Mikyung Sung: The Colburn Sessions

by Bill Heck

Bottesini: Tarantella, Capriccio di Bravura, Elegy No. 1 in D Major; Massenet: Meditation from Thaïs; Hindemith: Sonata for Double Bass and Piano; Montag: Sonata in E Minor for Double Bass and Piano; Mendelssohn: Cello Sonata No. 2 in D Major; Rachmaninoff: Sonata in G minor for Cello and Piano, Op. 19 (third movement); Franck: Sonata in A major for Violin and Piano. Jaemin Shin, Mikyung Sung. Modus Vivendi Media MVM2301

When I first happened upon this album, I was dumbfounded. So far as I can tell, it should be physically impossible to play a double bass in the manner that Ms. Sung does. Flying through endless quick series of notes with on the nose intonation along the extended neck with thick strings of this instrument: how in the world does she do that?

But, of course, there is more to this two-CD set than mere technical brilliance, so let’s explore. 

Giovanni Bottesini

The first disc opens with three works by Giovanni Bottesini (1821 – 1899), considered in his time as the “Paganini of the Double Bass”, and who moved from virtuoso command of that instrument to conducting and composing. The first piece, Tarantella, certainly is a showpiece for the double bass, with shifting tempi and virtuoso runs: If you do think of Paganini on the bass instead of the violin, you’ll have the general idea. The next, Capricio di bravura, begins as a soulful singing piece that moves across the entire range of the instrument. It breaks into a lively dance, and back and forth we go, ending it all with a flourish; the overall feel is reminiscent of a dance scene from an opera. Finally, we have the Elegy, several minutes of quite lovely playing. Showpieces all, the music is interesting and enjoyable, and in any case bravura playing is enough to carry the day.

Massenet’s Meditation from Thais is one of those works that you’ve heard somewhere, even if you didn’t know what it was. Originally composed for violin and orchestra, in the wrong hands it can degenerate into a rather saccharine tearjerker, but the transposition of the work to double bass with piano accompaniment gives it a whole new sound, perhaps more straightforward than the original. In any case, Sung’s playing is moving without turning into treacle.

Next up are two more recent works also originally composed for the double bass, namely Paul Hindemith’s Sonata for Double Bass and Piano, followed by Vilmas Montag’s work of the same name.

The Hindemith Sonata is in much the same vein as some of his better know and more popular works, such as the Mathis der Maler or the Metamorphosis (on Themes by Weber). Although there are moments of dissonance, the composition still is tonal, with a mood best described as mysterious, and developed mostly in minor keys. Personally, I found it quite engaging and I’m glad to have made its acquaintance.

I’m less certain of the Montag composition but can say with confidence that Sung makes the best possible case for it. Her playing, especially in the lower register of the instrument, is lovely and powerful at the same time.

This is a good time to mention that the contributions from pianist Jaemin Shin are beyond mere accompaniment: there’s no doubt that the album is about Sung, but she and Shin are very much partners in music making.

The second disc contains works originally composed for other instruments and redone for the double bass. There are three: Mendelssohn‘s Cello Sonata No. 2, Rachmaninoff’s Sonata in G minor for Cello and Piano (third movement), and Franck’s Sonata in A for Violin and Piano. You may be familiar with these works in their original versions, so I won’t go into a lot of description here. What I will say is that all of them sound absolutely natural when played on the double bass; indeed, if you didn’t know that they were originally composed for different instruments, you could easily presume that they were composed for the bass. (That’s not too surprising in the first two works, as the move from cello to bass at least seems like a plausible idea. But it really is amazing that the third piece loses nothing in the translation.) In all three, what could have sounded just gimmicky are instead propelled by Sung’s musical sensitivity as well as her virtuosity and come across simply as wonderful music. Yes, the bass gives the pieces more sonic weight, but it never weighs them down.

The sound on both discs is clean and natural, although that on the second is just a touch more distant that on the first. (The recording venues were different.) I listened to the album on my streaming service; sadly, the CD booklet was not available there. (I wish I knew why booklets are or are not available on streaming service that support them; they are for some newer works but not for all.) The CD is generally available, but you also can purchase a digital download of the entire thing at Mikyung Sung’s website.

