Mendelssohn/Bruch Violin Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Mendelssohn: Violin Concerto in E Minor, Op. 64; Bruch: Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 26. Johan Dalene, violin; Gemma New/Malin Broman, conductors; Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra; Kaspars Putniņš, choral conductor; Swedish Radio Choir. BIS 2610

So often when I listen to a classical release, and check other reviewers’ takes, I’ll wonder if we actually heard the same thing. Even when my reactions aren’t that different, I’ll sometimes be amazed at how my counterparts choose to couch their remarks. Take this new Johan Dalene recording, for instance. Some reviewers apparently think these concerto performances are the best things since indoor plumbing. (We’ll deal with the Vaughan Williams-Drayton monstrosity in due course.) And you know what? They’re…okay. Good. Very good, even. But there are now hundreds of recordings of the Mendelssohn Op. 64 and Bruch Op. 26 each. What does this new offering add that’s noteworthy? I have to say that it adds very little. Which is perfectly fine, but to praise it to the skies like some are doing seems excessive. Don’t they know the classic (and much stronger) performances by Heiffetz? Oistrakh? Milstein? Etc.? Or are we just in the business now of being too nice to anything that’s new from anyone who happens to have a pulse?

Actually, I have nothing against Mr. Dalene. He’s an excellent violinist, and still very young.  It’s not his fault that his playing doesn’t have the character of the legends I just named. But after all, he’s putting himself out there, and I can’t see the point in not being honest. Most people will be well served by this Mendelssohn performance. Conductor/concertmaster Malin Broman and the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra all provide solid support for Dalene, even if at times they impose themselves slightly overmuch. And maybe it’s just my imagination, or Dalene’s interpretive style, but his tone sometimes sounds a tad huskier or scratchier than the rich ones in the best recordings. The finale tends to be where the cream rises to the top, and here I detect these minor imperfections rather more insistently. Again, it’s all  fine…but not in the S-tier, and certainly no better than dozens of other performances I’ve heard. It’ll all do, certainly. But not if you’re seeking “great” rather than just “excellent.”

 

Similar things could be said for the Bruch, although here I’m all the more needing a “presence” that Dalene doesn’t quite provide. He acquits himself very respectably, but there’s something extra missing. I’m afraid his supporting cast here doesn’t completely help him, as it’s even more invasive than in the Mendelssohn. Or maybe I notice it more because the Bruch is so much a “soloist’s” concerto, and the SRSO at times almost sounds like they’re covering, or even competing, with him in the character department. Conductor Gemma New and Company supply a fire that I wish Dalene matched. Will the casual listener care about any of this? Probably not. But I’d be interested to know how many other longtime fans of the concerto hear what I do.

 

I would have been happy to end this review right here with a “solid yet undistinguished” verdict, and to have begun my next Classical Candor project forthwith. But alas, there is one remaining item on this release: a 2019 arrangement by Paul Drayton of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s The Lark Ascending for violin and choir. I wish I could tell you that this is a version of the beloved work that you didn’t know you needed. But if you’re like me, you’ll listen to it and know that it was never needed. It might have been okay were it just a question of the choir taking the place of the orchestra. That’s harmless enough, right? But Drayton felt compelled to have the choir sing parts of the poetry by George Meredith that forms an epigraph to the work. The result sounds every bit as cheesy as you can imagine. It smacks of wanting to include a novelty that flatters Dalene’s artistry in a way his traditional performances here don’t quite achieve. It’s also a gimmick designed to cash in on The Lark’s popularity, and I’m sorry to say that it will probably work if for no other reason than its stoking of sheer curiosity. Still, I regret that one of a number of shorter, neglected works for violin and orchestra couldn’t have been included in its original form instead. There’s something to be said for blazing trails, an activity eminently suited to Dalene’s gifts. But he misses the opportunity, and so we’re left with a mildly frustrating mixture of unremarkable + remarkable in the wrong way.

Mendelssohn Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 3 in A minor ‘Scottish’, Op. 56, MWV N18; A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Op. 61, MWV M13 (excerpts) – No. 1: Scherzo (after Act 1); No. 7: Nocturne (after Act III); No. 9: Wedding March (after Act IV). Baltimore Symphony Orchestra; Sergiu Comissiona, conductor. VOX VOX-VX-NX-3046CD

Mendelssohn: The Hebrides in D major ‘Fingal’s Cave’ Op. 26, MWV P7; Symphony No. 4 in A major ‘Italian’, Op. 90, MWV N16; Symphony No. 5 in D major ‘Reformation’, Op. 107, MWV N15. Baltimore Symphony Orchestra; Sergiu Comissiona, conductor. VOX VOX-VX-NX-3047CD

 

Many of our readers of a certain age are no doubt familiar with Vox, a budget label that produced some real musical treasures over the years. An example from my own experience is the day back in the mid-1970s when I was strolling through a Sears department store one afternoon and came across an aisle display that featured the newly released 4-LP Vox Box of Ravel’s orchestral music featuring Stanislaw Skrowaczewski conducting the Minnesota Orchestra. I was at the time back in college on the G.I. Bill after serving 4½ years in the Army, with a wife, two kids, a pair of Bose 901s, a rapidly expanding passion for classical music, and a tight budget. When I saw that this box was on sale for something like seven bucks – well, that settled it, I just had to have it. It sounded pretty darn good through the 901s (purchased in Germany with my reenlistment bonus) when I got home, and I found the music of Monsieur Ravel to be utterly captivating. Even though Vox was a budget label, the sound quality on some of their releases could be excellent (the main drawback was the often substandard quality of their vinyl pressings), and this Ravel set, which was recorded by Elite Recordings (engineer Marc Aubort and producer Joanna Nickrenz), had beguiling sound. Those performances and recordings still hold up as you can see from reviews of digital releases from the Ravel set, such as a review from our own John Puccio that you can read here, or an article at the PS Audio website that provides some insight into the recording process, which you can find here. 

