Things Lived and Dreamt (CD Review)

 by Karl Nehring

Leoš Janáček (1828-1854): Sonata 1.X.1905 – Předtucha (Lepressentiment/ The Presentiment) Con moto; Smrt (La mort / The Death) Adagio; Josef Suk (1874–1935): Jaro (Printemps / Spring), Op. 22a, No.5 Vroztoužení (Ledésir/Longing) Allegro non troppo; Antonín Dvořák (1841–1904) Humoresques, Op. 101 (1894) -- No. 4, Poco andante, fa majeur/F Major; No.7, Poco lento e grazioso–sol bémol majeur/G-Flat Major; No.8, Poco andante–si bémol mineur/B-Flat Minor; Suk: Životem a snem (Things Lived and Dreamt), Op. 30 -- I Allegretto moderato – S humorem a ironií, místy rozdurděně (With humour and irony, agitated in places); II Allegro vivo – Neklidně a nesměle, bez silnějšího výrazu (Restless and somewhat timid, without strongly marked expression); III Andante sostenuto–Tajemně a velmi vzdušně (Mysterious and light and airy); IV Poco allegretto – Zamyšleně, později stále výbojněji (Contemplative, then increasingly resolute in mood); V Adagio – K uzdraveni mého syna (For my son’s recuperation) – Klidně, shlubokým citem (Calm, with deep feeling); VI Moderato quasi allegretto – S výrazem tiché, bezstarostné veselosti (With quiet, carefree cheer); VII Adagio non tanto – Jednoduše, později s výrazem drtivé moci (Forthright, later with the expression of overpowering force); VIII Vivace – Jemně, švitorně (Delicate, warbling); IX Poco Andante – Šepotavě a tajemně (Whispering and mysterious); X Adagio – Zapomenutým rovům v koutku hřbitova křečovického (Dedicated to forgotten graves in the Křečovice cemetary – Snivě (Dreamy); Vítězslava Kaprálová (1915–1940): Dubnová Preludia (Préludes d’avril / April Preludes), Op. 13 -- I Allegro ma non troppo; II Andante; III Andante semplice; IV Vivo; Bedřich Smetana (1824–1884): Czech Dances 1, JB 1: 107 – Polka No.2 en la mineur/in A Minor – Moderato. Francine Kay, piano. Analekta AN 2 9004

 

The Canadian pianist Francine Kay is currently on the faculty at Princeton University, plus she also does some teaching in at an institute in France. On this new album, however, her focus is on music by Czech composers. The album opens with music by Janáček, who the liner notes point out was the most widely performed Czech opera composer. His composition for piano on this album, Sonata 1.X.1905, was inspired by a tragic event of which the composer was an eyewitness, the killing of an unarmed demonstrator by a German soldier. The sonata was originally in three movements, but the composer discarded the third before the work was premiered. The remaining two as played here give off an underlying sense of uneasiness, yet with an undeniable lyrical appeal that Kay illuminates with a deft touch. Next up is the first of two compositions on the program by Josef Suk, who not only was a student of the famed Czech composer but was also in fact his son-in-law. Longing is a brief selection lasting just under four minutes, but it packs  plenty of lyricism into that brief span, sounding much like one of the more romantic pieces of Liszt. It is music imbued with tender emotion, this piece that was inspired by the birth of Suk’s son.

 

We next hear some of the most familiar music of all the piano music literature as Kay presents for us three Humoresques from Suk’s father-in-law, Antonín Dvořák, who despite being the best-known and well-loved Czech composer here in the USA, still sadly seems to be too little recognized (at least here) for composing much beyond his Symphony No. 9 and maybe his Cello Concerto – although I will admit that the opening measures of Humoresque No. 7will be familiar to many, even though they may have no idea that Dvořák was the composer. Following the three short, lighthearted Dvořák miniatures, Kay then turns her attention back to the music of Dvořák’s son-in-law, Suk. Please bear in mind that the previous Suk selection on this album, Longing, was a lyrical outpouring inspired by the birth of his son as you contemplate the following liner note introduction to the next composition, which happens to be the album’s title piece and central focus: “After his beloved wife, Otilie, died in 1905, Suk began to embrace contemporary European impulses in his work. His most demanding piano cycle, Things Lived and Dreamt), Op. 30 (1909)… can be described as a kind of artist’s diary. It is inspired by a variety of experiences and impressions and sings with a rich expressiveness… Surprising movements of voices and harmonies, impressionistic elements, unusual accents (e,g., in No. 1, an ironic caricature of a polka), free treatment of construction, and vibrant colours are among the inventive means employed by Suk.” The 10 movements with their wide variety of moods, tempi, and styles offer Kay the opportunity to demonstrate the depth of her ability to play with subtlety as well as power.

