Zsófia Boros: El ultimo aliento (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Mathias Duplessy: De rêve et de pluie; Joaquin Alem: Salir adentro; Quique Sinesi: El abrazo; Alberto Ginastera:Milonga; Duplessy: Le secret d'Hiroshigé; Perle de Rosée; Sinesi: Tormenta de ilusión; Duplessy: Le labyrinthe de Vermeer; Berceuse; Valse pour Camille; Carlos Moscardini: El último aliento. Zsófia Boros, classical guitar, ronroco. ECM New Series 2769 485 8302

The  Vienna-based Hungarian guitarist Zsófia Boros brings together compositions from two continents on this new release, her third for the ECM New Series label. In so doing, she not only introduces her listeners to several composers they have most likely never heard of before, but she also introduces them to the sound of an instrument that have most likely never heard before. To be honest, there is only one composer from the list above that I have heard of before, Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983), the preeminent Argentinian composer of the 20th century. But there are three other Argentinians whose works Boros has chosen to highlight: Joaquin Alem (b. 1975), an Argentine-born bandoneon master based in Germany; Quique Sinesi (b.1960), a Latin Grammy Award-winning Argentinian guitarist; and Carlos Moscardini (b. 1959), an Argentine composer and guitarist. In addition to Argentina, France is also well represented, for although Mathias Duplessy (b. 1972) is the only composer from that country, a total four of his compositions appear on the album. His De rêve et de pluie, which opens the album, is a quietly beautiful piece that establishes the overall contemplative and peaceful atmosphere of the album as a whole. 

A contrast in the texture of the sound is provided by the ronroco, a 10-string Andean instrument (five sets of doubled strings) something akin to a mandolin, on which Boros plays Sinesi’s Tormenta de ilusión, the most overtly energetic composition on the album. The other piece with a slightly different sound is Sinesi’s “El Abrazo” (in English the title translates to ‘Hug’), for which Boros plays with a rubber band fastened around her guitar strings. “While my children were sleeping, I thought of muting the guitar differently so that I could play late in the evening, too,” she explains. “One day I stretched a rubber band over the fretboard and was fascinated by the sound. I found it particularly beautiful with ‘El Abrazo’, a song that indeed feels like a warm embrace.” 

The piece with the most dramatic expressiveness is the title piece, Moscardini’s El último aliento, which ends the program, but even that composition projects an aura of gentle mystery that is in keeping with the album’s general sense of calm and well-being. I hope, however, that I have not made this release sound boring, for it is anything but – it is entrancing, captivating, involving; assuredly, the kind of album that invites repeated listening. Overall, this is a truly lovely recital of gentle music with enduring power.

Hilary Hahn: Eclipse (CD review)

Music of Dvorak, Ginastera, and Sarasate. Hilary Hahn, violin; Andres Orzco-Estrada, Frankfurt Radio Symphony. DG 486 2383.

By John J. Puccio

Hilary Hahn was probably born with a violin in her hand. Well, that’s close. She began playing the violin before she was four years old and made her concert stage debut at age eleven with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. She has played with virtually every major symphony orchestra since then, recorded a number of albums (mostly for DG and Sony), and won an appropriate number of awards. So, yes, any new recording from her is a welcome event.

On the current recording she turns her prodigious talent to the works of Dvorak (Violin Concerto), Ginastera (Violin Concerto), and Sarasate (Carmen Fantasy). She says she chose these three composers because she wanted to do a “deep dive in the Dvorak Violin Concerto,” has an “obsession with the tantalizing, magical weirdness of Ginastera’s Violin Concerto,” and has an “inhabitation of Sarastate’s spirited Carmen Fantasy.”

The program begins with the Violin Concerto in A minor, op. 53 by the Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904). He wrote it in 1879, intending it for the eminent Hungarian violinist Joseph Joachim, but Joachim, a noted traditionalist, objected to a number of elements in the concerto and never played it in public.

Anyhow, Dvorak begins the concerto with an Allegro ma non troppo (fast, but not too much), the "ma non troppo" marking used in all three movements, and the violin entering almost immediately. Joachim may have felt that the orchestra dominated the proceedings too much, but Dvorak made some revisions before premiering it. Here, both soloist and orchestra share equal billing, with Ms. Hahn’s virtuosic playing heading up a spirited account of the music. It’s perhaps a bit intimidating compared to, say, Itzhak Perlman’s rendering for EMI/Warner, who is a tick more relaxed though no slower. Still, Ms. Hahn gives us a bracing interpretation, and it may be enough for some listeners, especially fans, to enjoy.