Recent Releases No. 49 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Franck and Vierne: First and Last. Franck: Grande Pièce Symphonique, op. 17; Vierne: Symphonie No. 6, op. 59. Christopher Houlihan, organ. Azica ACD-71356

The subtitle of this album is “French Romantic Organ Symphonies.” Judging from that subtitle, and as you might guess from the fact that the two compositions are sufficient to fill an entire CD, these are both substantial compositions. Sharing his inspiration behind the album, the American organist Christopher Houlihan (b. 1987) begins his liner note essay by observing “The era of French Romantic symphonic organ music is bookended by the work of two composers, César Franck (1822-1890) and Louis Vierne (1870-1937).  Among this oeuvre, there are probably no two pieces that better represent the trajectory of this style than Franck’s Grande pièce symphonique and Vierne’s Symphony No. 6 – essentially the first and the last French Romantic organ symphonies.” Music lovers may well be familiar with Franck from his work in other genres, such as his symphony, chamber music, or piano music; perhaps some might even recall that he was in fact an organist, so are not surprised that he also wrote music for that mighty instrument. For many music lovers, though, the music of Vierne is much less well-known, for he specialized in music for the organ, for which he composed six of these organ symphonies. Both pieces on the program truly are grand works, the Franck in six movements and the Vierne in five. Perhaps because Vierne was the true organ specialist, it is the Franck piece that will most likely sound the more “symphonic” to the majority of classical music listeners, while the Vierne will sound more like what they would expect organ music to sound like.  

 

First and Last was recorded on the Manton Memorial Organ “Pascal Quoirin” (2011) at the Church of the Ascension, the only French-built organ in New York. Houlihan explains the significance of playing this repertoire on the organ at Church of the Ascension: “Among organ music, the successful performance of French repertoire is especially dependent on the particular sonorities available on a given instrument. The Quoirin organ is a very good fit for the colorful demands of Franck and Vierne’s music, and it was an honor to return to Ascension Church for this recording.” I did a little research on this particular organ and found an article at the church’s website that offered some fascinating details about the history of this instrument:

 

For more than a half a century, Sir Edwin Alfred Grenville Manton and Lady Florence Manton were known to generations of Ascension clergy and parishioners as “Jim and Gretchen.” Next-door neighbors to the church in Greenwich Village, they were active in the parish throughout their lives in New York… Their volunteer efforts helped sustain the parish through the course of many rectors and their generosity during their lives and by bequest continues this day to support the daily life, worship, and programs of Ascension. A British subject his entire life and a great collector of British art, especially the paintings of Constable, Jim Manton was knighted and became Sir Edwin in 1994 in recognition of his charitable contributions to the Tate Gallery in London; in fact, he was, after Sir Henry Tate, the most generous benefactor in the gallery’s history. But before and after that event, Mr. and Mrs. Manton’s generosity toward the Church of the Ascension was unequaled in our parish history. In addition, they had a special love of great music and valued Ascension’s unique place in the history of sacred music in America. To honor their memory, The Manton Foundation chose a most appropriate gift to the parish by which to remember these two loyal parishioners: The Manton Memorial Organ by Pascal Quoirin of St. Didier, France, is the first French-built pipe organ ever installed in New York City. With its 6,183 pipes, 95 stops, 111 ranks, 2 consoles, and 7 keyboards, it is the largest French organ built anywhere in almost 50 years.

The sound quality of the CD is full, warm, and natural, giving a sense of the church but without the excessive reverberation or over-emphasis on deep bass that is sometimes encountered on organ recordings. This is not a recording for those looking to show off their audio systems, it is an recording for those who enjoy good music, well performed and well-recorded. Especially for those who would like to add some organ music to their collection and are looking for something other than the usual Bach recitals, First and Last would be well worth checking out.

            

Holst: The Planets. Daniel Harding, Chor und Symphonieorchester des Bayerische Rundfunks (Bavarian Radio Choir and Symphony Orchestra). BR Klassik 900208 

 

Gustav Holst’s The Planets, familiar to most music lovers through its many recordings over the years (we all have our favorites, many of us more than one) was composed between 1914 and 1916. Its seven movements comprise musical portraits of the seven known planets of Holst’s time, but based more on astrology and mysticism than astronomy and scientific fact. Each "planet" can be seen as a kind of tone poem. The unusually informative liner notes point out that Holst had originally given the suite the certainly less colorful title, Seven Pieces for Large Orchestra. (As splendid as the music is, it is hard to imagine that it would be as popular as it is today with that title.) According to the background press release information that accompanied this release, the work had not been performed by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra for almost three decades when British conductor Daniel Harding (who, fascinatingly enough, is also a commercial airline pilot) brought it back to Munich’s concert audience in February, 2022, when this live recording was made. 

