Schubert: Hoffnung (Lieder from c. 1826). Schubert 200, Volume 3 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Samuel Hasselhorn, baritone; Ammiel Bushakevitz, pianist. Harmonia Mundi HMM 902779 

While I’m usually lukewarm about thematic recording projects, this release belongs to an uncommonly compelling series. In the lead-up to the 200th anniversary of Franz Schubert’s death in 2028, Harmonia Mundi has planned five albums devoted to the productive last five years of his life. Each presents a curated selection of lieder from an approximate year, performed by baritone Samuel Hasselhorn and pianist Ammiel Bushakevitz, with a subtitle reflecting some commonality of its selections. The first release was Die schöne Müllerin (HMM 902720), featuring the 1823 cycle. Last year came Licht und Schatten (“Light and Shadow,” HMM 902747), covering songs from 1824–25. Now we have Volume 3, Hoffnung (“Hope”), my favorite installment so far.

 

Familiar Schubert songs feel fresher when imaginative programming reshapes their complexion. Many of the inclusions here speak to longing—particularly for a person or future not yet arrived, hence the subtitle. Tropes of wind, dreams, and the seasons thread through the choices almost like leitmotifs. Taken together, these songs somehow project their own poignant atmosphere. With repeated listens it’s clear that they effectively play off of each other. Curation is very much part of the experience here. 

 

But inspired curation won’t save uninspired performances. What really makes this album (and series) work are Hasselhorn’s and Bushakevitz’s deft musicianship. Hasselhorn has a rich voice with a better-than-average vocal timbre. He brings versatility of range and expression, along with especially strong diction. You can hear these texts very well, not just the concordant pitches and dynamics. Words are not slurred. Such attributes are rarer than they should be; even big names like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sometimes underwhelm in these respects. Moreover, I can scarcely convey how refreshing it is that vibrato here does not obscure intelligibility. Bushakevitz proves himself a responsive partner. While some might accuse him of yielding too much interpretive ground, that impression probably stems from his resolute orientation toward the singer. This is a pairing sharply suited to the task at hand. 

 

Every song here receives at least a very good performance, but some accounts are outstanding. Foremost in my affections is Alinde (D. 904). Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz never lose the thread, and bring out each stanza’s own special emotions. The point of reuniting with the song’s namesake is gorgeously colored, differentiating it from prior searching exclamations. I’d say these musicians shine most in such modified strophic territory. Das Zügenglöcklein (D. 871, No. 2) is another instance where they fully exploit the savory changes of mode and melody (although I think Bushakevitz could ping the eponymous A-Flat bell perhaps a tad more prominently). 

 

However, a chief challenge with Schubert lieder is in the simple strophic numbers: what wiggle room can performers find to provide variety as words change but scoring does not? Despite his occasional text-slurring, Fischer-Dieskau threaded that needle better than almost anyone else. Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz bring off songs like Im Jänner 1817 (“Tiefes Leid”) and the D. 867 Wiegenlied with great sensitivity. I’d put their renditions ahead of most others’. But their very polish perhaps inhibits them in that last inch for such settings.  

 

If this release were purely a question of musicianship, I’d rate it north of 4.5/5. Unfortunately, I must mention something that’s easy to overlook: sound quality. A reverberant, even boomy acoustic unfairly hampers the proceedings. It’s particularly noticeable in the music’s lower registers. Since Hasselhorn is a baritone, that drags him down disproportionately. Compare this recording to others with the same repertoire, and you’ll see what I mean. That said, it’s a slight annoyance that should not dissuade you. This is still a strong conceptual series with excellent performances for the most part. I’m excited for 1827!

Recent Releases No. 80 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Víkingur Ólafsson: Opus 109. Bach: Prelude in E Major, BWV 854; Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 27 in E Minor, Op. 90; Bach: Partita No. 6 in E minor, BWV 830; Schubert: Piano Sonata in E minor, D566; Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109; Bach: French Suite No. 6 in E, BWV 817: Sarabande. Víkingur Ólafsson, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7411

 

We have reviewed several previous releases from the Icelandic pianist Víkingur Ólafsson (b. 1984) here at Classical Candor, each of them having some sort of unusual twist that set it apart from the standard piano recording. On Bach: Works and Reworks (DG 4837769) we got not only a piano recital but the sound of the piano combined with other (often electronic) instruments; on Debussy-Rameau (DG 479 7701), the pianist explored connections between two composers separated by a century-and-a-half; his Philip Glass album (DG  479 6918) included an arrangement a piano etude for piano quintet; and his Reflections album (DG 00289 483 9222) was a reimagining of his Debussy-Rameau album, this time with Ólafsson on piano accompanied by other musicians (with some electronic manipulation of sonic textures). This latest release is a straightforward piano recital without any added instruments or electronic manipulation. The pianist includes a liner note essay in which he explains his somewhat unusual program, which he assembled for a combination of musical and personal reasons. Although the album is titled Opus 109, the Bach Partita No. 6 seems to come across as the centerpiece. Ólafsson plays lyrically and expressively throughout; if the idea of Bach, Schubert, and Beethoven played together on the same program is an appealing one, then Opus 109 is warmly recommended. 

 

Close. Steve Tibbetts: We Begin, Pt. 1; We Begin, Pt. 2; We Begin, Pt. 3; Away, Pt. 1; Away, Pt. 2; Away, Pt. 3; Remember, Pt. 1; Remember, Pt. 2; Somewhere, Pt. 1; Somewhere, Pt. 2; Somewhere, Pt. 3; Anywhere; Everywhere, Pt. 1; Everywhere, Pt. 2; Everywhere, Pt. 3; Everywhere, Pt. 4; Everywhere, Pt. 5; Remember and; Remember and Wish; We End. Steve Tibbetts, guitar, percussion, piano; Marc Anderson, percussion, gongs, handpan, loops; JT Bates, drums. ECM 2858

 

Wisconsin-born, Minnesota-based guitarist Steve Tibbetts (b. 1954) has been recording his imaginative music since the mid-1970s. He released his self-titled first album in 1976 on the tiny independent Frammis label, which was followed in 1980 by YR, also on Frammis. YR marked his first collaboration with percussionist Marc Anderson, a collaboration that continues to this day. In 1982, the pair spent three days in Oslo recording the album Northern Song for producer Manfred Eicher’s ECM label, the label for which Tibbetts has since recorded seven more albums. In 2022, we reviewed his ECM release titled Hellbound Train, a two-CD sampling of tracks from his first seven ECM releases. I felt certain that I must have reviewed his previous release, Life Of, but when I checked, I discovered that much to my surprise, that this May 2018 album had been released several months before I ever started writing for Classical Candor. (It turned out my first contribution was an October 2018 review of Walton’s Viola Concerto.) As on his previous album, Tibbetts here plays plenty of moody 12-string, but also does some plugging in. The presence of both percussionists provides a steady rumbling pulse throughout the album; the net effect being one of reflection and quiet mystery. The cover photo is of a backyard at night; the liner photo is the same backyard in daylight. The music on the disc falls somewhere between. “Music is a twilight language,” Tibbetts affirms. “The job is to translate some shadow into sound.” 

 

Transcription as Translation. Smetana: String Quartet No. 1 “From My Life” (orch. George Szell); Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 29, Op. 106 “Hammerklavier” (orch. Felix Weingartner). The Orchestra Now; Leon Botstein, conductor. AVIE AV2822

 

The late American conductor Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) made a much-heralded recording of a transcription he made of Beethoven’s Op. 131 string quartet with the Vienna Philharmonic – but for strings only. When it comes to transcribing piano works for full orchestra, perhaps the most noteworthy example is Ravel’s transcription of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. On this release from AVIE, we get two transcriptions for orchestra made by orchestral conductors. The first, by George Szell, takes Smetana’s String Quartet No. 1 from an intimate piece of chamber music and makes it into something of an orchestral showpiece. According to the liner notes, Szell made his arrangement in 1939-40, soon after his arrival in the United States, and conducted it at his debut with the orchestra in 1944 and several times thereafter. It’s a pleasant enough listening experience, if not particularly memorable. Fans of the Smetana quartet may find this performance of interest to gain some additional insight. The Weingartner transcription of the “Hammerklavier,” on the other hand, comes across as less successful. The music never seems to catch fire; something seems to have been lost in translation. To be fair to Maestro Botstein and the orchestra, however, the original sonata is a daunting challenge for even the finest of pianists, so to expect an orchestral transcription to succeed in captivating an audience is – to be candid – in all likelihood an exercise in wishful thinking.

Piano Potpourri No. 12 (CD/Streaming Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Ravel: The Complete Solo Piano Works and Concertos. (CD1) Sérénade grotesque, M. 5; Menuet antique, M. 7; Pavane pour une infante défunte, M. 19; Jeux d'eau, M. 30; Sonatine, M. 40; Miroirs M. 43; (CD2) Gaspard de la nuit, M. 55; Menuet sur le nom d'Haydn, M. 58; Valses nobles et sentimentales, M. 61; Prélude, M. 65; À la manière de Borodine, M. 63/1; À la manière de Chabrier, M. 63/2; Le tombeau de Couperin, M. 68; (CD3) Piano Concerto for the Left Hand, M. 82; Piano Concerto in G Major, M. 83. Seong-Jin Cho, piano; Boston Symphony Orchestra; Andris Nelsons, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon Limited Edition 3 CD 486 6824

 

Earlier this year, we reviewed a Deutsche Grammophon recording of Maurice Ravel’s complete music for solo piano by the young Korean pianist Seong-Jin Cho (b. 1994), a review that you can read here. Following the release of that album, DG released his recording of the two Ravel piano concertos with the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by Andris Nelsons. As many music lovers are no doubt aware, 2025 marks 150 years since Ravel’s birth; in May, DG released this deluxe album -- that combines those previous albums as part of this limited-edition 3-CD set. The album cover looks like it should hold LPs rather than CDs (when my copy arrived, my first thought was that I had been sent a vinyl version by mistake). That large, sturdy package comprises (in addition to the three CDs themselves) a hardcover book with full track listings and notes on the music; numerous photos of the artist; and the offer of three months’ free access to STAGE+, DG’s online video repository of concert performances and audio albums. Because we have already reviewed the solo piano music (link above), we’ll confine our comments to the concerto disc, which, given the talent shown by Cho in the solo piano music combined with the undeniable excellence of the BSO, is a worthy release indeed. Cho brings something of a light touch to Ravel’s music, which may well be why the album’s producers thought to devote a page devoted to this quote from Ravel: “The music of a concerto should, in my opinion, be lighthearted and brilliant, and not aim at profundity or at dramatic effects.”  Delightful music in an impressive package – it’s a limited edition (only 4000 to be produced), and of course the solo piano music and concerto releases are also available – these are all recommendable as appropriate.

 

Arc III. Louise Talma: Alleluia in Form of Toccata; Schubert: Fantasie in C major, Op. 15, D. 760“Wandererfantasie”; Debussy: L’Isle Joyeuse, L. 106; Dohnányi: Pastorale on a Hungarian Christmas Song; Brahms: Piano Sonata No. 3 in F minor, Op. 5; Ligeti: Études, Book 1: No. 5 Arc-en-ciel. Orion Weiss, piano. First Hand Records FHR129

 

Back in 2014, Ohio-born pianist Orion Weiss (b. 1981) embarked on a recording project that eventually yielded three releases, Arc I (our review of which you can read here) being the first. In the liner note essay of the first release of his projected trilogy, Weiss explained that “the arc of this recital trilogy is inverted, like a rainbow’s reflection in water. Arc I’s first steps head downhill, beginning from hope and proceeding to despair. The bottom of the journey, Arc II, [you can find our review of Arc II here] is Earth’s center, grief, loss, the lowest we can reach. The return trip, Arc III, is one of excitement and renewal, filled with the joy of rebirth and anticipation of a better future.” Weiss recorded Arc III in 2022 as the world was beginning to emerge from the COVID-19 shutdown and he found that to him, “everything seemed utterly transformed, almost unrecognizable. My perception of humanity had undergone a fundamental change… The music was another world, another set of ideas, able to lift me above my own, to teach me and guide me.” The generally uplifting spirit of the album is established at the outset with the exuberant Alleluia in Form of Toccata by the American composer Louise Talma (1906-1996), a piece that seems to be bursting at the seams with exuberance. Following this unfamiliar beginning, Weiss then brings us back into the realm of the familiar, with music from Schubert and Debussy, before once again bringing us something less familiar, Erno Dohnányi’s Pastorale on a Hungarian Christmas Song. This piece sounds more like a dreamlike dance fantasy than an ode to Yule logs or Christmas trees; but it has a wistful, hopeful charm that makes it quite appealing. Weiss then brings us the major work on his program, Brahms’s Piano Sonata No. 3, an imposing work in no fewer than five movements that total more than 35 minutes. Brahms composed this sonata at the age of 20, eager to display his talents as both composer and pianist, and Weiss channels the exuberance and youthful spirit of the young Brahms before closing his program in a more reflective vein with the colorful but enigmatic Ligeti Étude.

And thus we come to the end of Weiss’s Arc series of recordings. As the pianist himself summarizes it: “The music recorded on Arc I (FHR127) expresses foreboding from the brink of disaster. The music on Arc II (FHR128) was written by composers dealing with tragedy. At last, Arc III is a set of pieces born from the bright points of life. Peace, hope, love, ambition, optimism and the divine – the inspirations are myriad. These compositions spring from the million shades of happiness.” Arc III certainly is a delightful conclusion to the trilogy – well worth an audition, as are its two predecessors.

 

The Art of Memory. Bach: The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II; Lasser: 12 Preludes for Solo Piano "The Art of Memory". Anton Mejias, piano. Deutsche Grammophon (digital-only release)

 

The Finnish-Cuba pianist Anton Mejias (b. 2001) was fascinated by the music of Bach from a very young age. He made his recital debut at the age of eight, and by ten, he had already learned the entire Well- Tempered Clavier, Book I. Since then he has added the complete French and English Suites, all six Partitas, and the Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II, to his repertoire. The title of this new release has a dual reference: the recording captures a concert performance that in which Mejias played these works by Bach and Lasser from memory – no mean feat, to be sure – and the subtitle of Lasser’s work, “The Art of Memory.” Rather than present the Bach and Lasser compositions separately, Mejias has chosen to weave them together: four tracks of Bach, a track of Lasser – repeated in this way through all 48 preludes and fugues of The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II and all 12 Preludes for Solo Piano "The Art of Memory."

Philip Lasser (b. 1961) is an American composer and pianist who is currently on the faculty at Julliard. Of his “The Art of Memory” he writes, “I began my Twelve Preludes many years ago with the idea of creating a set of works wherein as we went from one to the next, each prelude would collect remembrances of the past preludes until, at last, we reach the twelfth, which would be entirely made up of memories. . . I began to realize that this was a metaphor for human memory. With each new day, we become richer with new events, emotions, apperceptions; and yet, we receive the new only through the filter of our own personal experience which is then nothing more than a sum of our past remembrances. . . I am deeply honored that Anton Mejias has taken the bold move to perform and record my Preludes inside Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier and I hope that my work nests quietly in Bach's great work and offers yet another rhythm to the mastery of his unfolding of time.” Lasser’s brief, subtly ambiguous-sounding Preludes offer a subtle contrast to Bach’s more resolute music; woven together, the net effect is entrancing. At more than two hours in length, this is hardly an album suitable for a quick listen; to be sure, many listeners will use it as background music – not that there’s anything wrong with that. It will also reward serious listening for those who have the time and the inclination. It’s a remarkable recording.

Schubert: The Complete Impromptus (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Four Impromptus, D 899 - Impromptu No. 1 in C minor; Impromptu No. 2 in E flat major; Impromptu No. 3 in G flat major; Impromptu No. 4 in A flat major; Four Impromptus, D 935 - Impromptu No. 1 in F minor; Impromptu No. 2 in A flat major; Impromptu No. 3 in B flat major; Impromptu No. 4 in F minor. Gerardo Teissonniére, piano. Steinway & Sons 30220. 

The last time we encountered the American pianist Gerardo Teissonniére (b.1962), it was in his recording debut for Steinway & Sons (you can read our review here). Teissonniére, who was born in Puerto Rico and now resides in Cleveland, where he has long served on the faculty of the Cleveland Institute of Music, certainly made a bold move in leading out with such monumental repertoire. However, he delivered a memorable performance that the label captured in audiophile-worthy sound. When I saw what Teissonniére had chosen to record for his next release, I could hardly contain my excitement, because Schubert’s piano music is right up there in the same exalted atmosphere as Beethoven’s. Once again, Teissonniére is clearly showcasing his desire to record music of the very highest quality.

 

As the American composer Evan Fein so aptly describes this music, “the elements of dance, song and storytelling permeate the entire oeuvre of the early Romantic Austrian composer Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828). They are combined and uniquely represented in each of Schubert’s eight individual yet intrinsically connected works for the piano known as the Impromptus, D 899 and D 935, two sets of four pieces each written in the last year and a half of the composer’s short life.” Teissonniére artfully projects that feeling of dance, song, and story as he weaves his way through these fascinating pieces. He plays with a sense of confidence, with a big tone – not in a loud, brash way; rather, in a confident, assured way. As it was in the Beethoven release, his Steinway is captured in sound of lifelike clarity and power (it was engineered by Daniel Shores at Sono Luminus Studios – they do great work there). Great music, great music, great sound – Great Caesar’s ghost, it’s a good one!

Schubert by Candlelight: Live in Madrid (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Schubert: 6 Moments musicaux, Op. 94 (D. 780); 4 Impromptus, Op. 90 (D. 899); 2 Scherzi (D. 593); Minuet in C-sharp minor (D. 600). Sergei Kvitko, piano. Reference Recordings FR-753

Russian-born pianist Sergei Kvitko writes in the notes to this release of playing this music in several cities throughout the world, with those concerts being recorded as he was preparing to make a studio recording of this music. “And somehow, on April 7, 2022, for this concert in Madrid the stars aligned, and this live performance became the album. The most spectacular piano, Steinway D…the lovely room, my friends in the audience, my mood and feel for this music that evening – everything was just right, and I felt I could never replicate all of it together in the studio. With this program, like with no other, I realize that I play completely different when I play it for an audience.”  And by the way, it might be a good time to mention that not only is Kvitko a world-class pianist, he is also a world-class recording engineer, and it was he who had set up the microphones and recording equipment for this release along with  assistant audio engineer Jorge Nuñez Colell. 

Bill Heck and I had a conversation recently about the Beethoven piano sonatas in which we both admitted that although we enjoyed many of his earlier sonatas, it was to the later ones – especially the final three – that we usually turned when we wanted to listen to Beethoven piano music, and that it was much the same for Schubert. Those final three Schubert sonatas are what we nearly always turn to when we want to hear some Shubert piano music. But Schubert wrote plenty of other delightful works for the piano, as Kvitko reminds us with the program he has assembled for this release, leading off with the 6 Moments Musicaux, Op. 94, which vary in substance and mood from fairly serious-sounding, foreshadowing themes to be developed at greater length in those final sonatas, to music of less emotional intensity. The 4 Impromptus that follow are of similar variety, although perhaps more serious-sounding overall. Kvitko closes the program with lighter fare, 2 Scherzi, before closing the concert by performing an early (1813) Minuet as a brief encore, to the obvious delight of the assembled audience.

One of the treasures of my collection is a recording of Schubert’s Impromptus by Murray Perahia, a recording that was first released back in 1984, although I did not pick it up until many years after. That disc contains both the Op. 90 and Op. 135 sets; it is a marvel. But so is this new release from Kvitko, with its more varied program, warmer sound (not that there is anything wrong with the Perahia recording, which is surprisingly good for a relatively early digital effort). This new Reference Recordings release has definitely earned itself a spot on my shelf; indeed, I would recommend fans of Schubert’s keyboard music to seek it out expeditiously. 

 

Recent Releases No. 45 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring 

Vaughan Williams: Symphony No. 7 (“Sinfonia Antartica”); Symphony No. 9 in E minor. Elizabeth Watts, soprano, BBC Symphony Chorus; BBC Symphony Orchestra, Martyn Brabbins, conductor. Hyperion CDA68405

Many classical music fans, or at least those conversant with the music of the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, know that his Symphony No. 7 (“Sinfonia Antartica”) grew out of music that he had composed for the film Scott of the Antarctic, which portrayed the ill-fated South Pole expedition of Royal Navy officer Captain Robert Scott. On their way back from the Pole in 1912, Scott and all four other members of his party met their frozen deaths. Intrigued by the story, RVW decided to write a symphony based upon some of the themes from the music he had composed for the film. It is a grand and stirring composition full of spectacular sounds, featuring a large orchestra augmented by an organ, a wordless choir, a wordless soprano, gong, bells, glockenspiel, xylophone, piano, celesta, and if that’s not enough to test your stereo system, a wind machine (which on this recording is replaced by the recorded sounds of actual wind – a first in my experience). In addition, literary quotations meant to be spoken aloud were attached to each of the five movements, although many recordings, including this one, omit them. Other recordings, taking advantage of the programmable possibilities of digital media such as the CD, include the spoken sections so listeners can decide whether to listen to them or not for any particular listening session. The Onyx recording led by Andrew Manze that I reviewed previously for Classical Candor of these same RVW symphonies (you can find that review here) put them at the beginning of each movement. 

The engineering team on  this Hyperion release has met the challenge of capturing the power of the assembled forces. From tinkling treble to rumbling bass, the sounds coming from your speakers will bring the cold chill and dark terror of the Antarctic into your listening space as the orchestral forces project a sense of grandeur and the voices and wind noises that come in later in the movement evoke feelings of isolation and fear. The organ rumblings attest to the sheer power and majesty of the bleak, frozen landscape. Brabbins’s interpretation seems at times just a bit smoother than that of Manze, but overall this is still a powerful and dramatic performance and recording of this work. Especially moving is the final movement. Although this recording does not include the spoken introduction, the performance captures the spirit: "I do not regret this journey; we took risks, we knew we took them, things have come out against us, therefore we have no cause for complaint." (from Captain Scott's Last Journal). The movement opens with a drum roll and brass fanfare, perhaps a final  of act of bravado in the face of defeat and death. As the movement continues, the wind and and wordless voices echo once more, the orchestra plays echoes of the symphony's opening theme, and then we hear the soprano, chorus, and wind sounds as the symphony – and Scott’s ill-fated quest – fade to the end. 

 

RVW’s Symphony No. 9 seems to be greatly underappreciated, which is a shame, for it is a marvelous work. The first recording I ever owned the Ninth was an Everest LP (remember Everest? 35mm tape technology subverted by mediocre pressings – not  to mention their often laughable cover art) with Sir Adrian Boult, a close friend of the composer, conducting the London Philharmonic Orchestra. This was in fact the very first recording of the work, and Vaughan Williams was to be on hand for this auspicious occasion. Sadly, he passed away just hours before the session began. As a result, the recording session began opened with Sir Adrian informing the orchestra of the composer's passing, and his words were captured on tape and included at the beginning of the Everest LP. Although the orchestral forces RVW specified for the Ninth are modest, especially in comparison to those employed in the Seventh, a sound that you do not often hear in symphonic music results from the trio of saxophones that the composer added to the orchestra. 

The opening movement reminds me somewhat of the Seventh, with some themes sounding similar in feeling. Not in terms of sonority, of course, the orchestration being much different, much less grandiose – RVW is making a much more intimate statement with this work. The second movement, which opens with a flugelhorn solo (this apparently caused some eyebrows to raise when the work was new), brings in an element of mystery, perhaps even a sense of danger, especially near the end. The third movement is more jaunty and bouncy, with the saxophones and percussion section getting a chance to have some fun, the movement ending with a drum roll on the snares. The final movement begins in the strings but then gives all sections of the orchestra time in the spotlight as it unfolds, with some tender phrases from the saxophones near the final measures. Overall, the music is complex but flowing, showing Vaughan Williams to be still at the height of his compositional powers even late in his long life (in fact, the liner notes point out that the composer had begun some preliminary sketches for two more symphonies before his death). Brabbins and his BBC forces make a strong case for this final symphony, in a performance that stands right up there with previous favorites such as Manze and Slatkin. If you are one of those casual RVW fans who might have overlooked his Symphony No. 9, this new Hyperion recording would be an excellent opportunity for you make your acquaintance with something special indeed.

Schubert: Piano Sonata in A minor D537; Piano Sonata in A major D959. Garrick Ohlsson, piano. Hyperion CDA68398

 

The veteran American pianist Garrick Ohlsson (b. 1948) has enjoyed a long and distinguished career. He won the International Chopin Piano Competition in 1970 and remains the only American pianist ever to have done so. He has recorded the complete works of Chopin (and has of course made many other recordings over the years), but here turns his attention to a pair of piano sonatas by Schubert, his first completed sonata (D537), and one of the three (D959) completed only two months before the composer’s death. Bill Heck and I recently had a conversation about Schubert’s piano music wherein we both agreed that there is truly something special about it, some element of sheer beauty that has never been surpassed. We both love the piano music of Beethoven, and those late piano pieces by Brahms – but my goodness, the way Schubert can just spin out the melodies that dance, sing, weep, cry, laugh, ponder, pray, prance… 

The sounds that Ohlsson coaxes from the keyboard do justice to the range of feelings that Schubert pours into his composing. The earlier work is lighter, with more of the feeling of the dance about it from the outset. Ohlsson shades dynamics and plays with a flexible tempo that brings out the galloping drama of the first movement and makes the second movement just flow along with a sprightly air about it, making it truly atmospheric and lovely. The relatively brief (5:06) finale abounds in dynamic contrasts as it races toward its conclusion. Then it is on to D959, one of the glories of the piano literature. Ohlsson brings his ability to shade dynamics and shift the tempo to this monumental work as well. In comparing his interpretation to that of Uchida, it seemed as though hers seemed to lean more to drama, while his leaned more to color. Or perhaps you could say that Uchida is a bit more percussive – but just a bit.  Perhaps some of the difference could also be attributed to the engineering, with Ohlsson being afforded a warm, slightly distant sound, Uchida having been recorded a tad closer. 

Once again, then, Hyperion has given us a recording with excellent sound, informative liner notes, and an artistic cover. Even if you already have some Schubert piano recordings in your collection, this one is worth an audition to hear what Ohlsson’s tender touch reveals from Schubert’s scores. And if you have not encountered the piano music of Schubert, this recording would make an excellent introduction.

As a final note, some classical music fans may have already heard, but for those who have not, the latest news is that Hyperion Records, long an independent UK-based recording label, was recently sold to the Universal Music Group (UMG), the giant corporation that owns the rights to familiar classical recording labels such as Deutsche Grammophon, Decca, and EMI, as well as jazz/popular labels such as Geffen, A&M, Motown, Island, Polydor, Def Jam, Interscope, Capitol – they even own Abbey Road Studios. Although there is always fear when a little fish gets swallowed up by a great big one, there are some potential benefits to classical music fans. If nothing else, the Hyperion catalog may become more accessible on streaming services, which would certainly be a plus. Meanwhile, there are more Hyperion releases in the pipeline, and we have already received some CDs for future review. At this juncture, the long-term future of the label is not crystal-clear, but if we all follow the advice of Hulk Hogan (say our prayers and take our vitamins), the music will continue to be served admirably well.

Schubert Transfiguration: Symphonies Nos. 8 & 9 (SACD review)

Symphony No. 8 “Unfinished”; Symphony No. 9 “The Great.” Jordi Savall, Le Concert des Nations. AliaVox AVSA9950

By John J. Puccio

The year 2022 must have been the year of Schubert, with at least three major sets of the composer’s Symphonies Nos. 8 and 9 appearing, one from Herbert Blomstedt and the Gewandhaus Orchestra (DG), another from Rene Jacobs and the B’Rock Orchestra (Pentatone), and this newest and best one of all from Jordi Savall and Le Concert des Nations (AliaVox). Such extraordinary attention couldn’t happen to a nicer composer.

Maestro Savall has been around for a long time, making beautiful music with several different period-instrument bands. He is very good at it, and his Concert des Nations is probably his best ensemble yet. They play with an ardent finesse, and Savall ensures that they follow historically informed performance practices as well as anyone. For me, the culmination of Savall’s work came with his recent release of the complete Beethoven symphonies, which taken as a set I found was as good as anything I’d ever heard. So it was with great anticipation that I awaited these new Schubert discs, and I was not disappointed.

OK, here are a few things you should already know about the symphonies. Austrian composer Franz Schubert (1797-1828) began writing his Symphony No. 8 in B minor, D. 759 in 1822 but stopped after two movements. He left a scherzo nearly completed for piano, but with little orchestration. No one is sure why he quit the piece only halfway through, but they’re lovely movements and have given rise to the work’s being called Schubert’s “Unfinished.” Certainly, they are among the most melodic, lyrical, and tuneful movements in the classical repertoire, and maybe that’s good enough.

Maestro Savall is one of the few conductors of historically informed performances who seems to genuinely love the music he’s performing. Another such conductor is Nick McGegan, who seems positively to dance while on the podium. I’ve never seen Jordi Savall conduct live so I’m not sure about his dance steps, but I can only imagine his liveliness in front of an orchestra. He appears to communicate this enthusiasm to the orchestra, too, which plays with a crisp vigor, something not all of Savall’s ensembles have displayed in the past. Needless to say, the Eighth comes off with a splendid dynamism while maintaining Schubert’s endearing melodic lines. Moreover, there is never any sense that there is anything missing, that something more should come. Savall manages to make the “Unfinished” sound, well, finished.

Schubert wrote his Symphony No. 9 in D major “The Great” D 944 somewhere between 1825 and his death in 1828. However, he never heard it performed as he wrote it. Like most of his music, the Ninth never saw publication until well after the composer’s death. Schubert was unable to pay an orchestra to perform it, and the ones he did submit it to refused to play it, claiming it was too long and too difficult to undertake. (Robert Schumann would come to the symphony’s rescue some ten years after the composer’s death when Schubert’s brother Ferdinand gave him the manuscript, and Felix Mendelssohn would conduct the symphony for the first time with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in 1839.)

Whatever, the symphony’s structure is fairly conventional: I. Andante – Allegro ma non troppo - Piu mosso; II. Andante con moto; III. Scherzo Allegro vivace - Trio - Scherzo da capo; and IV. Allegro vivace. However, as I mentioned, its length was quite long by the standards of the day. Robert Schumann called it a “heavenly length,” yet early musicians found it challenging to play because of its extended string and woodwind parts.

Savall beefed up his Concert des Nations with additional young players from a l’ Academie Schubert to approximate the numbers the composer intended for these productions. They are especially welcome in the Ninth, helping to punctuate the “Great” in the work’s subtitle.

Schubert wrote that “my works are the fruit of my musical knowledge and my pain.” It is for this inward-looking quality of Schubert’s music that Savall calls his present set “Transfiguration.” He sees Schubert’s music as a major refashioning of Beethoven, a metamorphosis of sorts, based on Schubert’s reaction to his own ill health. Maybe. Savall certainly makes the most of the Ninth’s varying moods, from the symphony’s magisterial opening to the second movement’s almost jaunty funeral march to the work’s spirited, dance-like Scherzo and on to the vibrant, passionate, heartstruck finale.

I obviously can’t speak for every listener, but I can say without doubt that for me Savall’s renditions of Schubert’s Eighth and Ninth Symphonies are the best I have yet heard on period instruments and possibly the best I am likely to hear for some time.

Producer and engineer Manuel Mohino recorded the symphonies for hybrid SACD playback at A La Collegiale de Cardona, Catalogne, Spain in September 2021. AliaVox chose to make the discs in hybrid SACD multichannel and stereo, depending on the equipment used for playback. I listened in SACD two-channel stereo.

Like Savall’s Beethoven set, recorded in the same venue, the sound in the Schubert symphonies is smooth, spacious, wide-ranging, dynamic, well balanced, and well defined. It is, in fact, about as good as one could want. It is among the most-realistic sound you’ll find in this repertoire, so you really can’t do any better.