchestra in 1939-40, a few years earlier than Bartok's concerto. Kodaly's work has never attained the level of popularity that Bartok's has, and it is much shorter, a single movement divided into five brief segments. That said, it does have its charms. As Jorg Peter Urbach writes in a booklet note, it's "a captivating combination of Baroque 'architecture' and Hungarian folk music." Hrusa gives it his full attention, and like his realization of the fourth movement of the Bartok, the performance displays a brisk bounce and sensitivity.

Producer Job Maarse and engineers Jean-Marie Geijsen and Erdo Groot recorded the concertos at Haus des Rundfunks, Berlin in June 2017. They produced it for playback via hybrid SACD, so one can play it in multichannel or two-channel SACD on an SACD player or in two-channel stereo on a regular CD player. As usual, I listened in two-channel SACD, using a Sony SACD player.

The sound is typical of Pentatone in that it's warm and luxuriant, with a nice sense of ambient bloom that doesn't overshadow all of the music's detail. Orchestral perspective and depth of field are reasonably good, as are the dynamic range and frequency response. In other words, the sound may not be entirely what audiophiles expect, but it is acceptably realistic and easy on the ear.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click below:

Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra (SACD review)

Also, Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta. Rafael Kubelik; Seiji Ozawa; Boston Symphony Orchestra. Pentatone PTC 5186 247.

The Seventies were interesting times in the classical music world. It was still the age of analogue, and we hadn't yet heard the arguments over whether analogue or digital sounded better. Some of the finest music and best sound were coming from EMI's recordings with the London Symphony and the Berlin Philharmonic. And, then, there was Quadraphonic. Of course, for most of us, Quad came and went quickly, mostly with a few LP's from RCA that didn't sound particularly good in straight two-channel stereo. What most of us didn't know back then was that DG and Philips also dabbled in Quad recording but just never released much (or anything) in the format. And that's where Pentatone comes in. They are seeking out and remastering albums originally done in Quad and reproducing them in hybrid SACD (two-channel and multichannel, with another two-channel that one can play on a regular CD player). The present Bartok disc from Pentatone (1973 and 1976 DG recordings) is just such an album, sounding a lot better than it might have from a scratchy LP over forty years ago.

The first thing on the program is the Concerto for Orchestra by Hungarian composer and pianist Bela Bartok (1881-1945), performed in a 1973 DG recording by the Czech conductor and composer Rafael Kubelik and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Bartok wrote the piece at the end of his career, and it has since become one of his most-popular and most-accessible compositions. Bartok premiered the work in 1944 with Serge Koussevitzky conducting the Boston Symphony, so presumably the orchestra was well up on performing it. However, the title is something of a misnomer because the music's form doesn't resemble a traditional concerto at all. Bartok's Concerto is in five movements instead of three, and it involves no solo instruments. Bartok said he gave it the title "concerto" because of the way the score treats each section of instruments in "a soloistic and virtuosic way." Fair enough.

Rafael Kubelik

Maestro Kubelik's manner with Bartok is a tad gentler than some listeners may be accustomed to. He doesn't project as clean and precise an image as, say, Reiner (RCA) or as powerful and driving a force as Solti (Decca, in either of his stereo recordings). As Bartok was ill at the time he wrote the music, perhaps Kubelik's interpretation of it is a nod toward that affliction that would shortly end the composer's life. Nevertheless, under Kubelik the score is vigorous enough, sorrowful enough, introspective enough, and emotionally assertive enough to provide a more-than-moving testament to Bartok's genius, with the Boston players fully behind it.

The coupling on the disc is Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion & Celesta, which the composer wrote in 1936 to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the chamber orchestra Basler Kammerorchester. Audiences today may know the music best for its inclusion in Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film The Shining, as well as Spike Jonze's 1999 film Being John Malkovich. The score is in concertante form, that is, with orchestral support for extended solo parts, although we really don't hear the solo instruments until the second of the four movements. The composer had also by 1936 been experimenting with European folk melodies and "arch" forms (mirrorlike sequences of ideas building in one direction to an arch and then reversing in the second half). We hear it all in Music for Strings, this time in a 1976 recording with Seiji Ozawa leading the Boston Symphony.