I can’t help wonder whether the orchestra's long period of unfamiliarity with the piece might help to explain the measured pace that Harding adopts throughout all seven movements, for this is the slowest version of The Planets that I can recall auditioning. However, that is not necessarily a bad thing, for the sound quality is top-drawer and the deliberate pacing allows the listener to savor every little detail of the score. Compare Harding’s Mars to Dutoit’s, for example, and the latter seems to be just scurrying right through it. Still, the Dutoit recording remains a favorite of mine – I am just using it as a reference point. Other favorites of mine include Mehta, Previn, Steinberg, Slatkin, and Boult. This recording is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the classic Steinberg/BSO – Steinberg tears through it, Harding takes his time. Somewhere in the middle is the 1979 Boult/LPO. Although some folks might try to dismiss The Planets as "too popular" to be taken seriously, I think it is a simply magnificent piece of serious music, one of those compositions for which auditioning and perhaps even owning multiple versions is certainly nothing of which to be ashamed. For those with a keen interest in Holst’s extraordinary score, this new Harding version is well worth a listen, for it offers both sterling sonics and a unique perspective on the music.

Secret Love Letters (CD review)

Franck: Sonata for Violin and Piano in A major FWV 8; Szymanowski: Concerto for Violin and Orchestra No.1 op. 35; Chausson: Poème op 25; Debussy: Beau soir. Lisa Batiashvili, violin; Giorgi Gigashvili, piano; Yannick Nézet-Séguin, The Philadelphia Orchestra. Deutsche Grammophon 486 0462.

By Karl W. Nehring

The Georgian-born German violinist Lisa Batiashvili (b.1979) has put together a program of musical works of various types that she finds tied together by the common theme of love, particularly in the two works for violin and orchestra by Szymanowski and Chausson.  As she comments in the liner notes, “we often define ourselves by the things we keep to ourselves in our minds and hearts. Music, just like art and literature, has always been the most amazing vehicle for artists to share secret messages and speak about their hidden loves and untold stories. This is such an intriguing and interesting part of human nature. The Szymanowski Concerto is a piece full of love and pain deriving from the restricted love of a man who was in love with another man at a time when this was outlawed both legally and morally. It is a dance between eroticism and compassion, between a dream world and tough reality. Chausson’s Poème is a powerful declaration of love with all of its nuances of loss and beauty hidden within each theme. I decided to pair these two works with music by Franck and Debussy, who himself was a messenger of the most magical atmosphere, fantasy and purity one can imagine.”

The program opens with the Sonata for Violin and Piano by the French composer Cesar Franck (1822-1890), which he wrote in 1886 at the age of 63 as a wedding present for the 28-year-old violin virtuoso Eugène Ysaÿe. It certainly seems appropriate for such an occasion, at least in temperament, for it is a piece imbued with passion and yearning, even desire. On the other hand, it is not the kind of piece you would expect actually to be played at a wedding, because it lasts well over 25 minutes and requires virtuosity not only from violinist but also from the pianist -- on this recording, the young Georgian pianist Giorgi Gigashvili (b. 2000). I was particularly struck on hearing this recording by the purity and sweetness of tone that Ms. Batiashvili brought to the sonata. I have heard renditions in the past that sounded heavy-handed or melodramatic, but her performance sounded just right. Brava! And, of course, kudos to Mr. Gigashvili.

Then on to the Violin Concerto No. 1 by the Polish composer Karl Szymanowski (1882-1937), which although billed as the centerpiece of the album, is actually shorter (its single movement comes in at 25:31) than the Franck Violin Sonata (its four movements total 27:25). The passion that was expressed in the Franck by just two instruments, violin and piano, is now channeled through a violin and an entire orchestra. There is a sense in which the listener can feel both the tension and anxiety of hidden love while at the same time sensing the sheer joy of being able to express that anxiety in music. There are moments when the sound of Ms. Batiashvili’s violin virtually takes wing, magically rising above the orchestra, leaving it to the listener to interpret whether representing joy or despair. My educated guess is that there are many music lovers reading this who are unfamiliar with this piece; my well-intended advice to these folks is that they give it a listen. It’s a stimulating 25 minutes.

Poor Ernest Chausson (1855-1899). This French composer lived a tragically short life and completed only 39 officially numbered works during his brief career, his Poème for violin and orchestra being one of the more often performed to this day. Although I would conjecture that although it is probably more familiar to readers of this review than is the Szymanowski, there are still most likely a good number of folks who are not well acquainted with the work. Once more, then, this recording would certainly be a good way for them to discover a work of great beauty. Chausson’s original French title for the piece translates into English as “The Song of Love Triumphant.” According to the liner notes essay by German music writer Wolgang Stähr, Chausson completed the piece in 1896 at the urging of Eugène Ysaÿe (there he is again…), but the name was first shortened to Poème symphonique and then finally to the name we know it by today, simply Poème. Ysaÿe was clearly a musician of great influence.

To quote Stähr: “Chausson’s exchange of ideas with Ysaÿe has left its unmistakable mark on the work, the solo writing in particular revealing the imprint of the Belgian violinist with its melodically intricate multi-stopping. In his masterclasses Ysaÿe even gave the impression that he had contributed the whole of tbe cadenza. The transcendental ending of the piece, conversely, where the violin melts away in a seemingly endless series of iridescent trills, is clearly modelled on the Poème élégiaque that Ysaÿe himself was completing at more or less the same time. Chausson certainly did not deny his debt of gratitude – far from it. Rather, he referred to the work as ‘mon-ton poème’ (‘my-your poem’) and, as such, as a product of their friendship.” 

Listening to Batiashvili play the violin part, you can well believe that a legendary violin virtuoso had a hand in its composition; however, the way the orchestra and violin work together make it clear that Poème was not intended primarily as a showpiece for hotshot violinists to showcase their virtuosity. Batiashvili and Nézet-Séguin clearly seem to be working together to present the piece as a concerto for violin AND orchestra, not just a showpiece for the solo violinist. As for as those “iridescent trills” at the end, I’ll quote Stähr quoting Debussy: “Nothing is more touching,” enthused Debussy in 1913, “than the gentle dreaminess at the end of this Poème, where, casting aside any ideas any ideas of description or narrative, the music itself is the sentiment that commands or feelings.” Okay, perhaps Debussy is a bit over the top here, but not by much.

Speaking of French composer Claude Debussy (1862-1918), he surely needs no introduction to followers of Classical Candor, n’cest-pas? The final piece on Secret Love Letters is brief (2:18) but oh so moving. Again to quote Stähr, “Debussy’s song Beau soir is a setting of a poem by Paul Bourget that tells of sunset, youth and a presentiment of death, and suggests nothing so much as an in memoriam written in honour of Chausson.” The song’s title translates as “beautiful evening,” and its brief text is a poetic reflection upon human mortality. (A translation can be found here: https://www.oxfordlieder.co.uk/song/2755. It was transcribed for violin by none other than the great Jascha Heifitz. Brief but beautiful, it is a fitting way to end the album, played tenderly but expressively by Ms. Batiashvili, accompanied once more by Maestro Nézet-Séguin, this time on the piano.

Overall, this is an excellent release. My only quibble might be to wish then liner notes were a bit more detailed, but that is a pretty minor gripe. DG has plenty of experience in recording the Philadelphia forces, so the engineering is on point for the two concertos, and the two chamber works sound just fine as well. It’s refreshing to see a new release from major artists on a major label that is not just the same old stuff; instead, Secret Love Letters offers some great music that is just slightly off the beaten path but well worth serious listening.

KWN

Franck: Symphony in D Minor (CD review)

Also, Stravinsky: Petrouchka. Pierre Monteux, Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Boston Symphony Orchestra. RCA Living Stereo 09026-63303-2.

To say that these interpretations are authoritative would be an understatement. Maestro Pierre Monteux performed the Franck Symphony in D Minor probably more so than any conductor before or since; and he premiered the Stravinsky Petrouchka in 1911. These recordings, from 1961 and 1959 respectively, were his last words on the subject. 

In terms of both performance and sound, my own previous favorites for the Franck Symphony were Charles Dutoit's digital recording on Decca and Sir Thomas Beecham's on EMI. I'll stick with commenting on Dutoit for comparison purposes, his performance and sound being very good (although not quite as good as Beecham's). Alongside the remastered Monteux, however, Dutoit seems more matter of fact, more suavely elegant, to be sure, but ultimately more mundane than Monteux. Monteux, on the other hand, is more reposed and more insightful. Although his timings are not much different from Dutoit's, Monteux's pacing is more meaningful for his greater lingering on pauses, his greater affection for phrasing.

Pierre Monteux

The music under Monteux is just as dramatic in the opening and closing movements as Dutoit's, swinging from moody to energetic, but it is especially more ravishing in the central Allegretto, with its prominent English horn solo, and in the playfulness of the slender scherzo-like theme that follows. The sound of the Dutoit disc is admittedly more detailed, but it is really no more lifelike. Where the newer Decca recording comes into its own is by its filling in the center of the orchestral sound better, Monteux's RCA recording being a bit more prominent in the left and right channels.     

The Stravinsky is another matter, and none of my references here--Rattle, Muti, Ansermet, Davis, and Haitink--moved me as much as Monteux did. Petrouchka has always struck me as a rather creepy little ballet, anyway, and Monteux brings out all the color of the slightly sinister characters and events.

The sound is even better here with the Boston Symphony than in the Franck with the CSO. My only previous experience with the recording was on an old LP that disappointed me greatly for its dullness and noise. But the recording is now shiny and well remastered, the highs sparkling, the midrange natural, the bass robust, the stereo spread considerable. Interestingly, Monteux introduced Petrouchka to American audiences in 1920 while also conducting the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

To have both performances on a single, mid-priced CD is a godsend (and more recently remastered on an SACD). Obviously, I highly recommend it.

JJP

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

Tchaikovsky: Piano Concerto No. 1 (XRCD24/K2 review)

Also, Franck: Symphonic Variations. John Ogdon, piano; Sir John Barbirolli, Philharmonia Orchestra. Hi-Q Records HIQXRCD37.

About the time I first began seriously collecting classical recordings in the early 1960's, there were four young pianists I remember just coming along: Van Cliburn, who won the First International Tchaikovsky Piano Competition in Moscow in 1958; Maurizio Pollini, who won the International Chopin Piano Competition in Warsaw in 1960; and Vladimir Ashkenazy and John Ogdon, who shared the first prize in the 1962 International Tchaikovsky Competition. While Cliburn, Pollini, and Ashkenazy went on to become giants in the classical world, British pianist Ogdon experienced less good fortune. Schizophrenia and bipolar disorder disrupted his life in the early 1970's, and he died in 1989 of pneumonia, brought on by undiagnosed diabetes.

Fortunately, we have the magic of records to preserve at least some of Ogdon's work, although the present disc is perhaps not the very best of his legacy. For a man who had co-won the Tchaikovsky Competition, he seems more than a bit reticent about showing off his skills in this 1962 Tchaikovsky recording.

Anyway, the star attraction on the program is the Concerto for Piano No. 1 in B-flat minor, Op. 23, by Russian composer Peter Tchaikovsky (1840-1893). He finished it in 1875, then revised it in 1879 and again in 1888. Tchaikovsky may have just been overly sensitive to the criticism that came before and after the concerto's première, or maybe he didn't care for the way the first performers played the piece. Whatever the case, the final version has become a staple, perhaps THE staple, of the concert-piano stage, and it requires a good deal of virtuosic bravura for performers to find a place for themselves among the many competing recordings of the work. Here, Ogdon never lacks for virtuosity; it's his bravado that's oddly lacking.

It's possible, of course, that Ogdon wanted to show the world that the Tchaikovsky work was more than just a grandiose blockbuster, which is why he may have put on the brakes and gone after a less-robust, more sensitive reading. I dunno; it just doesn't make the impression on the listener the way some competing performances do.

Ogdon opens the concerto with a properly grand flourish, and Maestro Sir John Barbirolli adds some strong support throughout, but from a few minutes in, Ogdon's reading seems curiously underpowered. His finger work remains dazzling, of course, yet he appears more interested in clarity and articulation than in stirring up any red-blooded interpretation. Not that this is bad, mind you, just different. And, surprisingly, it doesn't appear to have anything to do with the overall lengths of the movements, which remain well within the boundaries of average for this work; it's more a matter of pauses and general rubato, abrupt changes in tempo and such that give the impression of slackness in the whole.

Still, this approach works wonderfully well in the second-movement Andantino semplice, where Ogdon's carefully crafted, poetic approach is simplicity itself--very affecting, touching, lyrical, serene, a tad playful, and utterly charming.

However, with Ogdon the closing Rondo doesn't quite capture the lighthearted romp Tchaikovsky might have imagined. Again, Ogdon's technical artistry is never in question; it's that he seems unnecessarily serious, even though Barbirolli appears to be prodding him to loosen up.

The coupling, Cesar Franck's Symphonic Variations, comes off better than the concerto. Maybe it's the more-poetic nature of the music that suited Ogdon's frame of mind when he recorded it. Whatever, both Ogdon and Barbirolli seem of one accord here, with the Philharmonia, as always, playing brilliantly. There's a delicacy and balance to the performance that is most beguiling.

The folks at Hi-Q provide another of their classy packages, using a glossy, hard-cardboard Digipak-type container with the disc and booklet notes fastened within.

Producers Victor Olof and Ronald Kinloch Anderson and engineer Robert Gooch originally recorded the music for EMI at No. 1 Studio, Abbey Road, London in December 1962. Tohru Kotetsu, Shizuo Nomiyama, and Kazuo Kiuchi remastered the album using 24-bit Super Analog XRCD24 processing and K2 replication at the JVC Mastering Center, Japan in 2014. From the opening notes, there is no question this remaster is one of the best-sounding recordings of the Tchaikovsky you'll find. There is a huge dynamic range, with thundering climaxes and whisper-quiet soft passages. What's more, there is a pleasant warmth about the music, good impact, decent midrange transparency, shimmering highs, and only the faintest touch of tape hiss.

If I have any reservation, however, it's that the sound field in the Tchaikovsky piece tends to favor the left side, with the piano and virtually all of the strings slightly to the left of center. I suppose this is the way the engineers recorded it, so I shouldn't fuss. But I immediately worried that perhaps either my playback equipment or my ears were at fault. A quick listen to three other recordings of the Tchaikovsky confirmed, however, that it was, indeed, a minor issue with the Hi-Q/EMI recording; the other CD's sounded appropriately centered. Nonetheless, it is, as I say, a trivial concern in a recording of such otherwise exemplary audio; if it bothers you, just turn your balance control a decibel or two to the right. The Franck piece sounds nicely centered, though; go figure.

For some of the best prices and availability of Hi-Q products, you might want to visit Elusive Disc at http://www.elusivedisc.com/.

JJP

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

Franck: Sonata for Violin and Piano (CD review)

Also, Grieg: Sonata for Violin and Piano No. 3; Dvorak: Romantic Pieces. Renaud Capucon, violin; Khatia Buniatishvili, piano. Erato 08256 462501 8 9.

French violinist Renaud Capucon and Georgian pianist Khatia Buniatishvili are two relatively young and enormously talented musicians who make beautiful music together on this disc of violin sonatas from Franck, Grieg, and Dvorak. It's really quite a lovely album, the partnership of the two players producing some delightful results.

Things begin with the Sonata for Violin and Piano in A major by French composer, pianist, and organist Cesar Franck (1822-1890). Franck wrote the Sonata in his later years, 1886, dedicating it to his friend, violinist Eugene Ysaye, as a wedding gift. The four movements of the piece follow a slow-fast-slow-fast structure, with the slow sections the most memorable for me. They are sublime, and Capucon's solos are wonderfully lyrical and soaring. Ms. Buniatishvili's accompaniment, especially in the faster segments, is virtuosic, too, and they make the music come alive in contrasting contemplative and vigorous moods. Beautifully done.

Capucon and Buniatishvili

Next up is the Sonata for Violin and Piano No. 3 in C minor by Norwegian composer and pianist Edvard Grieg (1843-1907). He wrote it in 1887, some twenty years after writing his first two violin sonatas. It would be his last completed chamber work. Flawless intonation from Capucon and nuanced passage work from Buniatishvili highlight the work. After the peace and serenity of the opening Franck music, the Grieg sounds more dramatic, at least in the beginning. In fact, it's almost startlingly dramatic at this point, with the performers playing up the difference for all it's worth. But then they settle into Grieg's more sensitive and melodic material, and the music takes a daring turn into the rhapsodic. The second of the three movements is most songlike, with the violin singing its part in spirited fashion. The soloists take turns expressing the work's varied passions, the finale sounding as close to a traditional folk melody as Grieg would get.

The final item on the program is the four-movement suite called Romantic Pieces, written in 1887 by Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904). Dvorak's four little compositions sound sweetly evocative under the guidance of Capucon and Buniatishvili, who again work wonderfully together, complementing each other's every note. Again I found the slower movements most to my liking, the performers infusing the music with a sublime attractiveness that is downright impossible to resist.

Producer Michael Fine and engineer Jin Choi recorded the album at Auditorium Campra, Conservatoire Darius Milhaud, Aix-en-Provence, France in April 2014. The two performers are playing on a large stage, miked at a moderate distance. The space is just enough to provide a strong presentation with good detail yet admit a pleasant degree of reflective hall ambience as well. The sound is smooth, warm, resonant, and mildly rounded, both artists showing to advantage in a natural-sounding acoustic.

JJP

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

Franck: Symphony in D minor (CD review)

Also, Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne; Hulda, Ballet allegorique. Christian Arming, Liege Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Fuga Libera FUG596.

The idea of the coupling on this album was to bring together a big, popular work with several other, less well-known pieces by the same composer. This is hardly a new concept, and numerous other record companies and musicians have already done it. It does, however, present two problems: First, it is not exactly conducive to selling a ton of discs to have unfamiliar titles on it. Second, the lesser-known works may simply demonstrate to listeners how much better the more-favored work is. There is a reason, after all, for certain pieces of art being more popular than others; they are usually better. Nevertheless, for most classical-music fans, the little ballet suite and symphonic poem that accompany Franck’s Symphony in D are welcome additions.

The big, popular work, the Symphony in D minor by French (Belgian-born) composer, pianist, and organist Cesar Franck (1822-1890), opens the show. Franck wrote it, his only symphony, in 1888, premiering it in Paris the next year, shortly before his death. It received a poor reception at the time, thanks largely to the musical politics of the day (leading French musicians disliked Franck’s blend of German and French musical traditions), but has obviously since become a mainstay of the classical repertoire.

One of the unusual features of the Symphony is that Franck wrote it in only three movements. The first movement, marked Lento - Allegro ma non troppo, begins, as Franck notes, slowly and builds momentum, though never too fast. Leading the Liege Royal Philharmonic, Maestro Christian Arming takes his time developing the themes in this movement, increasing the pace methodically and never making any sudden tempo changes. Instead, he makes Franck’s many shifts of key and tempo seem entirely normal and expected, he integrates them so smoothly. Indeed, if one were to be highly critical at all, one might say Arming was a little too refined, that Franck requires more gusto, more bravura. I don’t know; what we hear is persuasive enough, with adequate power when needed.

The second movement, an Allegretto, contains Franck’s famously fetching French horn melody. Franck himself described this section as resembling “an ancient procession,” and listeners through the years seem to have agreed. That’s the way Arming plays it, as a long, slow march, with a more enlivening theme developing toward the middle. Yet Arming makes it appear as a logical extension of the processional design.

The final movement, marked Allegro non troppo, takes us back in spirit to the start of the piece and sounds generally cheerful and exultant. Because Franck used a typically French cyclic style for the themes, we hear variants of the opening motif reoccurring throughout the work. Arming supplies plenty of energy here, without sounding frenzied or exaggerated. His interpretation stands up as cultured and well tempered to the end.

My preferred recordings for the Franck Symphony remain those of Sir Thomas Beecham (EMI), Pierre Monteux (RCA), Charles Dutoit (Decca), and Marek Janowski (Telarc). However, Maestro Arming makes a good showing of it, and one should not discount his recording in any way.

The first coupling on the disc, Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne (“What one hears on the mountains”) is an atmospheric tone poem, creating a mood rather than depicting any specific scenes. It is quite a lovely piece of music, portraying a lonely, isolated place somewhere high up in the mountains. Arming draws out this Man vs. Nature motif nicely, providing a quiet sense of desolation without letting the music become morbid or depressing.

The second coupling, Hulda, Ballet allegorique, is something we almost never hear on record or in the concert hall. It’s a little five-movement ballet suite from Franck’s long-forgotten opera Hulda, and the music comes as a treat. Under Arming, it is alternately lyrical and exciting, and always charming. The question is why more conductors haven’t recorded it.

A generous eighty-one minutes of playing time caps off a fine release.

Fuga Libera (meaning “free flight”), a label of Outhere Music, recorded the album at Salle Philharmonique, Liege, Belgium, in 2012. The sound in the Symphony is a model of natural audio reproduction. The orchestra stands before us at a moderate distance, the listener appearing to be perhaps twelve rows or so back. One still hears a wide stereo spread yet with a modicum of orchestral depth and good tonal balance. Bass is only modest, the highest notes seem a bit muted, and played too loudly there is a touch of forwardness in the lower treble. Midrange transparency also suffers slightly, while remaining realistic from this perspective. The overall effect is warm and lifelike, making a most pleasant listening experience. For whatever reason, maybe a change in miking, the accompanying items sound a tad more open and dynamic.

To hear a brief excerpt from this album, click here:


JJP

Franck: Symphony in D minor (CD review)

Also, Lalo: Symphony in G minor; Faure: Pavane. Sir Thomas Beecham, Orchestre National de la Radiodiffusion Francaise. EMI 7243-5-62949-2.

Until the rerelease of this disc, my reference standard for French composer Cesar Franck's Symphony in D minor was Monteux's recording from 1961 with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (RCA Living Stereo) and before that (because Monteux's old recording had long been unavailable on CD) Dutoit's digital recording with the Montreal Symphony (Decca). I have to admit that it had been many years since I had heard Beecham's 1959 rendering, and I had quite forgotten how good it was. But I have to stand by the conviction that Monteux still rules the day.

By comparison to Monteux's authoritative interpretation, Beecham's account sounds a tad more wayward in matters of pacing and a bit less magical overall, even if it is still quite fluid and graceful. Dutoit, whose performance is also very good, seems more matter of fact than either Monteux or Beecham, more suavely elegant, to be sure, but ultimately more mundane. Monteux is the more reposed and more insightful of the three, whilst retaining plenty of excitement. Although timings are much the same in all three accounts, Monteux seems more meaningful for his better gauged lingerings and pauses. The music is just as dramatic in all three versions, swinging from moody to energetic, but Monteux is that much more ravishing in the central Allegretto, with its prominent English horn solo, and in the playfulness of the slender scherzo-like theme that follows.

In terms of sound, Dutoit's newer digital recording is admittedly the most detailed, but it is really no more lifelike than the other two. Where Dutoit's recording comes into its own is in filling out the center of the orchestral field better, the RCA being slightly more prominent in the left and right channels. The Beecham EMI recording, on the other hand, sounds nicely balanced left to right, with good dynamics, but it is also a little brighter through the lower treble while being a touch muted in the upper highs. The result is that the Beecham sounds very slightly harsher, overall, than the other two.

One's final decision may rest with the couplings. EMI add Beecham's account of Edouard Lalo's Symphony in G minor, an oddly neglected work presented here with great sympathy and understanding in a heartfelt rendition that brings out all the pathos, melancholy, vigor, and charm of the piece. Although Lalo's Symphony is perhaps not the epitome of Western symphonic art, it has its moments, especially in its vivid finale. Beecham championed the work all his life, but it never caught on. Also on the Beecham disc you'll find Gabriel Faure's little Pavane, exquisitely molded. However, Monteux's disc has his enchanting interpretation of Stravinsky's Petrouchka on it, so it doesn't make decisions easy.  Fortunately, both the Beecham and Monteux discs come at a mid price, so maybe having both of them in one's collection isn't a bad idea.

JJP

Franck: Symphony in D minor; Chausson: Symphony in B-flat (SACD review)

Marek Janowski, Orchestre de la Suisse Romande.  PentaTone Classics SACD 5186 078.

Until PentaTone released this disc, my reference standards for the Franck Symphony were Monteux's and Beecham's early recordings (RCA Living Stereo and EMI), and Dutoit's later digital effort (Decca).  Now, I'm not so sure, even if I still have a slight preference for Monteux.

It's good to hear the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande again, lead by their newest conductor, Marek Janowski.  The two works by Franck and Chausson couldn't suit the orchestra better, considering how well their most-famous conductor, Ernst Ansermet, used to love the French repertoire.  By comparison to Monteux's interpretation of the Franck piece, Janowski's account is almost as magical, if perhaps a bit more lax.  Dutoit, whose performance is also very good, seems more matter of fact, more suavely elegant, but a tad more mundane.  Monteux is the more reposed and more insightful of the conductors cited, whilst retaining plenty of excitement.  Janowski's music making is dramatic, to be sure, swinging from moody to energetic, but Monteux remains that much more ravishing in the central Allegretto, with its prominent English horn solo, and in the playfulness of the slender scherzo-like theme that follows.

If the Chausson Symphony sounds quite a lot like the Franck Symphony, it's no mere coincidence.  The younger Chausson was a member of Franck's group at the Paris Conservatoire, and he looked up to his mentor, patterning his Symphony on the same three-movement format as Franck's, with the final movement not exactly repeating but reminiscent of the material in the first movement.  If Chausson's Symphony doesn't have quite the charm of Franck's, it isn't for a lack of trying.  And Janowski plays both pieces in a similarly evocative, impressionist style.

As far as sound goes, Dutoit's newer digital recording is probably the most detailed, but this newer, 2006 Janowski recording, also digital and made in Geneva, is pretty good, too.  The disc is a hybrid containing three different audio formats--the first ordinary two-channel stereo, the second SACD two-channel stereo, and third SACD multichannel.  I played the disc in both stereo versions and found little to complain about, except that the overall sound field seemed a little murky at times and somewhat bass-shy, though very smooth throughout.

If you're looking for the best possible interpretation of the Franck, I'd have to say Monteux still reigns supreme.  If it's the best possible stereo sound you're after, Dutoit is your man.  And if it's the best possible multichannel sonics you're looking for, then Janowski rules the day.

JJP