The slow central section, the Adagio ma non troppo, is the impassioned heart of the work. Again, Dvorak's marking indicates he didn't want the soloist or orchestra to take things too slowly, possibly not to make the music too sentimental. The movement became so popular that concert violinists often perform it as a stand-alone item. It’s in this slower section that Ms. Hahn shows us her mastery of subtlety and nuance, with a lovely handling of the more delicate aspects of the movement.

In the Finale Dvorak returns to the tuneful Czech folk melodies of the opening movement, and Ms. Hahn takes special delight in them. Still, I did not find Ms. Hahn’s overall reading quite as light-footed, as nimble, as dexterous as those of Perlman (EMI/Warner), Mutter (DG), or Barton Pine (Avie), so I could not count it among the best recorded performances available. Still, there is no question it’s a formidable version, vigorous and heady.

In addition to the Dvorak concerto, Ms. Hahn performs the Violin Concerto, op. 30 by the Argentinean composer Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983). For me, this was the highlight of the album. The piece is divided into eleven short segments, each of them a little weirder than the previous one, and each of them rendered with consummate skill. It’s as though Ms. Hahn is relishing every bizarre moment of the score, and she communicates her enthusiasm easily to the listener. The Dvorak may be the album’s draw, but the Ginastera is the keeper.

Ms. Hahn closes the show with a genuine show-stopper, the Carmen Fantasy by the Spanish violinist, conductor, and composer Pablo Sarasate (1844-1908). It is, of course, a well-known violin fantasy in five brief movements, adapted from the music of Bizet’s opera Carmen. The piece requires a good deal of delicacy from the violinist as well as an abundance of musical gymnastics, all of which Ms. Hahn negotiates with ease.

Producers Christoph Clasen and Hilary Hahn and engineer Philipp Knop recorded the album at hr-Sendesaal and Alte Oper, Frankfurt, Germany in April and June 2021. The miking has nicely captured the violin in regard to the orchestra, not too far in front and centrally positioned. The violin tone is also realistically rendered, if a touch bright at the upper end. So is the orchestra, which can be very dynamic but somewhat forward and, at times, a trifle intrusive. To my ears it’s more of a “hi-fi” sound than a purely natural one.

JJP

Ginastera: One Hundred (CD review)

Yolanda Kondonassis, harp; Gil Shaham, violin; Ori Shaham, piano; Jason Vieaus, guitar; Raphael Jimenez, Oberlin Orchestra. Oberlin Music OC 16-04.

"Beauty is the emergence of a spiritual climate in which each artist is transfigured through the impulse of creation. In this climate, the work that springs forth from the depths of his soul, combining personal and shared elements of humanity, is purified and becomes translucent and clear. It becomes universal." --Alberto Ginastera

A few years ago I reviewed a Naxos recording of Ginastera's cello concertos, and I remember the back of the jewel box saying, "Alberto Ginastera was one of the most admired and respected musical voices of the twentieth century, who successfully fused the strong traditional influences of his national heritage with experimental, contemporary, and classical techniques." That made me feel rather uninformed at the time because I could only remember hearing a single piece of music by the man before that, an old recording of the Harp Concerto with Zabaleta. Maybe the composer is finally getting his due.

Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983) was an Argentinean composer who studied with Aaron Copland and among whose students was tango composer Astor Piazzolla. What surprised me in reading about Ginastera is that an old rock track familiar to me, Emerson, Lake & Palmer's "Toccata," the group adapted from Ginastera's First Piano Concerto. It's remarkable how things in this world are so intertwined, yet we may not even know about them.

Anyway, what we have in the present disc is a 2016 celebration of the one-hundredth anniversary of Ginastera's birth. There are four pieces represented on the disc, starting with the biggest (orchestra and soloist), longest (about twenty-five minutes), and arguably most popular of his works, the aforementioned Harp Concerto, Op. 25, this time performed by Yolanda Kondonassis, harp, accompanied by Raphael Jimenez and the Oberlin Orchestra. Ginastera wrote it in 1956 and revised it in 1968.

Yolanda Kondonassis

Ms. Kondonassis plays it with sensitivity and feeling, bringing out its more Romantic qualities of lyricism and melody. Yet she never shies from adding sparks to the livelier interludes. The orchestra play with enthusiasm, Jimenez providing a good rhythmic punch throughout the work's more-energetic segments.

The next three selections are brief duets or solos, starting with Pampeana No. 1, Op. 16 (1946), played by Gil Shaham, violin, and Orli Shaham, piano. They play it as a sort of slow, intricate lament, the two performers engaging in a conversation neither old-fashioned nor completely modern yet always compelling. This is modern music that doesn't sound at all modern nor dated and gets especially heated about halfway through. Beautifully executed.

Then there's the Sonata for Guitar, Op. 47 (1976), with Jason Vieaux, guitar, and Danzas Argentinas, Op. 2 (1937), with Orli Shaham, piano. They, too, appear well rendered, the soloists providing virtuosity, color, passion, and sentiment to the music in equal measure.

Incidentally, the booklet notes contains several insightful, well-written essays on Ginastera and his style. They are worth a read.

Producers Yolanda Kondonassis and Erica Brenner and engineers Paul Eachus and Lawrence Rock recorded the music at the Warner Concert Hall, Oberlin Conservatory of Music, Oberlin, Ohio in November 2015 and February 2016 and at the Academy of Arts and Letters, New York, NY in February 2016. The sound obtained in the concerto is nicely focused and wide spread, with a moderate orchestral depth, good dynamics, and a fairly decent balance among the instruments. Nice bass and percussion, too. Fun stuff. There is a light ambient glow that slightly softens the sonic definition, but it's only a minor veiling and actually enhances most of the music. The duet and solos also sound realistic enough, the violin and piano combination never seeming too close or too distant. The solos, though, I found a bit too near, even if their closeness increases the clarity of the instruments.

JJP

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

Ginastera: Cello Concertos (CD review)

Mark Kosower, cello; Lothar Zagrosek, Bamberg Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.572372.

The back of the Naxos jewel box says "Alberto Ginastera was one of the most admired and respected musical voices of the twentieth century, who successfully fused the strong traditional influences of his national heritage with experimental, contemporary, and classical techniques." That may be so, but it made me feel rather uninformed because I could only remember hearing a single piece of music by the man, an old recording of the Harp Concerto with Zabaleta. The present disc hopes to rectify that situation for a lot of us classical-music fans.

Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983) was an Argentinean composer who studied with Aaron Copland and among whose students is tango-composer Astor Piazzolla. What surprised me in reading about Ginastera is that a rock track familiar to me, Emerson, Lake & Palmer's "Toccata," the group adapted from Ginastera's First Piano Concerto. Serves me right for not reading the album's liner notes. It's remarkable how things in this world are so intertwined, yet we may not even know about them.  Anyway, Ginastera wrote his two Cello Concertos in 1968 and 1980, and it's a pleasure to have them here.

The disc begins with the Cello Concerto No. 2, Op. 50, composed by Ginastera as a tribute to his wife, the cellist Aurora Natola. Written in four movements, each section bears the lines of a poem to help the listener better understand the music. It's all very sensitive and evocative, the composer having explained earlier in his career that "art is first perceived by our senses. It then affects our sentiments and in the end awakens our intelligence.... A work which speaks only to the intelligence of man will never reach his heart."

Cellist Mark Kosower plays with a light touch, never overstating the music even when it becomes somewhat melodramatic, as at the end of the first movement; nor does Maestro Lothar Zagrosek overdramatize Ginastera's poetic moods. Still, the music often sounds to my ears like most typical modern pieces, with a plethora of sonic effects, mainly percussive, in slow but harmonious succession, without much regard to a discernable melody. However, the third movement, a nocturne, struck me as most touching, Kosower's cello wistful and yearning.

Ginastera called his Concerto No. 1, Op. 36, a neo-Expressionist work. It's a darker, more ominous-sounding piece than No. 2, written in a traditional three-movement concerto arrangement. I'm not sure just what the composer was after in the first movement, but the music can be downright spooky. The scherzo is more rambunctious, an energetic section with a vigorous rhythmic pulse that Kosower and Zagrosek exploit with cultivated restraint. It's quite a lot fun, actually, and does indeed appeal to the senses above all. I might have done without the final movement, though, which apparently Ginastera intended as a plunge into madness, the chaos eventually fading into silence. I suppose this is an appropriate ending to the work, and parts of it are undeniably brilliant. The overall effect, nonetheless, seems to lose its welcome by the halfway point.

Naxos recorded the concertos in Bamberg Congress Hall, Bavaria, the Concerto No. 1 in 2009 and the Concerto No. 2 live a year later in 2010. The live recording is very close-up, helping to eliminate any possible audience noise but not offering much in the way of natural hall ambience. In compensation, we do get excellent clarity and dynamic impact.

In the Concerto No. 1, also recorded very closely but not live, we find slightly more dimensionality, with just as much punch. In any case, both recording styles sound fine, and they fit the music nicely.

JJP