Maestro Ozawa takes a more literal view of the music than some other conductors. (I'm still rather fond of Ormandy's EMI account, oddly, perhaps, given Ormandy's own penchant for taking music at face value.) I don't hear in Ozawa quite the dramatic stress or underlying sense of suspense, tension and release that I do with Ormandy (or Solti). However, Ozawa does a fairly good job evoking Bartok's ethereal atmosphere (that "unreal sound world" that conductor Ferenc Fricsay once called it). We'll just have to leave the ultimate mystery of the piece for other conductors to convey.

Pentatone include a matching slipcover with the disc as well as a highly informative booklet insert.

Producers Klaus Behrens, Wolf-Dieter Karwatky, and Hans Weber and engineer Heinz Wildhagen recorded the Concerto in Quadraphonic at Symphony Hall, Boston, Massachusetts in 1973. Producer Rainer Brock and engineer Klaus Hiemann recorded the Music for Strings in Quadraphonic at Symphony Hall in 1976. Polyhymnia International B.V. remastered the album for SACD hybrid stereo/multichannel playback in 2017. I listened in the SACD two-channel stereo mode.

The newly remastered sound in the Concerto is both warm and full, with excellent depth of image and wide dynamics. The upper midrange sounds at times a bit screechy, but that's part of the music's charm. The strings are also a tad compartmentalized, so the overall sonic picture one gets is not entirely realistic. Still, it's more than satisfying. The Music for Strings sounds a little better balanced, with no part of the frequency response shouting at us, and it, too, has a good depth of field and plenty of dynamic range.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click below:

Bartok: Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta (CD review)

Also, Debussy: Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune. Evgeny Mravinsky, Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra. HDTT remastered.

Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta is something of an odd duck, and it's one that many movie buffs may recognize from Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Hungarian composer Bela Bartok (1881-1945) wrote it in 1936 to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the chamber orchestra Basler Kammerorchester, and it has since become one of the composers most well-known works. It is a somewhat strange, curious, even eerie piece of music, at least the way most conductors have approached it. I always think of it as atmospheric, with several of my favorite recordings of it coming at it from distinctly different directions: Leonard Bernstein (Sony) gave it an energetic reading; Herbert von Karajan (DG) provided a cushier, more glamorous setting; Pierre Boulez (Sony and DG) was more precise and exacting; Eugene Ormandy (EMI) was most eloquent; Sir Georg Solti (Decca) was a bit more brazen and robust; Sir Charles Mackerras (Linn) added a greater element of lyricism to the mix; and, for me, Fritz Reiner (RCA) delivered probably the best, most authoritative all-around interpretation.

Then there's the Russian conductor Evgeny Mravinsky (1903-1988) who gave us this 1965 recording, now remastered by HDTT (High Definition Tape Transfers). Mravinsky's version doesn't really fit any of the traditional categories, and listeners may either love it or hate it for its almost diabolical intensity. What's more, listeners may either love or hate the live sound, too, which the folks at HDTT have remastered quite well. But it's still live, with all its attendant charms and problems, depending on one's point of view.

Whatever, the first movement is like a slow fugue, its tempos changing up repeatedly. It starts out with extremely subdued strings and becomes louder and thicker as more instruments join the mix. After a quickened climax, the music eventually settles back into quietness. While Mravinsky doesn't necessarily take any of this quicker than other conductors, he does seem to intensify it more. There is little of the moody, atmospheric tone one usually hears, the aura replaced by more of an aggressive dynamism. Still, it's not entirely out of the mainstream, and if it weren't for the distracting audience noises throughout the quieter passages, it would be quite thrilling.

Evgeny Mravinsky

The second movement is fairly fast, distinguished by syncopated piano and percussion tones, a swirling dance subject, a lengthy pizzicato segment, and a vigorous conclusion. I found this section most effective under Mravinsky, the tension mounting appropriately, the contrasts nicely projected, the excitement well articulated.

The third, slow-movement Adagio is Bartók's "Night Music." It showcases a gliding effect for timpani, including a prominent part for xylophone. For me, Mravinsky's melodramatic take on it is more Halloween spooky than mysterious, expressionistic, or unearthly. That said, it remains a fascinating piece of writing, and the conductor does seem to be having fun voicing it, even if it appears to be more Mravinsky's voice than Bartok's.