Then once again we get that rare treat of encountering music from a composer that most of us have most likely never heard of before. Vítězslava Kaprálová first studied with Vítězslav Novák in Prague, then went to Paris to further her music studies under the tutelage of the Czech composer Bohuslav Martinů (who himself had gone to Paris to study under Albert Roussel). Her brief but entertaining April Preludes, written when she was only 22, testify of her talent; sadly, however, she died a mere three years later from an acute illness in Montpelier, France, while fleeing the Nazi occupation. Kay then ends her program with what feels like an encore, an energetic and cheerful little polka by Smetana to bring this generously filled (74+ minutes) CD to its conclusion.

 

Dvorak: Symphony No. 8 (SACD review)

Also, Janacek: Symphonic Suite from Jenufa. Manfred Honeck, Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Reference Recordings Fresh! FR-710SACD.

Of Dvorak's nine symphonies, it's the last three that have always been the most popular with audiences, with the final symphony, "From the New World," getting the most attention. That's probably the way it should be; people know what they like and generally pick winners. But my own favorites have long been both No. 8 and No. 9, so I always welcome new recordings of them, if only to see how they stack up against my previous favorites. This new rendering of No. 8 by Manfred Honeck and his Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra on a live Reference Recordings Fresh! hybrid SACD stacks up pretty well.

Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904) wrote his Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Op. 88 in 1889, and Maestro Honeck considers it the "most Czech" of all his symphonies. That is, the piece sounds cheerful and poetic, the composer keeping its style and structure in the Czech-romantic tradition and drawing his inspiration from the Bohemian folk tunes of his native country.

Honeck doesn't go at a breakneck pace through the first-movement Allegro con brio but instead varies his tempo considerably to create a fairly lively, even thrilling account of the score. There is great exuberance in the conductor's handling of the various themes, while the sounds of nature, like the birdsong of the flute, create a truly sweet atmosphere.

Dvorak marked the second movement an Adagio (in slow, leisurely time), but hardly any conductor plays it too slowly. Indeed, most conductors in my experience take it a moderate, even heady pace. But Honeck takes the composer at his word and plays most of the section at a reasonably slow speed. Not that this has any deleterious effect on the outcome, however, because he continues to introduce enough changes of tempo and dynamics within this slow structure to keep our attention from flagging. For example, Honeck lowers the volume to such an extent along about the middle of the movement that you'd think your speakers had just gone dead, which only serves to heighten the excitement when the music comes back full force.

In the third-movement Allegretto grazioso we get a kind of dumka (a Slavic folk ballad alternating between sadness and gaiety), here rendered as a vaguely melancholic waltz, which Honeck handles brilliantly. The music sounds charming and bucolic, lyric, lilting, and folksy, with a wonderfully delicate, rhythmic motion.

Finally, we get a fourth-movement Allegro con non troppo in which Honeck exercises his usual bent for flexible tempos more than ever. As he points out in a booklet note, Slavic dances tend to speed up at the end, so he slows and quickens his pace accordingly, even if the composer didn't specifically indicate such. Again, it creates an enthralling effect and makes Honeck's interpretation a little different from those we usually hear.

Still, the question remains: Does Honeck displace other contenders in this repertoire? For my taste, I continue to favor more traditional yet delightful renditions from Sir John Barbirolli (EMI), Libor Pesek (Virgin), Sir Colin Davis (Philips), Istvan Kertesz (Decca), Rafael Kubelik (DG), and a few others. However, for your own taste Honeck may be just the antidote for a score that has grown stale from hearing it so much.

Because Dvorak's Eighth Symphony is relatively short, there is time for a reasonably lengthy coupling. Here we find a symphonic suite from the opera Jenufa by Dvorak's fellow Czech composer Leos Janacek (1854-1928). The suite comprises a twenty-two minute set of selections chosen by Maestro Honeck to represent the most-important moments of the opera. Since the opera is rather grim, expect some sorrow, gloom, and melodrama. Nevertheless, it is also quite colorful music, filled with a bit of swirling boisterousness, too, and under Honeck it makes an especially entertaining piece of music. Love that xylophone.

The production team of Soundmirror, Boston--Dirk Sobatka, Mark Donahue, John Newton, and Harold Chambers--recorded the music live at Heinz Hall, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in October 2013, and Reference Recordings Live! released it on a hybrid stereo/multichannel SACD in 2014. Soundmirror, with over eighty Grammy nominations and awards to their credit, obviously know a thing or two about fine recordings, and insofar as live recordings go, this one is quite good. While it is fairly close up in the manner of most live recordings, it seldom sounds bright or edgy. In fact, in the two-channel stereo mode to which I listened, it's mostly rather smooth and warm, with plenty of midrange transparency. If one didn't sense the presence of an audience through their breathing and occasional wheezing, one might think this were a studio recording. An absence of closing applause helps as well.

JJP

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

Signs, Games & Messages (CD review)

Music of Janacek, Bartok and Kurtag. Jennifer Koh, violin; Shai Wosner, piano. Cedille CDR 90000 143.

American violinist Jennifer Koh is an adventurous sort, leaning to performances of new and contemporary compositions as well as robust interpretations of old favorites. On Signs, Games & Messages she teams with Israeli pianist Shai Wosner for an album of twentieth-century works by Janacek, Bartok, and Kurtag that amply demonstrates her flexible playing style and enterprising spirit.

Koh and Wosner tell us in a booklet note that “Each work on this album inhabits two worlds: the influence of folklore on one hand and the composer’s striking originality on the other. As a duo, we wanted to create a program that explores these intertwined stands of musical DNA, the tension between the visionary modernism of these masterpieces, and the visceral pull of folk and cultural memory that is so essential to the language of these composers.” Each of the composers on the disc embraces modern musical techniques while also acknowledging the traditional music of their native lands.

The first thing the duo tackle is the Sonata for Violin and Piano, JW VII/7 by Czech composer Leo Janacek (1854-1928). He wrote it in 1914, at the outset of the First World War in Europe; Janacek said of it, "...I could just about hear the sound of the steel clashing in my troubled head...." In the Sonata, Janacek plays with the rhythms of speech-melody, taken he said from the cadences of indigenous folk tunes. You hear in Koh and Wosner's playing abrupt stops and starts, just as Janacek intended and which give the music a distinctively different quality from most music of the era. The pair of performers do justice to the Sonata's free-flowing ideas, from an aching melancholy through a quick, excitable agitation, all the while maintaining the composer's melodic lines.

Next, Koh and Wosner offer a series of short items, mostly for violin and piano and a few for piano alone, from Hungarian composer Gyorgy Kurtag (b. 1924). With these miniatures we hear Kurtag at his most ambitious and most risky, the music at once creative yet fairly accessible. Sometimes the music sounds distinctly European; other times it seems almost American folklike. Koh and Wosner give it plenty of time to develop, creating wonderfully colorful little sound pictures: eerie, haunting, playful, many as soft as a whisper, a few more loud and clamorous. Like me, you may enjoy "Fundamentals No. 2," especially, a thirty-second piece featuring vocal sounds, one labeled "unpleasant." Likewise with "A Hungarian Lesson for Foreigners." They made me smile.

Finally, we get the First Sonata for Violin and Piano, Sz. 75 by Hungarian composer Bela Bartok (1881-1945). As with the previous selections, Koh and Wosner play the Bartok with passion and repose, even though the music itself is perhaps the most consciously "twentieth-century modern" of the works on the program. Odd, perhaps, given that Kurtag is obviously more contemporary than Bartok, yet Kurtag actually sounds more traditional, for all his inventiveness. Anyway, Koh and Wosner provide a good deal of pleasure with their intimate intertwining of instruments, from stormy to quiet to almost meditative.

Producer-engineer Judith Sherman and editor Bill Maylone made the recording at the American Academy of Arts and Letters, New York City in April and October, 2012. If you've been following my reviews of Cedille products over the years, you know I think highly of their audio reproduction. This one is no exception and sounds splendid. Both the piano and violin appear well focused and well balanced with one another, neither too close nor too far away. There is in addition to the fine clarity a small but helpful hint of room resonance, which provides a pleasant ambient bloom to the sound. Add to that a wide dynamic range, a quick transient response, and a realistic decay time, and you get a recording that pretty much puts the artists in your living room.

JJP

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

A Folk Song Runs Through It (CD review)

Piano music of Bartok, Janacek, and Kodaly. Andrew Rangell, piano. Steinway & Sons 30018.

Certainly, the folk music of the United States is rich and varied, but the folk music of central Europe is just as rich and varied, maybe more so, and has the distinction of being older. The Hungarian composers Bela Bartok (1881-1945) and Zoltan Kodaly (1882-1967) and the Czech composer Leos Janacek (1854-1928) drew upon the vast folk melodies handed down in their countries for generations, and on the present disc American pianist Andrew Rangell (b. 1948) plays several of these composers’ best folk-inspired piano works.

Rangell practices a light, often delicate touch on the piano, an approach that serves him well in the slower, airier scores. Nevertheless, he maintains a good deal of power in reserve, making his technique not only dramatically virtuosic but uncommonly sensitive and diverse as well. A short biography of Mr. Rangell indicates that he holds a doctorate in piano and has just recently recovered from a severe hand injury that sidelined his career for some seven years. I wonder if sometimes tragedy can’t be a blessing in disguise if you use it to your advantage, in this case forcing the pianist into a style he might not have adopted earlier. I would love to hear him return to recording Chopin (he released the Mazurkas for the Dorian label in 2003; now perhaps Steinway can persuade him to do the Etudes, Preludes, Waltzes, and such).

Anyway, the album begins with Janacek’s In the Mists, a four-part piano work that nicely complements the more-ethereal side of Rangell’s playing. Janacek wrote In the Mists in 1912, a few years after the death of his daughter and while Prague opera houses were still rejecting his compositions. Rangell concentrates on the music’s impressionistic atmosphere and comfortably conveys its sweet, melancholy flavor. It’s the second-movement, marked Molto adagio, that actually sounds the most folk inflected, and Rangell gives it an appropriately rustic, Romantic flair, while keeping the other parts lilting and flowing.

Next up are Bartok’s Improvisations on Hungarian Peasant Songs (1920), followed by six Romanian Folk Dances (1915). The Improvisations are a collection of eight interconnected segments and range from poignant lullabies to bawdy tavern songs. Rangell takes it from a hushed whisper to a full thrust. I can’t say I enjoyed all of the sections equally--some are too raucous and blustery for my taste--but when Rangell is playing the softer stuff, he’s pitching a shutout. In any case, the Folk Dances are more to my ear, and Rangell appears to have the full measure of their country fiddle origins in Transylvania. Bartok made clever arrangements of the tunes he found, and Rangell does them justice.

Kodaly wrote Seven Pieces for Piano (1918) after falling under the spell of Debussy, so expect more wispy, mystical, brooding impressionism. The music seems to fit Rangell’s manner perfectly, making them an ideal pairing. Again, while for me it was all a bit too darkly low-key and dour, that doesn’t mean Rangell isn’t affording it all the feeling he can muster.

Rangell then closes the program with Bartok’s Sonata for Piano (1926), which except for the finale is probably the least folk sounding of the music on the disc. Most of it sounds like a dirge, a lament, and here Rangell is at his best conveying various kinds of grief throughout. Still, the music ends in a burst of good cheer with at least one clearly recognizable tune interjected here and there into the melody.  It’s all rather fun and concludes Rangell’s fascinating look at Central European folk-art music just after the turn of the twentieth century.

Producer and soloist Rangell and engineer Tom Stephenson recorded the music for Steinway & Sons at the Shalin Liu Performance Center, Rockport, Massachusetts in May, 2012. The piano sound they obtained appears entirely focused, with a good perspective if miked a tad more distantly than one usually hears. The venue provides a full, resonant acoustic, a mild hall reverberation giving it a realistic presence. Because there is a wide dynamic range involved, the overall volume level is a touch low.

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

JJP

Declarations: Music Between the Wars (CD review)

Chamber works by Leos Janacek, Ruth Crawford Seeger, and Paul Hindemith. Pacifica Quartet. Cedille CDR 900000 092.

I admit I find it hard to concentrate for any amount of time on much twentieth-century chamber music.

Largely, this is due to my having the attention span of a gnat; partly, it’s because I often find the music repetitious and unengaging. But I must also admit I found the three pieces on this Cedille album fascinating and appealing, particularly in the hands of the Pacifica Quartet, fascinating and appealing enough to keep me seated between the speakers for over an hour.

The three composers involved are roughly contemporaneous, the works coming from the period as the title says “Between the Wars.” Certainly, the First World War changed the entire world in general as well as the world of music. Mainly gone was the lush, lyrical Romanticism of the nineteenth century, replaced by the more daring, more experimental, sometimes atonal, sometimes disharmonic music of the twentieth. The Janacek, Seeger, and Hindemith pieces come from a period less than a decade apart, from 1922 to 1931, and they reflect a new age.

Of the three works, the opening one, Janacek’s String Quartet No. 2 from 1928, is the most traditional. Called “Intimate Letters,” its four movements convey the composer’s feelings toward a loved one in his life, an affair beyond his marriage that he may or may not have consummated but according to his letters was apparently quite intense. The music alternates between strong, dramatic emotion, tranquil contemplation, and not a little melanchoy, some changes of moods occurring within seconds, which the Pacifica Quartet are quick to relay to the listener.

The Seeger piece from 1931 that follows, simply called String Quartet, is more atmospheric and moody, most of it sounding eerily sinister in its minimalist tone. The final work, Paul Hindemith’s String Quartet No. 4 is the earliest of the compositions, premiered in 1922, and it is perhaps the most unconventional of the trio in that it can sound both modern and Romantic by turns; but, ironically, it is also the freer in its composer’s flowing, unscheduled, yet strict musical notations.

The Pacifica Quartet--Brandon Vamos, Simin Ganatra, Masumi Per Rostad, and Sibbi Bernhardsson--play with a welcome finesse and intense enthusiasm. And the Cedille engineers--Judith Sherman and Bill Maylone--capture the sound quite realistically, with a strong sense of presence and without a trace of forwardness. For fans of chamber music or for folks looking toward something a little different, Declarations makes an arresting listen.

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

JJP

Janacek: Taras Bulba (CD review)

Also, Lachian Dances; Moravian Dances. Antoni Wit, Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra. Naxos 8.572695.

Czech composer Leos Janacek (1854-1928) has never been the most-popular writer on the musical stage, but there are several of his works firmly established in the basic repertoire. Among these are his Sinfonietta as well as the subject of this disc, his "rhapsody for orchestra" as he called it, Taras Bulba, a piece in three movements he premiered in 1918 and which he based on sections of a novel by the Russian writer Nikolai Gogol. The three movements are small tone poems describing various episodes in the life of the seventeenth-century Cossack leader and warrior Taras Bulba and his vision of liberation for his people.

While one can find any number of fine recordings of the work on CD, for example those by Charles Mackerras and the Vienna Philharmonic (Decca) and Vaclav Neumann and the Czech Philharmonic (Supraphon), this new release from Maestro Antoni Wit and the Warsaw Philharmonic is almost as compelling, and one may safely mention it in the same breath.

The music opens with the "Death of Andrij," Taras Bulba's youngest son, who has fallen in love with the daughter of his enemy and fights against his father, only to have his father kill him. Wit takes the opening very gently, building the love theme carefully. As he does with the rest of the Rhapsody, Wit adopts a broadly lyrical approach, letting the musical pictures unfold gracefully and deliberately. Nevertheless, when the high drama arrives, Wit is ready for it and creates a heady forward momentum. In other words, you'll get both Romance and excitement from the conductor.

The central movement, "Death of Ostap," deals with the grief of Taras Bulba's eldest son, Ostap, for his brother, Ostap subsequently captured by the enemy Poles and taken to Warsaw for execution. Bulba the elder follows in disguise and calls out in anguish at his son's death. Wit recreates the pain of Bulba fairly effectively, the music gliding effortlessly along under his guidance. Mackerras probably adds a degree more passion to the atmosphere, but it's close.

The final movement, "Prophecy and Death of Taras Bulba," concerns the capture and death of Taras Bulba, and his final prophecy that "A Tsar shall arise from Russian soil, and there shall not be a power in the world which shall not submit to him!" Here, Wit clearly expounds upon the importance of Bulba's final exclamation and ends the work on a tragically melancholy yet triumphant note.

Coupled with the rhapsody we find two dance suites by Janacek, the Lachian Dances (1889-90) and the Moravian Dances (1891). Janacek based the suites largely on Czech folk music of his day and well before, the songs describing a countryside and traditions quickly fading. They exhibit a much lighter, more joyous tone than the Taras Bulba music, as we might expect, and hint of Dvorak. Wit appears to be enjoying himself, and so do we.

Naxos recorded the music at Warsaw Philharmonic Hall, Poland, in 2010-2011, obtaining generally good results. The sound is very smooth and natural, with a wider dynamic range and transient impact than we usually find on a Naxos release. Although the sonic picture is a tad lacking in overall transparency, bit heavy, and a slightly close-up, there is a decent sense of depth and space to the acoustic. Along with a strong bass accompaniment, the organ pedals sounding quite deep and authoritative, the result is pleasing, if not entirely "audiophile."

JJP