Appearing on the back cover of these new “Vox Audiophile Edition” releases is a highlighted statement affirming that “The Elite recordings for VOX by the legendary producers Marc Aubort and Joanna Nickrenz are considered by audiophiles to be amongst the finest sounding examples of orchestral recordings.” For this series of reissues from the Vox catalog, the folks at Naxos have been pulling some of those tapes out from the vaults and carefully preparing these CDs for release, the end product of their labors being what they describe as “new192 kHz / 24-bit ultra high definition transcriptions of the original Elite Recordings analogue master tapes.” We have previously reviewed several releases in this “Audiophile Edition” series originally recorded by the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and found them to be excellent, so we were eager to audition these recordings from Baltimore. We have in our collection numerous fine recordings by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra under the baton of David Zinman on the Telarc and Argo labels, so we know how good they can sound.

Of course we ought not consider only sound without stopping first to reflect on the most important component of these releases: the music. In these unsettling times, with disturbing developments assaulting our senses and emotions from week to week, day to day, seemingly hour to hour on particularly bad days, how comforting it can be to listen to the music of Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847). Mendelssohn was a master of melody; however, by that I do not mean to imply that his music is merely a succession of pretty tunes. It has substance, it has grace, it has style. The late conductor Sergiu Comissiona (1928-2005), who was born in Romania, emigrated to Israel, then later became an American citizen, enjoyed a successful 16-year term at the helm of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, building them into a first-class musical outfit. When you combine the attractive music of Mendelssohn, the solid musicianship of Comissiona and his orchestra, and the excellent sonics provided by the team of Aubort and Nickrenz (transferred to CD by the Naxos engineers), the end result is a pair of CDs capable of making the world seem a better place.

Mendelssohn Symphonies (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Mendelssohn: Complete Symphonies; A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Op. 61 (excerpts). Paavo Järvi, conductor; Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich. Alpha Classics 1004. 4 discs 

(NOTE: This review is by our most musically knowledgeable contributor, Ryan Ross, a professional musicologist. Following Ryan’s review are some brief comments on this release from our other contributors, Bill Heck and Karl Nehring, both of whom took an interest in this set and spent an appreciable amount of time giving it a listen.)

 

I find Mendelssohn to be an absolutely fascinating figure, and nowhere more so than as the composer of these five “full” symphonies (as opposed to the dozen or so for strings alone that he produced as a juvenile). Why? I think it goes back to the chip I have on my shoulder about the symphony genre, which runs through my reviews and musicological scholarship like a leitmotif. Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven produced foundational symphonies, no question; but they did not invent the genre, nor (despite their greatness) could they dictate what it would be forevermore. Too many commentators have had a difficult time acknowledging this, and of recognizing that while the First Viennese School remained an important symphonic model and legacy, the genre came to encompass so much more than German classicism. Dyneley Hussey, to take one example, wrote the following of Mendelssohn in 1949: “He had not the ability to create the kind of germinal theme that grows and develops new form under the composer’s hand, and generates conflict when brought into contact with the other themes of a like nature. His themes are essentially euphonious and blend peacefully with one another. His musical imagination was, moreover, essentially pictorial” (from Ralph Hill, ed., The Symphony, pgs. 163-164). To the extent that what Hussey says here is true, I say more power to Mendelssohn. Because every time I listen to these five works for what they are (and each is quite distinct from the others), I enjoy the heck out of them. 

Indeed, it is the very heterogeneity of Mendelssohn’s five fully scored symphonies that presents such a challenge to making recorded cycles. The First (by a teenaged composer) is a tightly constructed classical symphony with Romantic passion; the Second (the Lobgesang, or “Song of Praise”) is essentially a sacred cantata with a few purely instrumental sections; the Third (Scottish) and Fourth (Italian) are the much-loved “travelogues” that are the most frequently performed of the group by far; and the Fifth is named the Reformation for the religious tunes it quotes and the occasion of the Lutheran Augsburg Confession’s 300th Anniversary for which it was composed. (Mendelssohn’s family had converted to Lutheranism from Judaism.) To say that this group is a motley crew, symphonically speaking, seems fair. And what I have found in recorded cycles is that conductors and orchestras who are consistently convincing across the whole spectrum have not been super common. 

 

While I cannot say that Paavo Järvi and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich completely buck this trend, they do offer exciting performances marked by refreshing conviction from start to finish. According to the liner notes by Franziska and Lion Gallusser, Järvi believes that Mendelssohn does not get the attention he deserves. Thus was he motivated to bring this recording project to fruition despite the Covid pandemic. One admires such determination on behalf of a symphonist who could stand to make yet more progress winning stubborn critical minds and hearts. 

 

All of the symphonies (and the Midsummer Night’s Dream excerpts generously thrown in) receive at least solid performances. But what distinguishes this cycle for me are the stunning renditions of the two least popular: the Lobgesang and the Reformation. It is extremely easy for the former to get bogged down due to a lack of performer energy. But not here. Järvi and Company never yield in their intensity. The singing and playing are both exuberant. This is now one of my favorite performances of the work. Likewise, the Reformation also gets a sympathetic reading that plays to its spirit. 

 

The remaining three symphonies each receive enthusiastic readings as well. Best among them is the intensity that Järvi and Company bring to the First. (Granted, it is a comparatively slight work, but I don’t remember hearing a better interpretation than this one.) Their Scottish and Italian Symphonies, however, come up against stiff and extensive competition in the recording catalog. Neither effort here is poor, but both have minor issues that keep me from placing them among more distinguished accounts. 

 

We’ll begin with the Italian. I admire the intention of gusto here, but the opening and closing movements just feel too breathless, with phrases and even pitches at times sounding slightly clipped or hurried over. The middle movements are suitably gorgeous. The Scottish fares a bit better, but my main issue here is a certain lack of gravitas in the more thoughtful moments. German Romantics, including Mendelssohn, were fascinated by the seemingly magical land of Scotland. (Having been there multiple times, it’s easy for me to see why!) I need more of a fairy tale feeling overall. For an illustration, consider my “reference recording” for the work – Charles Munch directing the Boston Symphony (RCA 60483-2-RV). 

These modest misgivings aside, the cycle overall is a splendid achievement. The sharp performances of Nos. 1, 2, and 5 alone make it a landmark. It’s high time that we stopped being embarrassed at Mendelssohn’s symphonic heterodoxy (even given that he did not dub the Second a “symphony”) or his deep religious feeling (here’s looking squarely at the sneering treatment by Charles Rosen in The Romantic Generation). This is wholesome and vivid music, and it gets most welcome service from Paavo Järvi and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich. I’d gladly prescribe it to beginners, or to anyone needing convincing that this is great Romantic art.

 

Comments on the set from Bill Heck:

It's easy to summarize my reaction upon first hearing several of the works in this set: "wow, these are great!" Since that first listen, my reaction has cooled a bit, although there is still a lot to like about these performances.

The immediate (and obvious) positive: Järvi sets quick tempi, and the players respond energetically and confidently. This is not shy, delicate Mendelssohn; this is Mendelssohn bursting with life. The playing is fully up to snuff, and the recording is clean, clear, and well balanced.

So why has my ardor cooled, although certainly not gone cold? First, after some time with the set, those quick tempi started occasionally felt slightly tiring, a little too much of a good thing. Granted, I was doing concentrated critical listening over a short period, so it was easy to become a little fatigued; you, dear reader, shouldn't have that problem. But even so, I do think that a little more breathing room now and then wouldn't have been amiss.

Then there was the sound. Yes, it was initially impressive, and yes, I could hear every line and seemingly every instrument – but I missed the coherent whole. Violins were over here, cellos were over there, woodwinds were in back somewhere, but I wasn't hearing an orchestra playing on a stage in a real space; in the overused language of audio, I didn’t hear a coherent image. It’s likely that I am unusually sensitive to the sort of thing; no doubt plenty of listeners will be perfectly happy with the sound. But my poor brain became confused in trying to locate what was going on.

One other minor point, not a criticism but a preference: Mendelssohn used German lyrics in the couple of sections of the Midsummer Night’s Dream music, so it's no surprise that those are the lyrics sung here. But it's incidental music for a Shakespearean play, and I'd really like to hear Shakespeare's words in his own language. (No doubt my German-teaching sister will beat me about the head if she reads this…)

Despite those concerns, I did enjoy hearing this set, and it will be deservedly popular. But that brings up one other issue for potential purchasers: do you really want all the symphonies plus the Midsummer music? Mendelson himself referred to the Reformation as juvenilia; it's nice to hear it once, but I don’t need a recording of it lying around. The Lobgesang, an oratorio rather than a symphony, will not be everyone’s cup of tea, either. For many listeners, streaming will be the ideal: start with your favorite work, then dip in wherever your fancy takes you. 

Comments from Karl Nehring:

I must preface my remarks by pointing out that contrary to my usual practice, I did not listen to this set on CD; instead, I streamed it. Nor did I listen to it on my big system; instead, most of my listening was through my soundbar setup and in my car. Moreover, I listened almost exclusively to the orchestral symphonies, generally foregoing the Lobgesang and the Midsummer Night’s Dream music. However, in my defense I will point out that what I did listen to, I listened to many, many times. 

I suppose I was predisposed to like this set by several factors: I had enjoyed the Beethoven symphonies recorded by the Tonhalle Zürich Orchestra under David Zinman, I have enjoyed a number of Järvi’s recordings (including a YouTube video of him leading the Frankfurt Symphony in Mendelssohn’s First), and my general enthusiasm for Mendelssohn’s melodic gift. I will freely confess to being hardly any sort of Mendelssohn expert at all; in fact, not often do I listen to any of his symphonies – when I listen to Mendelssohn, it is much more likely to be one of his string quartets. But I am familiar with the symphonies, and looked forward to hearing what Järvi and his Zurich musicians could conjure.

I must say I was impressed. The energy and excitement generated by the orchestra made the music really come to life. I’m not sure, of course, that this is the way the music is always “supposed” to sound, and I must confess to not comparing this set to any other sets. No, I was not really listening as a critic; I was just enjoying the heck out of the music.  And that’s my honest, albeit superficial take on this delightful release. 

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.

Musa Italiana (CD review)

Music of Mendelssohn, Schubert, and Mozart. Riccardo Chailly, Filarmonica della Scala. Decca 485 2944.

By John J. Puccio

Just as a lot of Spanish-inflected music was written by French composers (Bizet, Massenet, Chabrier, etc.), so has much Italian-themed music been written by non-Italians, as in the present album of Italian-influenced music by German and Austrian composers. Perhaps it says as much as anything about the countries of Spain and Italy that they have inspired so many people outside their boundaries to write music in their style.

Whatever, it’s good to see an Italian conductor, Riccardo Chailly, and an Italian orchestra, the Filarmonica della Scala, doing music (from whatever composer) in the Italian manner. It’s also good to see Maestro Chailly doing more recordings. He’s been around a long time and has been the principal conductor of some of the world’s finest orchestras (Gewandhaus Orchestra, Concertgebouw Orchestra, Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra, and others) and is now the Music Director of La Scala. Although I would not fully agree with a 2015 Bachtrack poll in which music critics ranked Chailly as the world's best living conductor, he is certainly among the best currently working.

The program begins with the Symphony No. 4 in A, Op. 90 “Italian” (revised 1934 version) by German composer, conductor, and pianist Felix Mendelssohn. He premiered it in 1833 after a trip to Italy, but he never published it in his lifetime. Although it is numbered 4 among his five symphonies, he wrote it last. Concerning it, the composer wrote “It will be the jolliest piece I have ever done, especially the last movement.”

The first movement Allegro is among the most recognizable of all the music Mendelssohn wrote for his symphonies, a thrilling surge of undulating rhythms that can get the blood racing as well as reflect a sunny Italian mood. Chailly takes it at a zesty pace that certainly gets the adrenaline flowing, while not being too overly hectic.

The second-movement Andante con moto scholars think may have been inspired by the religious processions Mendelssohn saw on his trip to Rome. One may be perhaps slightly perplexed by this tempo indication (moderately slow yet with quick motion) for a religious procession, but Chailly does his best to combine the two contrasting possibilities into a nimble if speedy walk. After that is a delicate Minuetto, Con moto grazioso; which Chailly handles with much refined grace and spirited delight. Then the work concludes with a Saltarello. Allegro di molto (a lively Italian dance in a fast tempo) that is essentially a whirlwind of music reminiscent of the composer's Midsummer Night's Dream. Here, Chailly lets the horses loose, yet even though the revised edition adds a number of bars, it appears more animated than ever. (Though longer, it seems shorter, if you know what I mean.) In all, this is one of the most ebullient and lively interpretations of the Fourth Symphony you’ll find, if that’s what you’re looking for.

The next selections are Austrian composer Franz Schubert’s Overture in the Italian Style in D and Overture in the Italian Style in C. They come as a distinct contrast to the Mendelssohn, being more serene and sedate. Yet under Chailly’s direction, they are no less charming and contain much sparkling delight.

The program concludes with three overtures by W.A. Mozart from Mitridate, re di Ponto; Ascanio in Alba; and Lucio Silla. They are typically Mozartian, with a classical beauty and sheen. Maestro Chailly polishes them to a high luster with an energetic hand.

Producers Dominic Fyfe and John Fraser and engineer Philip Siney recorded the music at Teatro alla Scala, Milan in June 2021. The audio has a fairly narrow stereo spread set in a somewhat hollow-sounding venue. We get an abundance of hall resonance, which helps to present a reasonably realistic setting while obscuring some detail and creating a somewhat soft, rounded overall sound.

JJP

New Releases, No. 33 (CD reviews)

Prism IV: Danish String Quartet. Bach: Fugue in G minor, BWV 861; Beethoven: String Quartet No. 15 in A minor op. 132;  Mendelssohn: String Quartet No. 2 in A minor op. 13. Danish String Quartet (Frederik Øland, violin; Rune Tonsgaard Sørensen, violin; Asbjørn Nørgaard, viola; Fredrik Schøyen Sjölin, cello). ECM New Series 2564.

By Karl W. Nehring

My first encounter with the late string quartets of Beethoven – which was also my first encounter with string quartets, period (I had heard the were the pinnacle of the string quartet repertoire, and figured I might as well start with the very best, right?) – was a box set of LPs by the Yale Quartet on the Vanguard label that I picked up at a discount sale price during my last term as an undergraduate student. I was, as we often said in those days, “blown away” by the music emanating from my then-new Polk Audio Monitor 10s. I was simply amazed that anyone could write music like that, music that seemed to have come from some realm beyond mere human comprehension. My respect for Beethoven, already considerable, expanded exponentially. A day or two after purchasing the set, in fact, I stayed up all night writing papers for a couple of my philosophy classes, playing the late quartets of Beethoven over and over and over again. What greater philosophical inspiration could a young man hope for, I ask you?

Over the decades since I have listened to many and owned several sets of the late quartets on CD (the Yale, Emerson, Takács, and Tokyo box sets remain on my CD rack). Now in my later years I have suddenly found myself being taught a revelatory lesson by about the late quartets by a relatively young string quartet, and I must confess that it took me until their fourth lesson to finally “get it.”

As the statement on the back cover of this and each of the three preceding volumes of their “Prism” series of ECM New Series releases has stated: “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.” Although I had listened to two of the of previous three releases from this ECM “Prism” series by the Danish String Quartet, one a few times, the other just once (and cursorily, at that, I will admit, having not quite “gotten” the first), the “line of connection” never connected with me. This time, however: POW!

For whatever reason, from the opening notes of the Bach fugue from the Well Tempered Clavier, arranged for string quartet by Emanuel Aloys Förster, I felt the spirit of the late quartets. As the young Danes moved from Bach to Beethoven, the shift of gears was nearly imperceptible. Later, as the foursome turned from Beethoven to Mendelssohn, that shift, although more perceptible, was anything but abrupt. From start to finish, Prism IV is a rewarding musical experience that truly does reveal a line though genres and generations. You don’t have to read the liner notes to appreciate that Beethoven revered and studied the music of Bach and that Mendelssohn of course studied the music of Beethoven, but the notes are informative and helpful nonetheless in filling in some of the details. The engineering is up to the usual ECM standard, rich and resonant.

Corazón: The Music of Latin America. Brouwer: Canción de cuna*; Villa-Lobos: O canto do cisne negro, W 122; Carlos Guastavino: Pampamapa; Manuel Ponce: Par ti mi corazón; Egberto Gismonti: Água e Vinho;* Ponce: Estrellita (arr. by JIJI & Jascha Heifetz); Piazzolla: Le Grand Tango; Villa-Lobos: Pequeña Suite - Melodia; Ondulando; Ponce: Sonata in G minor for violincello and piano; Piazzolla: Oblivion. John-Henry Crawford, cello; Victor Santiago Asuncion, piano; *JIJI, guitar. Orchid Classics ORC100198.

My guess would be (to be honest, I’m often wrong, but bear with me) that for many classical music fans, when they see the phrase “the music of Latin America,” the cello is not the first instrument that comes to mind. Or even the second or third, for that matter. But as fate would have it, in the summer of 2019, the young American cellist John-Henry Crawford (b. 1993) traveled to Mexico to compete in an international cello competition, won first prize, wound uo returning to Mexico many times for performances, and as he recounts, “fell in love with the music of Latin America, the culture, the history, and the Spanish language. This album takes the listener on a musical tour through Argentina, Brazil, Cuba, and Mexico… spanning over 140 years of Latin American music culture.”

From the opening measures of Leo Brouwer’s Canción de cuna, arranged here for cello and guitar, you immediately get the sense that Crawford is out to communicate, not to bedazzle. This is playing of warmth and expressiveness, not of virtuosic excess. The cello/guitar combination also works well on Egberto Gismonti’s Água e Vinho, a dreamily lyrical piece from a composer whose name I best remember from his ECM guitar album Sol Do Meio Dia back in 1978, as well as on the next piece, Manuel Ponce’s Estrellita, on which Crawford’s cello just sings a tender love song, accompanied by JIJI’s guitar.

On the remaining pieces except for one, Crawford is accompanied by Victor Santiago Asuncion on piano. The “big” piece is the Ponce Sonata in G minor. Although it is of course the most formally structured composition on the album, it does not sound out of place, as it has its passages with the same lilt and flair heard in many of the other works herein. And it would be hard to imagine an album of Latin American music that did not include music by Villa-Lobos, represented here by three melodically gifted selections that tug at the heart, or Astor Piazzolla, represented here by two selections. The first is a composition in the style that made him famous, Le Grand Tango, which sounds suitably grand even when arranged for only cello and piano, with Crawford and Asuncion both playing with passion and power for eleven soulful minutes that are a highlight of the album.

Piazzolla’s Oblivion closes the album, the mood being more moody and reflective, the tango here having more of a last dance feeling in an arrangement for 14 cellos that gives Crawford an opportunity to let his cello sing in several registers simultaneously through the miracle of digital engineering. Because I was curious about just how this track might have been recorded, I inquired of Crawford through his PR agency and received his helpful explanation: “Yes, the last track is a cello choir plus solo line that is made up of only my playing layered over itself. The pizzicato replicates the double bass, and required the cello to be scordatura, and then there are three to a part on a quartet plus the solo cello line imitating the bandoneón." (Note that “scordatura” refers to an alternate tuning.) A quick note about the engineering, then, which is by the redoubtable Adam Abeshouse, a name that seems to pop up fairly often on fine-sounding recordings, of which this is an example. For cello lovers and/or fans of Latin American music, Corazón is an easy recommendation.

Brahms: Cello Sonata No. 1 in E minor Op. 38; 7 Songs (arr. Norbert Salter [1868-1935] & David Geringas [b. 1946]); Cello Sonata No 2. in F Op. 99. Antonio Meneses, cello; Gérard Wyss, piano. AVIE AV2493.

Are you in the mood for some more music for cello and piano? If so, let’s take a trip across the Atlantic from Latin America to Germany (or, if you are really in the mood for some fun, travel, and adventure, we could always set sail across the Pacific and then hike across Asia on our way to Europe) for an encounter with the music of Johannes Brahms (1833-1897). Brahms is sometimes referred to as the third “B” of that pop-culture classical music composer trinity: Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms. Interestingly enough, all three of these musical icons composed landmark works for the cello – Bach with his suites for solo cello (I reviewed a recent recording of a couple of these here ???), Beethoven with his sonatas for cello and piano (you can see a review of a recent recording here ???), and Brahms with the two sonatas included in this new recording by the Brazilian cellist Antonio Meneses (b. 1967) and Swiss pianist Gérard Wyss (b. 1944).

These two sonatas come from different periods in Brahms’s career. He began working on Sonata No. 1 in the summer of 1862, relatively early in his career, completing what we now have as the first two movements plus an Adagio movement that may or may not have been adapted many years later into the slow movement of his Sonata No. 2. For whatever reason, he then put the piece aside for three years before writing the finale and deeming it complete in 1865 (publishing it in 1866) with only three rather than the usual four movements. The first movement, however, is quite substantial, longer than the following two movements combined. As a result, this is not a brief sonata. Moreover, that first movement is not only long (14:43 in this performance), it is a musical composition that could seemingly stand on its own as a complete piece, so eloquent and moving is it, especially as played here with such warmth of tone and fluidity of line by Meneses and Wyss. I must confess – without shame, to be honest – that while auditioning this CD for review, I often found myself returning to this movement and playing at least parts of it, especially the opening few minutes, just to enjoy the sheer beauty of the music.

Brahms did not start work on another cello sonata for another 20 years, composing it in 1886 and publishing it in 1887. This work is in the more traditional four movements, with the opening movement again being the longest, but at just over nine minutes as performed here, not as extended as in the previous sonata. One of the things that the attentive listener will notice is how skillfully Brahms writes for both the cello and the piano, giving both instruments distinctive voices. Perhaps the highlight of the piece is the second movement, marked Adagio affettuoso, music that should be able to bring consolation to the most forlorn of souls. Note the way that Brahms employs his familiar device of playing competing rhythms against each other at times to create a feeling of tension, here of course with only two instruments. Hear also how the cello plays at times very low notes, at other times very high notes – all within the same short movement.

Between the two sonatas, the disc is filled out generously (total time is 75:12) with seven songs by Brahms arranged for cello and piano. Among these seven is Wiegenlied Op 49 No. 4, better known by it popular title as the “Brahms lullaby.” These songs contain some lovely melodies, but are played here as serious music, not as pop kitsch. Something that stands out about this release is a sense of warmth, both in the playing and in the engineering. For comparative purposes, I pulled down from my CD rack a Sony recording from 1992 of the two sonatas made by Yo-Yo Ma and Emmanuel Ax. The sound seemed just a bit thinner and colder, and the playing seemed just not quite as expressive – a bit cooler, if you will. For both performance and sonics, my preference is for this new AVIE release, which is definitely a keeper.

KWN

Recent Releases, No. 30 (CD reviews)

By Karl W. Nehring

Tilman Sillescu: Symphony No. 1 “Nachtlichter.” Christian K. Frank, Staatskapelle Weimar. GENUIN Classics GEN 22788.

What follows is yet another example of those chance events that leads to the discovery of a composer and composition heretofore unknown that turns out to be a rewarding musical discovery. A month or so ago I was scrolling through my Twitter feed when I came across a tweet by someone who posted a photo of the cover of this CD along with a brief word of enthusiasm. Intrigued, I immediately did an online search and saw that it was a brand-new release. Acting on impulse (the cover art was irresistible!), I immediately ordered a copy. Only after placing my order did I actually audition it by streaming dribs and drabs through my phone to my Bluetooth speaker – just enough to reassure me that Nachtlichter (“nocturnal lights”) was not some awful unlistenable release that would make me immediately want to cancel my purchase. It wasn’t, so I didn’t.

While I waited for the CD to arrive, I did a little research and discovered that Tilman Sillescu (b. 1969) is a German composer of music for video games who has also composed for movies and television. Much of his music for those genres has been orchestral, so as he explains in his liner note essay. “I have wanted to compose a large orchestral work for ages, but with my time-consuming work as a soundtrack composer, I never had the time, and to be honest, leisure until now. You can certainly imagine how clear an ambitious composer’s head is in the evening when he has already spent eight hours coming up with listener-friendly game music. However, I was highly motivated to finally use my classical training and love of symphonies for something greater; and fortunately I succeeded, albeit with a lot of effort and energy. My goal for Nachtlichter was to find a simple and accessible musical language, which allows the listener to feel emotions and see images without having these images imposed on him. Music that comprises beauty, mysticism, irony and drama, and at the same time is able to stimulate the mind with its formal structure and harmonies. It has become a symphonic narration of the night with all of its fathomless beauty and wondrous, exhilarating lights and its, in part, terrifying secrets.”  

The image on the cover, with its dark forest and mysterious lights, had led my imagination to expect ethereal, hushed, mysterious music that would come shrouded in mists of mystery, but that was not to be the case; rather, what emanated from my speakers was bold and assertive – as Sillescu put it, “exhilarating lights.” Not that I am complaining, as I found the music imaginative and yes, exhilarating. And in the final moments of the first movement, and in a few places thereafter, there are some of those quieter, more mysterious passages. My only quibble is that to my mind, I would like to have heard more contrast among the movements; Sillescu has been successful in finding his musical language, but he needs to work on being able to adapt it more convincingly to various symphonic forms. There were times when it seemed, at least to these ears, that he just has a tendency to “overscore” – that the orchestration would have benefitted from being peeled backed a little. As the late Colin Chapman, the brilliant automotive designer famous for his innovative racing car designs at Lotus used to urge his engineers, “add lightness.” Still, Nachtlichter is an impressive debut from a composer that I hope will bring us some more symphonies in the future. (I’m so heartless, greedy, and relentless – I would work these poor composers to death! More, more, MORE!!) As to the rest of the production, everything is just fine. Thinking about it, not only was the composer unknown to me, but so was the orchestra, conductor, and label – but they all came together just fine. The sound can have just a slight tendency toward brightness, but nothing excessive; otherwise it is quite satisfactory. As my old friend and colleague Bill Heck and I have often discussed, it is gratifying to hear how modern recording technology has raised the overall standard; moreover, the overall standard of musicianship has improved throughout the world, with many more fine young musicians being available for orchestras to recruit into their ranks. This new release is a case in point and is well worth an audition.

Beethoven the Conquering Hero: Complete Works for Cello and Piano. CD1 12 Variations WoO on “See, the Conqu’ring Hero Comes”; Sonata No. 1 in F Op.5/1; Sonata No. 2 in G minor Op.5/2; CD2 12 Variations Op.66 on “Ein Madchen oder Weibchen”; Sonata in F Op.17; 7 Variations WoO 46 on “Bei Mannern, welche Liebe fuhlen”; CD3 Sonata No. 3 in A Op.69; Sonata No. 4 in C Op.102/1; Sonata No. 5 Op.102/2. Jennifer Kloetzel. Cello; Robert Koenig, piano. Avie AV2450.

Certainly one of the reasons that so many music lovers regard Beethoven as such a great – if not the greatest – of composers is his mastery of so many forms. His symphonies, string quartets, and piano sonatas are all generally acknowledged as some of the very finest of those respective genres. Only as a composer of opera is he seen to have fallen short, and there is often discussion of that; however, what seems often to be overlooked is how much other wonderful music he composed, and this recording presents and excellent reminder of just that. His works for cello and piano are simply delightful, spanning his career from early to fairly late, presenting a variety of moods and sonorities with just two instruments. Long ago, when I was first getting interested in classical music, I remember purchasing an LP set of this music performed by Casals and Serkin on the old Columbia Odyssey budget label, a set that I really enjoyed at the time – must have been 45 years or so ago when I was and undergrad going to school on the G.I Bill, living in a small basement apartment with my wife and out two young boys, listening to music through a pair of original Bose 901s I had bought with part of the reenlistment bonus I had received from the Army while serving in Pershing missile unit in what was then known as West Germany. Flash-forward to 2022 and here I am listening to this sparkling new three-disc set from AVIE, splendidly recorded at Skywalker Sound, which showcases committed performances by cellist Kloetzel and pianist Koenig that have reminded me once again just how musically satisfying these pieces can be. If you are not familiar with Beethoven’s music for cello and piano, you owe it to yourself to sit down and give it a good listen, and I can think of no better place to start than with this superb new release, which is excellent in every way.  

Martin Fröst: Night Passages. Domenico Scarlatti: Sonata in D Minor K 32; Chick Corea: Children's Song No. 15; J.S. Bach: Jesus Bleibet Meine Freude; Henry Purcell: Music for a While (from Oedipus, Z. 583); Richard Rodgers: It Never Entered My Mind (from the musical Higher and Higher); Jean-Philippe Rameau: Air pour les Sauvages; Antonio Cesti: Intorno All' Idol Mio (from L'Orontea); Bach: 3-Part Sinfonia No. 5 in E-Flat Major BWV 791; Corea: Armando's Rhumba; Purcell: Hornpipe in E Minor; Handel: Menuet in G Minor; Domenico Scarlatti: Sonata in D Minor K 1; Rameau: Musette Tendre en Rondeau; Alfvén: Vallflickans Dans; Bach: 3-Part Sinfonia No. 15 in B Minor BWV 801; Fröst: Prelude to Dorotea; Trad.: Polska From Dorotea; Rameau: Tambourin en Rondeau; Gordon Jenkins: Goodbye. Martin Fröst, clarinet; Sébastian Dubé, bass; Roland Pöntinen, piano. Sony Classics 19439917402.

I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again: oh, I’m a fool for a clarinet. I’ve played the clarinet, never worth a damn, but there’s much more than that to my deep and abiding love for the sweet sound of the “licorice stick” (a term that no doubt dates me, alas). One of my long-time musical heroes is clarinetist Richard Stoltzman (b. 1942), not only for his virtuosity on the clarinet, his being a fellow Buckeye (he earned a bachelor's degree from the Ohio State University with a double major in music and mathematics), but also for his willingness to play all kinds of music – not just classical, but jazz, “New Age,” old, new, Asian, European, American – whatever. He played it, and he played it well. I am now delighted to say that I have apparently chanced upon a new clarinet hero, the Swedish clarinetist (and conductor) Martin Fröst (b. 1951), whose new Sony release Night Passages includes music that covers a number of styles and periods all on one eclectic CD, as you can gather from the track listing above.

Before I offer an excerpt from the liner notes in which Fröst explains how the album came to be, let me explain why his explanation had a special meaning for me. My youngest daughter (now an adult with two children of her own, to date me further) has been suffering from dizziness/vertigo issues, which have become worse in the wake of her second (light) bout of COVID-19 (although fully vaccinated and cautious, she owns and manages a restaurant, with a bunch of young employees who have not always been particularly careful). For a time, it was thought she might have Mënière’s disease, which causes vertigo and is incurable. Although for now she does not seem to have Mënière’s, she still struggles with vertigo and is undergoing therapy which is itself quite physically and emotionally challenging. Based on seeing what my daughter has been going through, I have some sense of what Fröst has been struggling with as he writes: “I recorded Night Passages after my wort episode ever of Mënière’s disease. It made me rethink a lot of things. The episode ended with a severe Mënière’s attack while I was driving my car. After the car finally stopped, totally off balance, I felt, in my dizziness, it was night again. Slowly light, shapes, language emerged from this formless chaos. Memories and dreams from my childhood where I saw God in a pile of leaves. My first meeting with Miles Davis. When I played music for Paul Sacher and Hortense Anda as they danced their last dance together in Zurich. When my father cracked someone’s ribs while dancing to Swedish polskas with the ladies at our summerhouse. Or when, as a teenager, I listened to the music of Bach night after night. A while after my car accident I met up with my friends Sébastian Dubé and Roland Pöntinen who looked at the repertoire through fresh eyes and rearranged the music. Enjoy the fusion.”

I don’t think you would have to be a fool for the sound of the clarinet to enjoy what these three musicians have put together, as this album is a delight from start to finish. Jumping from Scarlatti to From Scarlatti to Chick Corea to Bach to Purcell to Purcell to Richard Rodgers – and oh, my goodness, the playing of trio on his It Never Entered My Mind truly is a perfect fusion of jazz and classical sounds. It swings, it sings, it lifts and inspires. Fröst coaxes some limpidly delicate notes from his clarinet that are simply breathtaking. Later, in Corea’s Armando’s Rhumba, he shows a more playful, boisterous side to his playing that fits this piece perfectly. The program closes with a moving performance of Goodbye by Gordon Jenkins. In the liner notes, Fröst relates how the first time he played at Carnegie Hall, there was an exhibition about Bennie Goodman, and he wound up being able to play Goodman’s actual clarinet during his performance. “I played that night on Benny’s clarinet and after the Copland Clarinet Concerto I performed Goodbye by Gordon Jenkins – that tune had been Benny’s last song at the end of his shows. Having listened to him playing it since the days of my childhood I have performed it as an encore ever since.”

The liner notes are brief reflections by Fröst about memories, dreams, and incidents in his life as well as the influence that music and musicians had on him. Although it might have been interesting to hear more about how the music was chosen, or about the other musicians, the notes are interesting in their own right. Still, it would have been nice to have some more factual information. The engineering is crisp and clear – the instruments, especially the clarinet, captured a bit close, so you can hear some breathing and key clicks, but never to the point of distraction. Highly recommended.

Mendelssohn: Violin Sonatas. Violin Sonata in in F major, MWV Q26; Violin Sonata in F minor Op 4; Violin Sonata in in F Major MWV Q7; Violin Sonata in D MWV Q18 (fragment). Alina Ibragimova, violin; Cedric Tiberghien, piano. Hyperion CDA68322.

At first glance you might well assume from the title – as did I – that this new release from Hyperion includes some, or perhaps even all, of Felix Mendelssohn’s sonatas for violin and piano. After all, most of us are probably not really all that well versed on just how many sonatas in that format he actually wrote. However, I suspect that many of you will be surprised to learn – as was I – that Mendelssohn actually only published one such sonata in his lifetime, the  Violin Sonata in F minor Op 4, which dates from 1823. And oh, by the way, he was born in 1809, which means he was all of 14 when he wrote it. (When I was 14, I composed about ten measures of music for solo clarinet. It was atonal, amusical, and abysmal. It comprised the early, middle, and late periods of my career. Sorry, music scholars, but the manuscript has been lost.) When you listen to the piece, you would never guess it was composed by someone so young; truly, it sounds like the work of a mature musical talent, which the teenaged Mendelssohn surely already was. The program opens with an unpublished sonata that he composed 15 years later. The famed violin virtuoso Yehudi Menuhin had finally published a first edition in 1953, but according to the liner notes, this version conflated the two autograph versions of the first movement and took considerable editorial liberties as well. The version performed here is from a version published in 2009 that is faithful to Mendelssohn’s original unrevised score. It is a remarkably expressive work, with an especially touching slow movement marked poco adagio. The final two works on the program date from 1820, when Mendelssohn was 11 years old; not surpisingly, they are less impressive than the two preceding works. The Violin Sonata in in F Major is in three brief movements that although quite listenable, sound a bit routine in comparison to what Mendelssohn was to conjure just a few short years later. The  final track, coming in at 7:37, actually seems more interesting, but he abandoned the Violin Sonata in D, Violin Sonata in D, so we will never know where it might have gone had he come back to it later in his career. As is the norm from Hyperion, the engineering is a bit on the warm and distant side (just a bit, mind you), just right for chamber music, and the liner notes and even the cover art are intelligent and thoughtfully chosen. If this repertoire interests you, this is a release well worth seeking out.  

Schubert: The Last Quartets. CD1 String Quartet No. 15 in G Major D.887; CD2 String Quartet No. 14 in D minor “Death and the Maiden” D.810. Aviv Quartet (Sergey Ostrovsky, violin; Philippe Villafranca, violin; Noémie Bialobroda, viola; Daniel Mitnitsky, cello). Aparte AP266.

The final two string quartets of Franz Schubert are two of the great masterpieces of chamber music. If you are relatively new to classical music, please be forewarned that these are not compositions that are going to immediately soothe your ear with pretty melodies. That is not to say that they are screechy, dissonant, atonal monstrosities; rather, that they are serious, sober, rather intense pieces that were intended for more serious listening as opposed to light entertainment. To my mind, they are like two mighty symphonies – it’s just that Schubert condensed them down to be played by two violins, viola, and cello rather than an orchestra. No. 14, “Death and the Maiden,” was written after a prolonged stay in the hospital for treatment for what was most likely syphilis (which was incurable at the time) had made Schubert aware that he most likely was not likely to have very many years left to live. As the liner notes observe, the overall mood of the piece is “dark and tragic, reflecting the composer’s despondency at that time and his struggle to come to terms with the idea of death. Unusually, all four movements are in minor keys; only two episodes are in major: the fourth variation of the second movement, and the trio of the third.” But although yes, the music is dark, its very darkness gives it a focus and intensity that the playing of the Israeli-based Aviv Quartet and the audiophile-quality sonics combine to deliver an intense musical experience that reveals the beauty of Schubert’s writing for these four instruments. Likewise in No. 15, which Schubert envisioned as something of a dress rehearsal for his final symphony. In the hands of the Aviv foursome, this mighty string quartet, whose four movements total nearly over 55 minutes in this performance, longer than many actual symphonies, truly does sound symphonic in scope and vision. It is an incredible composition that is impeccably performed and flawlessly recorded. What’s not to like?

KWN