The final movement begins with timpani and strummed pizzicato string chords and quickly moves into the lively flavor of a Hungarian folk dance. Here, I loved Mravinsky's vigorous attack on the music and its swirling rhythms. So, all's well that ends well.

The other selection on the album is Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune ("Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun"), a brief tone poem for orchestra premiered in 1894 by French composer Claude Debussy (1862-1918). Even if Debussy disliked the term "impressionist" applied to his work, there can hardly be a better word to describe the Prelude. My Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines musical impressionism as a "style of composition in which lush harmonies, subtle rhythms, and unusual tonal colors are used to evoke moods and impressions."

Debussy wrote of the Prelude that it "is a very free illustration of Mallarmé's beautiful poem. By no means does it claim to be a synthesis of it. Rather there is a succession of scenes through which pass the desires and dreams of the faun in the heat of the afternoon. Then, tired of pursuing the timorous flight of nymphs and naiads, he succumbs to intoxicating sleep, in which he can finally realize his dreams of possession in universal Nature."

So, how sensuous or sensual is Mravinsky's faun and his daydreams? Put it this way: Don't expect the lavish textures of a Karajan here. Do expect a precise, well-chiseled account of the score, maybe not as sinuous or sexy as it could be but well outlined in any case.

The Russian record label Melodiya recorded the music live at the Grand Hall of the Leningrad Philharmonic in March 1965. HDTT transferred it from a 15ips tape to DSD256 in 2016, and they make it available in a variety of formats: DSD256, DSD128, DSD64, DXD PCM, and PCM Flac digital downloads; DVD Audio; and compact disc.

Anyway, it is live, and one always knows it. If you don't mind the sound of the audience--coughs, shuffling, breathing, wheezing, gagging, and, as if you couldn't guess, plenty of applause--it shouldn't bother you. It did me. But if the audience noises don't annoy you, the sound is clean and detailed, if somewhat thin and hard. Dynamics are wide, impact moderately good, highs sparkling, and orchestral depth rewardingly realistic.

For further information on HDTT products, prices, discs, and downloads in a variety of formats, you can visit their Web site at http://www.highdeftapetransfers.com/.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click on the forward arrow:

Brahms: Violin Concerto (CD review)

Also, Bartok: Violin Concerto No. 1. Janine Jansen, violin; Antonio Pappano, Orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia and London Symphony Orchestra. Decca 478 8412. 

The good news: the Brahms and Bartok violin concertos always make good listening, Janine Jansen is a top-notch violinist, Sir Antonio Pappano is a distinguished conductor, and both the Orchestra of the National Academy of Santa Cecilia and the London Symphony Orchestra are world-class ensembles.

The bad news: Decca recorded the Brahms live.

Ms. Jansen explains in the disc's accompanying booklet why she chose to pair the Brahms concerto with the Bartok, but I'm afraid I didn't find her reasoning entirely convincing. She says the two works "share a Hungarian connection, but also a profound combination of symphonic power and chamber-scale intimacy." Certainly, that's true. However, the Brahms seems to me still rooted firmly in the Romantic era, while the Bartok has a foot in the Modern age. Thus, while they may both show Hungarian traits (Bartok, especially, who was himself Hungarian), the musical language of each piece seems entirely different. Nevertheless, they are both enjoyable and justly popular works, so who really cares if there is any direct connection between them.

The program opens with the Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 77 by German composer and pianist Johannes Brahms (1833-1897). He wrote it about the time he wrote his Second Symphony (1877), and the two works display a kind of pastoral, bucolic atmosphere. However, the slightly later Violin Concerto sounds a little more rugged and robust, yet more lofty and aristocratic, almost as rustic as it is rhapsodic, making it something of an opposition in charms. What's more, because Brahms grew up in a period where classicism was giving way to full-blown Romanticism, the composer sometimes found himself caught between the two competing styles, as we hear in the piece.

Janine Jansen

Maestro Pappano and soloist Jansen produce a good, if slightly ambivalent, performance of the Brahms. Pappano appears to favor a big, strong, expressive approach, whereas Ms. Jansen seems to want a more sensitive, lyrical interpretation. The results are never distracting, but they are sometimes a bit different from what we might normally hear.

Ms. Jansen plays beautifully, as we would expect. There is always a lovely lilt to the music, the melodies floating effortlessly throughout. She is particularly careful not to overdo the main theme in the first movement but keeps it in accordance with the light, flowing mood of the rest of her playing. The Adagio, with its beautiful oboe introduction, is the highlight of the show, with Jansen's entrance most magical. Then, Pappano and company end the work in a properly enthusiastic style, the Hungarian influence obviously in evidence in Jansen's lively playing.

The second item on the agenda is the Violin Concerto No. 1, BB 48A by composer and pianist Bela Bartok (1881-1945). The Bartok concerto is much briefer than the Brahms, about half its length and in only two movements, with variations on Hungarian folk tunes the major concern. Here, the LSO sounds fuller and lusher than their Italian counterparts, yet they still provide Ms. Jansen a relatively intimate accompaniment. Perhaps to better establish the relationship between the Bartok and Brahms pieces, Ms. Jansen injects them both with an affectionate, evocative flavor, the melodies dancing with a passionate, songlike character.

Executive producer Alexander Van Ingen, recording producers Andrew Walton (Brahms) and Andrew Keener (Bartok), and engineers Jonathan Allen (Brahms) and Simon Eadon (Bartok) recorded the music at Santa Cecilia Hall, Rome (Brahms, live) in February 2015 and Walthamstow Assembly Hall (Bartok) in August 2014.

The live sound of the Brahms is a little bright and edgy in the upper midrange, emphasizing a small degree of background noise. The rest of the midrange and upper bass are on the soft, warm side, and the deeper notes are somewhat woolly, so don't expect ultimate transparency. Because of the closeness of the miking, we don't get as muchorchestral depth as one might like. The violin sounds nicely integrated with the rest of the ensemble, though, and the violin tone adequately rendered. The sound of the Bartok was more to my liking, a little clearer, better defined, and better balanced.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click on the forward arrow:

Great Conductors of the 20th Century: Fritz Reiner (CD review)

Emil Gilels, Carol Brice, soloists; Fritz Reiner, Chicago Symphony Orchestra, RCA Victor Symphony Orchestra, Robin Hood Dell Orchestra, NBC Symphony Orchestra, Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. EMI 7243 5 672866 2 7 (2-disc set).

This two-disc set that EMI released in 2004 represents the quality one can find throughout EMI's "Great Conductors of the 20th Century" series, a series I'd like to see Warner Classics continue.
The set covers Hungarian-born conductor Fritz Reiner (1888-1963), who came to America in 1922 and established himself as one of the leading conductors of his day, culminating his career as Music Director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra from 1953 until his death ten years later. Those were ten glorious years, especially as they represented his work in the forefront of the stereophonic recording era.

The Reiner recordings in the present two-disc set include over two-and-a-half hours of music by the conductor, covering most of the man's later career, about half in stereo and half in mono, and containing complete tracks from some of his best EMI, RCA, and Sony (Columbia) recordings from 1946 to 1959. Given that Amazon.com and other retailers are selling the set new and used for anything from $4 to $35, I'd say it's still a bargain.

Fritz Reiner

The set contains a boatload of music, but the centerpiece is the Brahms Second Piano Concerto with Reiner and the Chicago Symphony supporting pianist Emil Gilels in a performance from 1958. Gilels would, of course, go on to make an even more-celebrated recording of the work for DG some years later, but this one is more detailed in sound, one of RCA's "Living Stereo" productions of the time, and just as surefooted in execution. Think of it this way: For the price of the set, you get a terrific Brahms Second Piano Concerto, plus almost two more hours of equally good material. Do I have to say again that it's a bargain?

Among the other pieces in the set are an adrenaline-rushing Beethoven Coriolan Overture in stereo with the CSO from 1959; a terrific Mozart "Linz" Symphony with the CSO in some of the best monaural you'll find; a sparkling Mendelssohn Midsummer Night's Dream Scherzo with the Robin Hood Dell Orchestra, actually the Philadelphia Orchestra, from 1951; Brahms's Tragic Overture, with the CSO in stereo from 1957; some of Wagner's Gotterdammerung and Siegfried's Rhine Journey, also with the CSO in stereo from 1959; Bartok's Hungarian Sketches, CSO, 1958; and Strauss's Till Eulenspiegel, Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin, and Falla's El amor brujo, complete, the latter three items in mono.

Reiner continues to be one of my favorite conductors because like others of his era--Klemperer, Walter, Szell, Stokowski, and many more--he wasn't afraid to be himself, to let his own vision of a composer's work permeate the music, all the while maintaining a strict adherence to the printed score. It's a fine balancing act, to make old standards sound fresh and alive but not to violate their intent. Reiner could do it. Many of today's top conductor's seldom manage the feat, and compared to the vintage maestros they can appear almost commonplace, dull, or boring. And when the older conductors come to us in such good sound and at such reasonable prices, the proposition seems to me irresistible. But, then, maybe it's just me.

JJP

To hear a brief excerpt from this set, click on the forward arrow:

Bartok: Music for strings, percussion and celeste (CD review)

Also, Divertimento for String Orchestra; Kodaly: Dances of Galanta. Sir Charles Mackerras, Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Linn Records Echo BKD 234.

For me at least, the name of Australian conductor Sir Charles Mackerras (1925-2010) doesn't usually conjure up thoughts of Hungarian music (Czech, maybe, but not Hungarian), yet in 2004 this album of Mackerras conducting Hungarian composers Bartok and Kodaly appears to have been such a hit with the public that Linn Records decided to rerelease it in 2015. It is understandable why they did so: The album is quite appealing for both its performances and its sound.

Mackerras begins the program with Dances of Galanta by Zoltan Kodaly (1882-1967), which the composer wrote in 1933 for the 80th anniversary of the Budapest Philharmonic Society. He based the piece on the folk music of a small town called Galanta, where he had lived for a few years. Maestro Mackerras brings out the gypsy inflections in lively enough fashion, yet he adds a note of grace to the proceedings as well. These are not just helter-skelter interpretations by a conductor trying to impress upon his listeners the bustle and excitement of the music; Mackerras genuinely sees this material as having serious worth, and he provides a finely accentuated, fluidly rhythmic rendering of the dances.

Next up is the centerpiece of the album, the Music for strings, percussion and celeste by Bela Bartok (1881-1945), which he wrote in 1936 to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the chamber orchestra Basler Kammerorchester. It has since become one of the composers most well-known pieces of music. It is, of course, somewhat odd and eerie, with several of my favorite recordings of it coming from fairly different approaches: Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra (EMI) is most eloquent; Georg Solti and the Chicago Symphony (Decca) is more brazen and robust; and Fritz Reiner and the Chicago Symphony (RCA) is probably the best all-around. But then we have Mackerras, who adds a greater element of lyricism to the mix.

Mackerras's way with the music is very atmospheric, very imaginative, and poetic, too. The string arrangement is such that the piece takes on an added quality of three-dimensionality, which sounds quite effective here in Linn's recording, even if the Scottish Chamber Orchestra is smaller than Bartok probably envisioned. Mackerras maintains the rhythmic thrust of the piece without sacrificing any balance or poise. Although he never rushes things, the tempos appear well judged, with none of the movements too frenetic or too slack.

Sir Charles Mackerras

Mackerras closes the show with Bartok's Divertimento for String Orchestra, written in 1939 on commission from the founder of the Basler Kammerorchester. The conductor continues here his policy of musical refinement, keeping its diverse mood swings fully compatible with one another. The transitions are so smooth, we no longer have any fear that the three movements are going to come from entirely different places. Mackerras apparently sees the piece as an organic whole and treats it as such. All the thrills and passion are here, along with the anguish and compassion.

Additionally, I'd like to add a shout-out to the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. They seem to me as good as any chamber orchestra in the world, with a crisp attack, a warm articulation, and a rich overall tone. They sound at least as refined as the English Chamber Orchestra, and that's high praise, indeed.

Producer Tim Oldham and engineers Philip Hobbs and Calum Malcolm recorded the music at Usher Hall, Edinburgh, UK in February and March 2004, Linn Records issuing it the same year. Linn rereleased the disc in 2015 under their "Echo" label. The sound is spacious without being hollow or cavernous, full and natural without being bright or dull. It sounds perfectly natural and appropriately dimensional, pretty much the live sound of a chamber orchestra I chanced to hear the night before I listened to this disc. The midrange is not super-analytical but provides a good deal of inner detail; the frequency extremes are about where they should be, with good extension, especially in the highs; and the dynamics are wide, strong, and solid. This is impressively lifelike sound, the kind we have come to expect from Linn.

JJP

To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click here: