Clara & Robert Schumann: Piano Concertos

by Bill Heck

Clara Wieck-Schumann: Piano Concerto 1 in A minor; Robert Schumann: Piano Concerto in A minor, Widmung. (Beatrice Rana, piano; Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Chamber Orchestra of Europe). Warner Classcs B0BLGH14M1.

Yannick Nézet-Séguin seems to be showing up in recordings everywhere these days, and this time he teams up with Beatrice Rana – or should I say that she teams up with him? – to produce an enjoyable disk featuring the piano concertos by what must be the most famous musical couple of the Romantic era, Clara and Robert Schumann. Robert’s piano concerto is well-known to modern audiences; Clara’s, actually written first, has been little-known. Recently, though, Clara’s music seems to be staging a mini-revival.  

Given the dates of composition, it is appropriate that Clara Schumann's concerto appears first on the disk. Considering her age when she composed it (14!), the work is remarkably sophisticated and mature, easily mistaken for the effort of a much older and more experienced composer. For those unfamiliar with the composition (and until very recently that included me and, I’m sure, many readers of Classical Candor), here’s a capsule summary:

The first movement begins with a flourish in the home key of A minor, a theme that is a bit foreboding, followed by both orchestral and pianistic flourishes. There's plenty of drama here, with quiet piano passages alternating with full-throated combinations of the solo instrument and the orchestra. One might even be reminded of an early Beethoven concerto, at least in general outline, if not in clear structural integrity. Toward the end of movement, the sun breaks through and a series of ascending lines take us to a major key.

Interestingly, Clara Schumann dares to tie the first movement directly to the second, a device that, although hardly unprecedented, must have seen quite daring its day, especially for a young, female composer. This second movement is a "romance", with a stretch of piano work that turns into a duet between piano and cello, with additional strings gradually adding harmony. By the way, the device of giving the melodic line in the slow movement to the cello shows up again in Brahms’s second piano concerto. Given the relationship between Brahms and the Schumanns, that seems more than coincidental -- just sayin'. In any case, as with the transition from the first to second movements, the second moves directly into the third.

The third movement, about the length of the first two put together, is more dramatic and initially restless, primarily staying in the minor key. Soon along comes a more joyful melody, which in turn gives way to solo passages in a more introspective mood. But restlessness moves us on, moving through several moods until, as we near the end, the piano gallops off with the orchestra coming along in full stride, ending back in the minor key again: another innovative move, as it was quite unusual at the time to end such a major showpiece work in a minor key.

The playing is both enthusiastic and more than competent: if hearing is believing, I’m certainly convinced that Rana truly enjoys playing this work. The recorded sound is very good: after several listens, I realized that the projected sound of the piano was a little too wide, but the Warner engineers had balanced the piano and orchestra so nicely that this was not bothersome.

Clara and Robert Schumann

Moving on to the next work, the coupling with Robert’s concerto is, at first glance, an obvious one. Both are in A minor, so they must be related, right? In fact, they are not particularly related, other than by key. Sure, there are a few passages that share some similarities, but in the main these are quite different works, and I needn’t go into details about Robert’s concerto, as it is a mainstay of the repertoire. Rana brings much the same energy and vitality to Robert's composition as we just heard in Clara’s; a few passages that struck me as slight missteps don’t detract from a first-rate effort. The story is much the same with the orchestra: intelligent phrasing, very good playing. I can summarize quickly by saying that the performance here is quite nice, as is the sound, although to my ears neither aspect is so spectacular as to displace any other favorites that you might have. I don’t mean to damn with faint praise; if you are looking for a very good performance of Robert Schumann’s concerto in modern sound, this will do nicely.

But, but….at this point, the astute reader may wonder about my attitude here. Well, I am a little disappointed. It’s not because there’s anything wrong with what we hear here. I just wish that we could have had more innovative (might I even say more daring?) programming.

As I mentioned earlier, Clara Schumann's compositions mostly languished in obscurity until recently. We can be glad that they now are played more often, as they truly deserve to be. We can be especially happy that the piano concerto has received such a fine recording as this one. However, I would be remiss if I did not point out that the concerto, although an amazing work for one of her age at the time of composition and signaling and extraordinary talent, still ends up being the work of youth. While it's certainly worth hearing, it only foreshadows some of Clara's more interesting later works. 

Sadly, Clara composed relatively little throughout her life: given the demands of caring for Robert through his increasing mental illness and eventual death, raising a passel of children, enduring a crushing travel and performance schedule, and (in her spare time, one supposes) dealing with a tricky relationship with Brahms, it’s a miracle that she found any time at all for composition. It seems that there were a couple of minor orchestral pieces that are now lost, and she did work on a second concerto that was never finished; so much for orchestral output.  But she managed to create several pieces of chamber music and even more for solo piano. So wouldn’t it have been nice if, on this disk, the concerto had been followed by a few of those latter piano compositions? I’m drooling (metaphorically anyway) at the thought of hearing Rana have a go at some of those.

Oh well, given the realities of marketing and contracts, perhaps a concerto/solo works program wasn’t feasible. And maybe Rana is already hard at work on another album of Clara Schumann’s compositions – or so we can hope!

By the way, there's a nicely-done video about the album and the Schumanns on the Warner Classics channel on YouTube, part of which is transcribed in the liner notes for the disk.

Víkingur Ólafsson: From Afar (CD review)

Bach: Christe, du Lamm Gottes, BWV 619 (Arr. G. Kurtág); Schumann: Study in Canonic Form, Op. 56 No. 1; Bach: Adagio from Sonata for Solo Violin in C major (Arr. Víkingur Ólafsson); Kurtág: Harmonica (Hommage á Borsody László) (From Játékok / Book 3); Bartók: Three Hungarian Folksongs from Csìk; Brahms: Intermezzo Op. 116, No. 4; Kurtág: A Voice in the Distance (From   / Book 5); Birgisson: Where Life and Death May Dwell (Icelandic Folk Song); Bach: Trio Sonata No. 1, BWV 525: 1. Allegro moderato (arr. G. Kurtág); Kaldalóns: Ave María (Arr. Víkingur Ólafsson); Kurtág: Little Chorale (From Játékok / Book 1); Mozart: Laudate Dominum (Arr. Víkingur Ólafsson); Kurtág: Sleepily (From Játékok / Book 1); Schumann: Träumerei Op. 15, No. 7; Kurtág: Flowers We Are (From Játékok / Book 7); Adès: The Branch (Az Ág); Kurtág: Twittering (From Játékok / Book 1); Schumann: Vogel als Prophet Op. 82, No. 7; Brahms: Intermezzo Op. 116, No. 5; Kurtág: Scraps of a Colinda Melody – Faintly Recollected (Hommage à Farkas Ferenc) (From Játékok / Book 3). Víkingur Ólafsson, grand piano, CD1; upright piano, CD2. Deutsche Grammophon 486 1681.

By Karl W. Nehring

Having enjoyed and reviewed some previous albums by Víkingur Ólafsson (b.1984) in which he played music by Bach, Philip Glass, Debussy, and Rameau, all of which were really first-class releases in every way, I fully expected this new release by the young Icelandic pianist to be a good one; however; I was not fully prepared for what a delightfully rewarding release this unusual two-disc album turned out to be. As high as my expectations might have been, they were surpassed. This is an unusual album with an unusual backstory that involves Kurtág meeting the venerable Hungarian composer György Kurtág (b. 1926), whose music the pianist had been first introduced to by a recording given him by his father in the late 1990’s. More than 20 years later, much to his surprise, Ólafsson received an unexpected message while on tour: “György Kurtág would love to meet you while you are in Budapest for your upcoming concert.”

Although he was at first intimidated by the thought of meeting what he regarded as such a “fiercely intellecfual musical thinker and formidable teacher,” Ólafsson soon found Kurtág to be warm and welcoming, inviting the younger man to play for him on a beautiful Steinway that had belonged to Kurtág’s late wife. About this experience, Ólafsson recounts “I soon began playing the music that came to mind: Bach, Mozart, Haydn, Bartok, Icelandic folk songs. Kurtág would comment, make suggestions, tell a story – always full of insight and inspiration. In what felt like 15 minutes, two hours had gone by.” Later, after more of his routine of practice, travel, concerts, and meetings, Ólafsson found himself recalling that evening in Budapest, recalling “I felt like I had been reacquainted with some musical essence, and it gave me a feeling of lightness and joy. Wanting to write him a letter to thank him, I found myself at the piano instead, drawing up a map of works with Kurtág’s own music as a compass. The result is this album.”

The program on From Afar consists of 22 tracks that Ólafsson has chosen along the lines suggested his account above – some Bach, Mozart, Bartok, Icelandic folk songs (Haydn didn’t make the cut), et al., along with a generous helping of Kurtág. The musical selections for the most part are brief, many lasting less than two minutes. Although the brevity of the tracks and variety of the composers might seem to portend a crazy quilt of styles and moods, the overall impression given off by the album as the program moves along from track to track is actually quite consistent. From the opening brief snippet of Bach, which is calm and reflective, Ólafsson seems to be inviting us to join him in contemplating the beauty, peace, and joy to be found among the 88 keys of the piano. As he puts it, “throughout the album, there are intimate conversations and messages from afar – closely knit canons, transcriptions and dedications, as well as distant echoes of nearly forgotten, ancient melodies. And like a trail of shiny little stones in a moonlit forest, there are the works of Kurtág: his transcriptions of Bach and his on ever-growing selection of piano works, Játékok, or Games. In these works it is clear that Kurtág’s primary method of inquiry in the world of musical ideas is the same as that of the child: play.” Sprinkled among the works of the works of the composers of the past, these miniatures by Kurtág do indeed bring an element of playfulness to the proceedings -- never in an ironic or mocking way, but rather by offering upbeat, encouraging interjections from time to time.

As I have suggested above, intimacy and playfulness are two defining characteristics of the music on From Afar. And that music has been recorded not once, but twice, for this release, as Ólafsson explains: “This album contains two recordings of the same music, one made on a Steinway concert grand and the other made on an upright with a layer of felt covering the strings, a permanent soft pedal… For me as an artist, nothing will ever replace the large, resplendent canvas and unlimited colours of the grand piano, but the familial sincerity of the upright should not be underestimated. There is a confidentiality, a whispering intimacy to the sound of the upright piano that I love to experiment with. In this recording, the microphones are so close you can hear the keys depressed and released, the pedals creak, even the pianist breathing. I want the sound to reach the listener as if sitting on the piano bench with me… The upright piano interpretation as well. Its percussive materiality and the absence of forgiving overtones demand new timings and textures, a different attention to structure.” So yes, these really are two different albums. Each has a different sort of intimacy, a different sort of playfulness. My guess is that most listeners will give the Steinway disc the most attention; however, I hope they will not neglect the upright disc, for it is utterly fascinating and well worth serious and repeated listening. There really is something to be said about the “familial sincerity” of Ólafsson’s upright piano, especially when it is recorded in such a way that it seems to have been transported directly into your listening room – with the pianist himself in tow.

Ólafsson’s liner notes are both interesting and informative. In addition to the background essay material from which the excerpts above were taken, he also includes commentary on the musical selections included in the album. The title of the album might be From Afar, but the music, the sound, the liner notes, and the photography all work together to draw us close to the music and Ólafsson’s love for it. This is an interesting, involving, and endearing album that further enhances the growing reputation of this supremely talented and insightful master of the keyboard.

KWN

Schumann: Symphonies No. 3 “Rhenish” & No. 4 (SACD review)

Lawrence Foster, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. Pentatone PTC-5186 327.

By John J. Puccio

A few months before listening to this disc, I reviewed Maestro Lawrence Foster’s recording of the Schumann First and Second Symphonies, which he made for Pentatone around the same time he recorded these Third and Fourth Symphonies. I thought of the performances on that first set as sturdy but not particularly noteworthy. Meaning that given today’s competitive recording market, Foster’s album wouldn’t probably be at the top of most people’s list of first choices. I think it’s fair to say the same of the present disc.

Whatever, German composer Robert Schumann (1810-1856) wrote his Symphony No. 3 in E major, Op. 97, known as the “Rhenish” Symphony, in 1850, and it would be his final symphony. (He actually wrote his numbered Fourth Symphony almost ten years earlier, but because audiences didn’t care for it at its premiere, he withdrew it, revised it, and published it after he had written No. 3. So forget about the numbering; Schumann actually wrote No. 3 after he had written most of No. 4.

An enjoyable trip to the Rhineland (an area of western Germany along the Rhine River) with his wife Clara inspired him to write the five-movement Third Symphony, with much of the music describing the scenery they saw and the experiences they encountered. Here, Foster takes the heroic opening theme so leisurely that it lacks much of the boldness it should exhibit. There is little that is grand or eloquent about it. Foster approach to the second-movement Scherzo can seem positively sluggish at first, but it does convey a properly cozy tone. The third movement (marked Nicht schnell, not fast) is more up Foster’s alley and comes off as charmingly rustic and pastoral. The final movements create contrasting solemn, then uplifting moods, which Foster manages fairly well, although I would liked to have heard more joy in the closing.

As I mentioned, Schumann originally wrote his Symphony No. 4 n D minor, Op. 120 earlier than this Third, in 1841, withdrew it, and then extensively revised it for its 1851 publication. Apparently, Brahms so loved the first version of the score, however, that he republished it in 1891. What’s more, a lot of critics agreed, noting that the earlier version was lighter and more transparent than the revised version; nevertheless, Clara Schumann insisted she liked the later, published version best, and it’s that 1851 music that we usually hear and which Maestro Foster provides. However, I doubt it would make much difference in this recording with Foster. Not only does the sound come across as rather dull and distant, so does the performance. It’s not a matter of slow tempos, either, because Otto Klemperer (EMI/Warner) takes the music as slowly but makes it come more alive. Wolfgang Sawallisch (also EMI/Warner) creates the best of all worlds here, with George Szell (Sony) a close choice.

Now, if it sounds like I’m being overly hard on Foster, understand that it not because I think he is an inferior conductor. In fact, he accompanied Itzhak Perlman on one of my favorite recordings of Paganini’s First Violin Concerto, and he has been the conductor of numerous fine ensembles, including the San Francisco Ballet, the Houston Symphony, the Ojai Music Festival, the Monte-Carlo Philharmonic, the Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra, and the Orquesta simfónica de Barcelona y nacional de Cataluña, and he is currently the Chief Conductor of the Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra. So, yes, the man is talented, but, no, we can’t win ‘em all.

In sum, there is nothing about Foster’s Schumann performances that strikes me as being any better than other recordings I like a lot more. Among the top considerations one might enjoy are those by Wolfgang Sawallisch and the Staatskapelle Dresden (EMI/Warner), Otto Klemperer and the Philharmonia Orchestra (EMI/Warner), George Szell and the Cleveland Symphony (Sony), and John Eliot Gardiner and the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique (DG). But, to each his own. You’ve probably already got your favorites, and if it’s an SACD digital recording you’re looking for in multichannel, the Foster performances might just fit the bill.

Producer Job Maarse and engineers Jean-Marie Geijsen and Carl Schuurbier recorded the music live at the Dvorak Hall of the Rudolfinum, Prague in April 2008. They made it in hybrid SACD for two-channel stereo or multichannel, and I listened in SACD two-channel.

The sound at almost any level appears not just soft and warm but frankly drab. I said in my review of Foster’s First and Second Symphony Schumann recordings that they seemed too reverberant to admit much detail. Here, the resonance doesn’t seem the only issue as much as does the distancing, which puts the orchestra too far back, with a consequent loss of definition. It’s better than too forward, close, and bright, I suppose, but it’s not particularly good for transparency. Perhaps five-channel surround would help; I don’t know.

JJP

Daniel Barenboim: Encores (CD review)

Music of Albeniz, Chopin, Debussy, Liszt, Schubert, and Schumann. Daniel Barenboim, piano. DG 486 0932.

By John J. Puccio

By now, Daniel Barenboim’s name is undoubtedly familiar to almost every classical music fan far and wide. He came to my attention in the late 1960’s when I was becoming ever more serious about listening to and collecting classical music. He was among a handful of pianists whom I admired, among them Maurizo Pollini, Van Cliburn, Vladimir Ashkenazy, and Martha Argerich, which was pretty heady company.

Barenboim (b. 1942) is, of course, both a pianist and a conductor; a citizen of Argentina, Israel, Spain, and Palestine; the current Music Director of the Berlin State Opera and the Staatskapelle Berlin; and the former conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Orchestre de Paris, and La Scala. With his numerous recordings as both a pianist and conductor, it’s no wonder his name is so well known.

For the present solo piano album, he offers us a bit of respite from the hectic world in which we all live, some “encores” as he calls them. They are charming, well-known piano miniatures from some of the most well-known composers of the classical world, pieces he has often used as encores in his stage recitals. Here’s a rundown of the program:

Schubert: Impromptu in G flat
Schubert: Moment musical in F minor
Schumann: Traumerei
Schumann: Fantasiestucke, Op. 12
Schumann: Aufschwung. Warum? Traumes Wirren
Liszt: Consolation No. 3 in D flat
Chopin: Nocturne in F sharp major
Chopin: 3 Etudes, Op. 25, Nos. 1, 2 and 7
Chopin: 3 Etudes, Op. 10, Nos. 4, 6 and 8
Debussy: Clair de lune
Albeniz: Tango from Espana

As Barenboim remarks, these miniatures may be brief, but they are long on significance. They are packed with emotion, feeling, and atmosphere. The first two of the selections are from Franz Schubert, who practically invented the use of “songs without words.” It’s good to see that Barenboim hasn’t lost his touch when it comes to projecting a comfortably relaxed interpretation. This is especially true, too, of Robert Schumann’s lovely Traumerei (“Dreaming,” the seventh of Schumann’s thirteen Scenes from Childhood). Barenboim maintains the music’s serenity without giving in to sentimentality.

And so it goes with all of the selections. Each displays Barenboim’s subtlety and grace, his assured manner, and sensitive technique. Liszt’s Consolation No. 3 evokes a stillness and comfort; Chopin’s Nocturne No. 3 a dreamy ease; the Etudes a sweet, gentle purity contrasted with a lively spirit. Debussy’s Clair de lune comes in the penultimate spot, fitting for a major little masterpiece.  Needless to say,  Barenboim plays it with all due respect, a glowing, towering little gem. Then the pianist ends the show with one of my favorite tangos, No. 2 from Espana. It provides a fitting conclusion to an album of refinement, eloquence, and intellect.

Producer Friedemann Engelbrecht and engineer Julian Schwenkner recorded the music at Pierre Boulez Saal, Berlin in April 2020 and Teldex Studio Berlin in 2017. DG always do a good job recording piano music, and this is no exception. The piano tone is warmer and mellower than usual, but it’s still realistic, reminiscent of a piano playing in a large room, with plenty of rich resonance. Transparency is fine, and the instrument appears to be rather closely miked, so that adds to the detailing.

JJP

Simone Dinnerstein: Undersong (CD review)

Piano music by Couperin, Schumann, Glass, and Satie. Simone Dinnerstein, piano. Orange Mountain Music 0156.

By John J. Puccio and Karl W. Nehring

The music according to John:

As you probably know, American classical pianist Simone Dinnerstein loves to do theme albums. The titles alone give you the idea: An American Mosaic, A Character of Quiet, Bach: Strange Beauty, Mozart in Havana, Something Almost Being Said, Night, Bach Re-Invented, Broadway - Lafayette, and now Undersong. Of course, she has done more traditional albums as well, like Bach’s Goldberg Variations and Inventions and Sinfonias, and Beethoven’s Complete Works for Piano and Cello (with cellist Zuill Bailey). But lately, as her name and fame have grown, she has increasingly pursued theme albums.

Undersong is a term I was unfamiliar with, so I looked it up. The Free Dictionary calls it “an accompanying secondary melody”; or “a nuanced meaning.” Merriam-Webster says it’s “a subordinate melody or part; especially, a droning accompaniment or undertone. A refrain.” Ms. Dinnerstein apparently goes with “refrain.” As she says, “Couperin, Schumann, Glass, and Satie constantly revisit the same material, worrying at, shifting it to different harmonies and into different rhythmic shapes. Working with this music in the fall of 2020 was a constant reminder that in my afternoon walk in the Green-wood Cemetery, I was quite literally treading a familiar path every day, a path that nonetheless had changed almost imperceptibly every time I left the house.” Thus, we have the shifting, sometimes hidden texts of these musical pieces with refrains. The whole idea may seem a bit morose (starting with Ms. Dinnerstein’s black-and-white cover photo surrounded by tombstones and looking for all the world like Morticia Addams), but, then, the whole pandemic has been a pretty morose experience.

Nevertheless, whether or not you buy into the slightly murky spirit of the “undersong” business, you can’t deny that Ms. Dinnerstein’s handling of the material is thoughtful, emotional yet restrained, and unfailingly sensitive. Thus informed, we begin with Les Barricades Mysterieuses (“The Mysterious Barricades”) that the French Baroque composer Francois Couperin wrote in 1717. Like its title, the music is evocative, and Ms. Dinnerstein makes the most of it.

Next is an equally famous piece, Arabesque, Op. 18, written by Robert Schumann in 1839. The composer wrote it during a particularly stormy period of his life during which his future wife Clara’s father wanted no part of him as a son-in-law. The music reflects these turbulent yet tender times, and Ms. Dinnerstein adds her own affectionate touch and occasional barb.

Philip Glass comes after that with his solo piano work, Mad Rush (1979). Ms. Dinnerstein describes the music of the disc as the kind to get lost in, and that’s no better expressed than in the Glass piece. It’s kind of looking-glass music (pun intended) with ripples and reflections of all sorts. Ms. Dinnerstein’s gentle yet firm approach has us drifting through a kaleidoscope of musical colors.

Then we get more from Couperin, Tic Toc Choc, a whimsical representation of the rhythms of a clock. Given its eighteenth-century origins, the piece sounds surprisingly modern in Ms. Dinnerstein’s hands.

Then, there’s Gnossienne No. 3 by French composer Erik Satie (1888). “Gnossienne” was a word Satie invented, probably to remind listeners of “gnostic” or spiritual knowledge or maybe of “gnossus” from ancient Crete. Whatever, it is intensely mystical and contemplative.

The program’s penultimate work is the longest, Schumann’s Kreisleriana, a selection of eight movements for solo piano (1838). Schumann regarded it as his favorite work. Here, Ms. Dinnerstein lets her hair down, so to speak, pursuing the sometimes tempestuous, sometimes tranquil segments with equally warmhearted vigor.

Ms. Dinnerstein concludes the disc, appropriately, with a refrain: Couperin’s Les Barricades Redux.

Adam Abeshouse produced and engineered the album, which he recorded in Ms. Dinnerstein’s home in Brooklyn, NY in November 2020. The piano, recorded somewhat closely, sounds honeyed and mellow, with a warm, rich quality that greatly complements the music. Then, too, a mildly resonant acoustic also contributes to the disc’s pleasures.

JJP

The music according to Karl:

American pianist Simone Dinnerstein (b. 1972) first came to my attention and to the attention of many, many others, as it would soon turn out back in 2007 when her recording of Bach’s Goldberg Variations was released on the Telarc label. It was a splendid recording for which I wrote an enthusiastic review in The $ensible Sound. The album shot to the top of Billboard’s classical CD best-sellers list. I’d love to say that its success was in part attributable to my review, but I have every confidence that the good readers of Classical Candor are nowhere near so gullible as to believe such blatant blather. Fast-forward 15 years and I find myself once again reviewing a recording by Ms. Dinnerstein, who has been busy during the pandemic, as Undersong is her third made during this trying time. Isolation can have some compensations for those prepared to make the best of their particular talents and opportunities, and Ms. Dinnerstein has certainly used her talents and opportunities to produce another splendid recording. In her brief liner note, she writes that “all of the music on this album consists of musical forms that have a refrain. Glass, Schumann, Couperin, and Satie constantly revisit the same material in these pieces, shifting it to different harmonies and into different rhythmic shapes. Undersong is an archaic term for a song with a refrain, and to me it also suggests a hidden text. Glass, Schumann, Couperin and Satie all seem to be attempting to find what they want to say through repetition, as though their constant change and recycling will focus the ear and the mind. This is music to get lost in.” She goes on to compare that repetition to her daily afternoon walk through Green-wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, where she treads the same path day after day (the B&W cover photo features her posing there on the cemetery path).

Despite that talk of solitary cemetery strolls, the music she has chosen is not morose. The piece by Francois Couperin that opens and closes the album is ruminative, though. Indeed, it would seem that framing the album this way is evidence of a deft artistic touch, the pianist’s way of communicating that she intending her program to be understood as a framed musical composition that she has put together purposefully, beginning and ending a musical journey with something on her mind. Besides, Les Barricades Mysterieuses is an entrancing composition, well worth hearing played twice, ever so slightly slowly to finish the program. Between those opening and closing tunes, there is a varied program that spans the centuries. Following the opening Couperin, Schumann’s Arabesque seems somehow to sustain a  similar feeling despite being dissimilar in style. The pace then picks up as Dinnerstein leans into the pulsing rhythms of Philip Glass’s Mad Rush. I know there are some who are wary of anything by Glass, but to my ears at least, his piano music represents some of the best of his output, and Mad Rush is an excellent piece that sounds perfectly placed in this program. After a brief bon-bon from Couperin, we then come to the longest composition, taking up more than half the time on the CD, Schumann’s Kreisleriana, which consists of eight sections. The music and the mood here are certainly different from the Glass, the Satie, or even the other Schumann, but I quibble. Others may find it more perfectly blended in than did I. My only other quibble is with the liner notes, which are quite brief. It would have been rewarding to have some more insight from Ms. Dinnerstein as to how she came to choose the particular composers and compositions and why she presented them in the order she chose for her program. Still, when you come down to it, this is a really nice release, with a well-played, well-recorded, and thoughtfully chosen program -- music to get lost in.

KWN

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

Schumann: Pictures from the East

Also, Brahms: Variations on a Theme of Robert Schumann; Dvořák: From the Bohemian Forest (Versions for Piano Four-Hands). Geister Duo. Mirare MIR610.

By Bill Heck

I’ve written in earlier reviews that it’s always a pleasure to find good recordings of lesser-known works, the ones – to use the cliché – off the beaten path. It’s not that any of us tire of listening to masterpieces by Bach, Beethoven, or Brahms, but some variety adds spice to life, right? If piano music for four hands can be called “spicy”, this recording fits right in.

Back in July of 2021, I reviewed a disk of piano works for four hands by Christophe Sirodeau and Anna Zassimova playing Dvorak’s Legends and From the Bohemian Forest. That review gave some background on the four-hand genre; I can wait while you check it out at https://classicalcandor.blogspot.com/2021/07/dvorak-legends-from-bohemian-forest-cd.html.

Ah, you’re back. The disk now in review overlaps the Sirodeau/Zassimova one with Dvorak’s Forest collection, omitting the Legends but adding works by Schumann and Brahms.
You needn’t worry, though; we’re unlikely to be overrun by piano four-hand performances anytime soon, and that’s kind of a shame because the four-hand repertoire is a rich one. It’s true that some of the literature consists of works originally written for orchestra or chamber ensembles and then redone by their composers in four-hand arrangements mainly – yes, we must admit it – to make a buck (or a thaler, lira, or franc). But that certainly is not true of the entire genre; often enough, it went in the other direction, especially with Dvorak. Regardless of what came first, sometimes the four-hand arrangements give different and interesting perspectives, or occasionally just downright sound better than the originals. In some cases, the four-hand versions are the only versions, as is the case with the works presented here.

On the current disk, the first work is Op. 66, Oriental Pictures or Pictures from the East (Bilder aus Osten) by Robert Schumann, which he described as six impromptus for four hands. Legend has it that the work was inspired by an Arabic poem, even though nothing here sounds very “oriental” at all. Be that as it may, the series was completed in 1848, the same year in which the far better-known Album for the Young was published as Op.68. This was a productive period for Schumann, and the work contains some very listenable music indeed. As usual, formal structure is not Schumann’s strongest suit, but there are imaginative episodes that are quite worth hearing, with moods shifting kaleidoscopically across and within the episodes.

The second work is Brahms’s Op. 23, Variations on a Theme of Robert Schumann (not to be confused with Op. 9, his work of the same title for solo piano). I won’t attempt to describe the deep and complicated relationships between Robert Schumann, Robert’s wife Clara, and Brahms; suffice it to say that Brahms was fond of and deeply indebted to both of the Schumanns, and this work was written around 1861 as a tribute to Robert after the latter’s death in 1856. Thus, the Variations allude to both the love and the sadness that Brahms felt; moreover, several themes and motives within the work either are quotations from Robert’s work or musical “codes” that refer to Robert or Clara. Fortunately, we all can appreciate the music without knowing the inner details. (If you are not familiar with the Schumann/Brahms story, it’s a fascinating topic. You can find summaries on the web or, for a deep dive on Brahms, check out Jan Swafford’s biography of Brahms.)

The third work on the disk, Dvorak’s Op. 68, From the Bohemian Forest, is perhaps the most distinctive in this collection. A series of Czech-inspired “scenes”, it begins with a rousing work that immediately calls to mind some of the composer’s better known Slavonic Dances: the same sorts of uniquely Czech rhythms incorporated in that country’s folk music of the time. This is not to say that the works are derivative; they stand wonderfully on their own and can be heard as a mix of “peasant scenes” or descriptions of nature (thus the “forest” in the title). Although varied in tempo and mood, the pieces are generally happy and full of life, making for enjoyable listening – and as I write this on a very cold day in January, these works strike me as just the thing not only to warm the spirit but also to stir the blood and warm the body!

Finally, this disk has one other thing going for it: really excellent sound. The recording is fairly close and on the dry side, meaning it does not capture a lot of room reverberation, which is perfect for allowing us to hear all those notes – there are four hands at work, after all. But by close, I don’t mean that it sounds as though the microphones were stuck inside the piano; the sound is rich and never fatiguing, with a real sense of presence in the room.

I see that I’ve not said much so far about the playing, so I’ll summarize: it’s very good. David Salmon and Manuel Vieillard, the two pianists who make up the Geister Duo, have worked together as a duo for about 10 years and it shows, with excellent and nuanced balance throughout between the two players. Searching for comparisons across other recordings was a challenge simply because I found no disks with exactly the same content. But in several comparisons of individual works, the quality of this disk was clear. For instance, in the Brahms Variations, the Geister Duo presents a more dynamic and nuanced view of the work (although, alas, all in one track on the CD rather than with the variations on separate tracks) than do Karsenti and Benzakoun, who sometimes seemed rushed and are further handicapped by rather clangorous sound. I’ve already mentioned Sirodeau and Zassimova in the Dvorak Bohemian Forest: here the call is tougher, with both versions offering excellent performances, but certainly the Duo holds its own. In the Schumann Oriental work, Martha Fischer and Bill Lutes offer solid performances as part of a 2-disk set of all of Schumann’s four-hand compositions, but I find the Geister Duo’s quicker tempi a bit more exciting.

If you would like to explore the world of four-hand piano works, this disk provides an excellent introduction. If you already are familiar with this literature, this set would be a worthy addition to your collection. By the way, the sample below is from the Dvorak Bohemian Forest set.

BH

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

Schumann: Symphonies No. 1 “Spring” & No. 2 (SACD review)

Lawrence Foster, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. Pentatone PTC 5186 326.

By John J. Puccio

During his relatively short lifetime, German composer and pianist Robert Schumann (1810-1856) managed to write four symphonies, one opera, and any number of piano works; and the symphonies didn’t come into being until late in the composer’s career. They became phenomenally successful and are now firmly entrenched in the basic classical repertoire. Maestro Lawrence Foster recorded all four of the symphonies during live performances in 2007-08 with the Czech Philharmonic, and we have them on two separate Pentatone SACD releases, the first one reviewed here.

Schumann wrote his Symphony No. 1 in B flat, Op. 38 “Spring” in 1841, shortly after he married Clara Wieck, herself a noted pianist and composer; and Felix Mendelssohn conducted the première. How’s that for help? As to its content, Schumann wrote to conductor Wilhelm Taubert saying, “Could you breathe a little of the longing for spring into your orchestra as they play? That was what was most in my mind when I wrote the symphony.... I would like the music to suggest the world’s turning green, perhaps with a butterfly hovering in the air, and then, in the Allegro, to show how everything to do with spring is coming alive...”

It's hard to knock anything by Schumann, especially where the "Spring" Symphony is concerned, but I'll do it anyway. Schumann's First Symphony should be a jubilant, ebullient, zestfully intoxicating work that inspires in listeners the very best feelings of spring's new life and new hope. Indeed, under conductor Lawrence Foster and the Czech Philharmonic, it does at least some of this. The interpretation is relatively quick paced and reasonably quick witted, yet it loses some of its joy in Foster’s fairly unyielding direction. While everything is neatly in place, the ebb and flow of the music is somewhat stiff, lacking the graceful, fluid continuity we hear from conductors like Wolfgang Sawallisch and Rafael Kubelik. So, even though I found Foster's reading spirited and lively enough, I didn’t always find it too characterful.

Almost half a dozen years went by before Schumann would write his Symphony No. 2 in C major, Op. 61 in 1846. (In between time, he also completed the original version of what he would later publish as his Symphony No. 4.) Although Schumann was in poor health when he composed No. 2, the tone of the work is spiritually uplifting. Critics have praised the piece as sounding like a Beethovenian “triumph over fate/pessimism,” which is how Beethoven earlier had described himself.

The Symphony No. 2 begins with a measured introduction, giving way to a moderately paced Allegro that becomes more tumultuous as it proceeds. A Scherzo follows, brisk and playful, hinting something of the Baroque and possibly of Bach. Next is a slow and expressive Adagio, taking on the nature of an elegy. Then Schumann wraps things up with a very lively (“molto vivace”) Allegro that borrows something from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony “Ode to Joy.”

Maestro Foster seems to loosen up more in the Second Symphony, and the music flows more easily, more freely. Maybe Foster just took time to warm up. It’s also possible that because the music of No. 2 appears more mature, more serious than the tenor of No. 1, Foster found it more approachable, more consistent with his generally straightforward manner. Whatever, I enjoyed Foster’s handling of No. 2 more than I did his reading of No. 1.

Recording producer Job Maarse and recording engineer Matthijs Ruijter recorded the album live at the Dvorak Hall of the Rudolfinum, Prague in October 2007. The disc is in hybrid SACD, meaning you can listen in two-channel or multichannel from an SACD player or in ordinary two-channel from any ordinary CD player. I listened in two-channel SACD from a Sony SACD player.

Pentatone first released the disc in 2008, and I suppose it has done well enough for them that they continue to offer it. For live sound, it’s pretty good, but it does have a bit too much hall reverberation for ultimate clarity. At least, it is mercifully free of audience noise and applause, which is remarkable given that the engineer did not mike it too closely. The perspective is from a modest distance, and the sound comes through refreshingly natural, if a tad soft for my liking. Dynamics are good, as we might expect from an SACD, but not exceedingly so, and frequency extremes are more than adequate.

For comparison purposes, I put on the aforementioned performance by Sawallisch and the Dresden Staatskapelle (EMI) as well as one by Otto Klemperer and the Philharmonia Orchestra (also on EMI), recordings made thirty and forty years earlier. Both of them sounded better to my ears than the Foster disc (with the older Klemperer recording sounding the best by far), and both of the older performances seemed more colorful than Foster’s in their delineation of the music’s varying moods. I know a lot of folks also rave about Karajan’s recordings on DG, and while I admit they are beautifully played, I have never been able to adjust to the sound of their over-pronounced high-end, which spoils my enjoyment of the music.

In the end, I'd say if you have to have these symphonies in modern, multichannel, digital surround sound, the Pentatone is going to be one of your better choices. However, if you're after the best performances, the two EMI sets I mentioned (Sawallisch and Klemperer) and others by Zinman (Arte Nova), Goodman (RCA, on period instruments), Kubelik (Sony), Muti (EMI), Gardiner (DG), and Dausgaard (BIS) are probably surer bets.

JJP

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

Schumann: Einsam (CD Review)

Includes Arabeske, Kinderszenen, Kreisleriana. Nino Gvetadze, piano. Challenge Classics CC 72855.

by Bill Heck

I admit that, in the past, I’ve not been much of a Schumann fan. Much of his music has seemed to me just a progression of notes, revealing nothing in particular. I listen to Bach, marveling at the structure, but structure surely isn’t Schumann’s strong suit. I can listen to Tchaikovsky and hear echoes of the composer’s joys and longings, but did not hear those echoes in Schumann’s compositions. Just what was it that others saw – or rather heard – in Schumann’s piano works?

It turns out, at least for the works on the recording reviewed here, that I was listening to the wrong performances. Oh, I suppose that it could be age that has made me more patient, more receptive to Schumann’s approach. Or it could be the phase of the moon or the boredom of the pandemic – but I really think it was hearing these performances that made me a convert.
When I first heard this recording, the word “personal” leapt to mind; I felt that I was listening to a musical conversation between performer and composer, or even between the performer and me, an intimate communication played in the moment. From that time to this, I’ve not gotten that word “personal” out of my head.

One bit of trivia to get out of the way: the title of the album, Einsam, usually translated as “lonely.” But why, as none of the works here deals with loneliness? My German professor sister (thanks, Barb!) pointed out that for the German Romantics, of which Schumann surely was one, loneliness has the connotation of solitude, a romantically noble aloneness, especially in connection with nature. Perhaps “contemplation” would be a better word for us English speakers.

The first work on the album, Arabeske, is fairly brief, clocking in here at 7:39. It was perhaps meant as a love letter of sorts to Robert’s beloved Clara Weick, for at the time of this composition he was banished from the Weick household as an unsuitable match for Clara. Schumann himself described the work as “delicate – for ladies”, and I suppose that one could characterize it as delicate. But that would be to sell it short: although a relatively early work (Schumann was 29 when he composed it), it does exhibit emotional depth. As such, I would think of it as a nice and well-played warmup for what is to come.

The Kinderszenen (Children’s Scenes) does have a program, although the program seems to have been added by Schumann after the completion of the composition. It represents a series of 12 scenes from childhood, not from the perspective of the child, but rather as the adult remembers them. As such, we might expect moments of innocent joy, but joy tinged with wistful nostalgia. The 13^th and final movement depicts the adult reflecting on the reflections, so to speak, coming back to the reality of adulthood, but with those childhood memories lingering in the background.

To my mind, Gvetadze really has a way with this music. Sampling from the movements, her opening feels a little slower than some, but and she keeps a wonderful balance between the left and right hands, making the rhythm “roll” in an appropriate fashion. In other examples, the 4^th feels like what we would stereotypically think of as a gypsy melody. No. 6 is nice but perhaps slightly rushed, but 7 gives us a delightful children’s march, and the playing in 8 almost forces the listener to visualize her own childhood memory.

After more of those childhood memories, we eventually reach 13, which portrays the adult reflecting back on childhood memories. The music is hesitant, as if the memories are quite old now, growing fainter with the years. Played very slowly, the movement still hangs together: each phrase anticipates the next, so that we have a sense of flow and coherence even as the individual thoughts emerge hesitantly. The end is subdued, but the last quiet notes give a sense of repose.

Throughout the performance, one has the feeling of attention lavished on each phrase, Gvetadze exerting full control of the dynamics of each finger and each note throughout the work, with an extraordinarily smooth touch. In contrast, for instance, Lupu delivers a powerful, even robust reading with some wonderful insights, his children in movement 9 are positively rambunctious and his adult of 13 is indeed contemplative. But the percussiveness of his fingering is less persuasive than Gvetadze’s, especially in the slower, quieter movements (and her tone is plenty robust enough when the music calls for it). Another comparison: I’m generally a fan of Ivan Moracvec, especially of his Chopin, and his version of the Kinderszenen does feature some beautiful playing. However, I just could not get past his tendency to come almost to a halt after defining phrases. Gvetadze never commits that sin: the well-judged phrasing is one of the loveliest things about her playing. Her rubato always seems perfectly timed, the delayed notes arriving just at the instant that they should to keep the music moving forward.

I next turned to Argerich: would not Schumann’s work be right up her alley? Indeed, Argerich’s account is in many ways like Gvetadze’s, but there were points where the former’s playing just seemed to fade away rather than to carry me along; I lost engagement from time to time where Gvetadze’s performance kept drawing me in.

Let’s turn to the second work on the disc, the Kreisleriana. Here, the opening seems a little confused (the sound, not the pianist), with notes running together; fortunately, things quickly snap back into focus and the remainder of the movement is well played. The little transition just after the 7:00 mark sneaks up on us, a wonderful effect. The second movement opens with a beautiful sense of longing, the music sounding as if in a dream, which in context feels perfectly appropriate. My listening notes remark repeatedly on the full control over each note, the dynamics of each finger wonderful, the timing just right.

I listened to several other accounts for comparison, but to keep things brief will mention just one. Murray Perahia’s playing is impeccable: after all, it’s Perahia. The entire first movement demonstrates an incredible separation of the two hands; quick finger work throughout the work is no challenge, the little runs that open the 3^rd movement are so fleeting as to bring to mind water running down a mountain stream. Such technique! Yet Gvetadze’s playing, while not quite so dazzling, engages me with the music even more.

Look, I don’t really know what it is, but this recording – all of it – feels incredibly “personal.” (As I mentioned earlier, I can’t seem to get that word out of my head.) The music pulls me back in; forget the analysis, I’ll just listen. Surely the recorded sound helps: the Challenge Classics engineers have captured the lower registers of the piano (a Steinway, I believe) to provide structural support; meanwhile, the image of the instrument is there in front of me. In the end, though, it is the playing that is so – oh, no, not that word again – personal. Thank you, Ms. Gvetadze, for properly introducing me to Mr. Schumann.

BH

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

Haydn: Favourite Symphonies Nos. 88, 92, 95, 98, 100, 101, 102, 104 (CD review)

Separately, Schumann: Symphonies Nos. 1-4. Klemperer, Philharmonia and New Philharmonia Orchestras. EMI/Warner Classics 5099921530 (Haydn); EMI CMS7- 63613-2 (Schumann).

Originality, singularity, and individuality are elements key to prominence in any field. No one aspiring to greatness can do so through imitation alone. Otto Klemperer was a great conductor because he dared to be different. Unlike many of today's homogeneous conductors, Klemperer was unafraid to impose his personality on his interpretations. Not that all of his performances attained greatness, of course, as the following examples testify, but those that were on target will remain with us for as long as people enjoy music.

Yes, Klemperer's tempos were slow. The man's constant insistence on structural integrity and strong symphonic design often left his music sounding merely slower than that of his rivals. But listen again. Listen to the Schumann First "Spring" Symphony, for instance--the highlight of his Schumann set. The music sings. There is not a trace of the ponderous heaviness of which Klemperer is sometimes accused. There is, instead, a light-footed sureness that creates a totally delightful Spring. It is the best, most thoroughly convincing rendering of this score available. His version of the Fourth is almost equally fetching, but in a different way. It combines a deftness of touch with a powerful, yet well-balanced, rhythmical proposition that produces a performance of towering proportions. Where the First possesses an appropriate spirit of benign vitality, the Fourth has an apt sense of grandiloquence.

Unfortunately, Klemperer's Second and Third Schumann symphonies don't fare as well. No. 3 begins sluggishly and never attains the grandeur for which the conductor was evidently striving. It's a good, if flawed, effort, which is more than can be said about No. 2, which I find simply boring. Nevertheless, with two symphonies that are treasures (Nos. 1 and 4) and one so-so (No. 3), the set is a bargain at mid price. And one can have a little fun with the sound as well. The two earliest symphonies Schumann wrote, Nos. 1 and 4, were also the earliest of this set recorded, in 1966 and 1961 respectively, and the sound is typical of the time: close-up, with a good deal of highlighting of individual instruments and compartmentalizing of orchestral sections. The sonics are stunningly vivid and dynamic in a hi-fi sense, if not too genuine from a concert hall perspective. Nos. 2 and 3, on the other hand, are more realistically recorded. They were made in 1970 and incorporate EMI's later views on natural sound. Miked at a moderate distance, they are not as lucid as the earlier efforts, but the orchestral image is more of a whole, the sounds of the hall and individual instruments blending to produce greater unity and cohesion. Both recording techniques are valid, to be sure, and both methods have their adherents. It's a bonus to hear them in the same set where the differences are so clearly revealed.

Otto Klemperer

This brings us to the Haydn symphonies, recorded in the early to mid Sixties. Here I suspect one's appreciation for Klemperer's performances must depend on one's regard for his recordings of Mozart; they are of the same mold. This is big-scale Haydn, generally slow and steady, emphasizing as always the music's architecture rather than displaying the overt jauntiness of, say, a Beecham or the energetic ardor of a period- instruments group. In most cases, Klemperer's Haydn is like listening to the composer with new ears.

Outstanding among the eight symphonies presented in the set are Nos. 88, 101, 102, and 104, with No. 101 "Clock" a good example of the best of the Klemperer style. It is an enchantingly beautiful performance, the argument strong and the rhythms feather light. This Clock is no modern digital affair, moving without heart or soul, nor is it an old grandfather snoozing laboriously in a corner (although for some listeners, it may come close). This Clock is graceful and ornate, all filigree and glass, inviting us to relax and take our time. (Compare the tempo of the second movement, for instance, to a clock your own with a second hand; the beats tick off almost exactly with the movement of the seconds. Still, too slow for you? Well, as Klemperer might say, "You will get used to it.")

Likewise do the three other Haydn symphonies I enjoyed combine refinement and reason in perfect eighteenth-century order. Regarding the symphonies I enjoyed less well, they are perhaps too much of a good thing, the conductor trying too hard to make every piece sound like a precursor to Beethoven. But when Klemperer is off, it isn't for lack of trying.

These performances are for people seeking something out of the ordinary. The interpretations are uniquely personal and, as such, variable; but when the music is good, it's worth a hundred of anything else.

JJP

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

Lara Downes: For Love of You (CD review)

Music of Robert Schumann and Clara: Piano Concerto in A minor; Fantasiestucke; Three Romances. Lara Downes, piano; Martin West, San Francisco Ballet Orchestra. Flipside Music FL0013.

"My Clara, what would I not do for love of you?" --Robert Schumann to Clara Wieck, 1838.

"For Love of You is a tribute to Clara Wieck Schumann, painter and composer, celebrating the 200th anniversary of her birth (9/13/1819)."

Pianist Lara Downes is famous for her theme-oriented albums, and this one is no different, honoring the music and marriage of two beloved composers, Robert Schumann and Clara Wieck Schumann. The program begins with Robert's Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54 from 1845; continues with Clara's Three Romances, Op. 11 from 1840; and ends with Robert's Fantasiestucke, Op. 12 from 1837.

So, things begin with Robert's Piano Concerto, his one and only piano concerto, with Ms. Downes accompanied by the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra under the direction of Martin West, their Music Director since 2005. When Robert premiered the completed concerto, his wife Clara, an accomplished pianist, was the soloist. Here, of course, it's Ms. Downes, also an accomplished pianist, although she doesn't always get to show off her classical credentials in full-scale works.

After so many years of hearing the Piano Concerto played by gung-ho Romantic pianists banging away with it, Ms. Downes's performance may come as a surprise. For the good, I hope. She takes a slightly gentler approach to the score than do most other performers, a more nuanced approach that eschews a lot of the theatrics we often associate with it. Perhaps Ms. Downes is remembering that Clara Schumann premiered the work, and this is part of her tribute to the composer's wife. The interpretation certainly emphasizes the longings and dreamlike aspects of the music.

In any case, with Ms. Downes the opening Allegro affettuoso lives up to its name, "fast but tender and affecting." And Maestro West ensures a poignant presentation with his lyrical direction of the orchestral support. It's really quite refreshing. The slow central movement, an Andantino, follows suit, lighthearted and charming but never sentimental. Then Ms. Downes and company bring the work to a rousing but still softhearted close.

Lara Downes

I've read over the years that Schumann meant his concerto to express the feelings of longing and happiness between two people in love, presumably inspired by the love between Clara and him. If this be the case, Ms. Downes conveys those ideas as well as anyone on record. It's a lovely performance all the way around.

Following the concerto we get Clara Schumann's Three Romances, a brief, three-movement work written during Clara and Robert's rather turbulent courtship. Ms. Downs suggests in the liner notes that the pieces "illustrate the passion and creative synergy that brought two great artists together, despite obstacles and struggles, into a union that produced some of the greatest works of the Romantic era." Ms. Downes's playing illustrates the point with a performance of controlled passion and creativity.

The program concludes with Robert Schumann's Fantasiestucke, also written during Clara and Robert's courtship. The Fantasiestucke is a set of eight solo pieces for piano inspired by an 1814-15 collection of works by one of Robert's favorite authors, E.T.A. Hoffmann (think here of Offenbach's Tales of Hoffmann, Delibes's Coppelia, and Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker). The music is colorful, to be sure, and as in the concerto depicts the two sides of the composer's own personality, one dreamy, the other passionate. Ms. Downes's handling of the material is appropriately vivid, exciting, picturesque, and reflective.

The only minor drawback to the product is the fact that like so many CD's these days, the disc is enclosed in a slip-out compartment in a cardboard container. This necessitates using one's fingers on the top and bottom of the disc to pull it out, not only incurring inevitable fingerprints but possibly scratching the disc on the cardboard in the process.

Producer Adam Abeshouse made the recording at Skywalker Sound, Marin County, CA in February 2016. As we might expect from a record made at Skywalker, it sounds excellent. In the concerto the piano is exceptionally well defined without being too close-up, and the orchestra, perhaps a trifle soft, is well set out behind the soloist. Never once do we hear a note that is too bright, too edgy, too forward, nor too veiled or subdued. The solo pieces are likewise well detailed and smoothly recorded.

JJP

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

Schumann: Cello Concerto (CD review)

Also, Adagio un Allegro; Fantasiestucke Opus 73; Funf Stucke im Volkston; Fantasiestucke Op. 88. Gautier Capucon, cello; Martha Argerich, piano; Renaud Capucon, violin; Bernard Haitink, Chamber Orchestra of Europe. Erato 0190295634216.

So, what's it to be first? The good news or the bad? Of course, the good.

On the plus side, the disc offers some great music in the Schumann Cello Concerto plus an assortment of other music by the composer. It's played by some of the world's great performers, including Gautier Capucon, cello; Renaud Capucon, violin; Martha Argerich, piano; Bernard Haitink, conductor; and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe. It's hard to ask for better talent.

On the minus side for me (or still on the plus side for a lot of other folks), Erato chose to record the music live, in concert. So, no, I don't think it sounds as good as it could have sounded, but such are the demands of today's economics. Besides, it's some of the most natural live sound I've heard in years, so it's not much of a real minus.

Anyway, the program begins with the Cello Concerto in A minor, Op. 129 by German composer and critic Robert Schumann (1810-1856). He wrote it in 1850, zipping through its composition in a mere two weeks. However, he would never hear it performed in his lifetime, and it only found a première some four years after his death.

Why no public performance in his lifetime? Possibly because Schumann recognized it was too unusual a piece. The opening movement is rather fragmentary; the second intensely lyrical, with a conversation between the soloist and the principal cellist; and the finale is in a quick Vivace tempo. Further, possibly because Schumann didn't want there to be any chance for applause between movements, he indicated all three movements be played without pause.

Gautier Capucon

Capucon and Haitink appear to take things a bit more leisurely than we generally hear, yet the timings would indicate they're in the ballpark with other recordings. And there is certainly nothing lax in Capucon's presentation. Indeed, he seems right on the money in most regards, if perhaps emphasizing the poetic aspects of the score more so than the purely dramatic. The performers take the transitions between movements at so smooth a pace, one hardly notices the change. Capucon's forte in the piece is his lyrical playing, which works best in the second movement. Then, the whole team works up a good head of steam in the final part yet in a performance that still maintains the romantically melodious, yearning nature of the score, also making it sound less disjointed than it sometimes can sound.

Filling out the disc are four additional Schumann items: the Adagio un Allegro, Op. 70; the Fantasiestuckes Op. 73 and Op. 88; and the Funf Stucke im Volkston, Op. 102. They are ably performed by pianist Martha Argerich and violinist Renaud Capucon. I found these performances more animated, more spontaneous, even in the slower pieces, than those of the concerto. They are worth the price of the album in themselves.

Producer Michael Fine and engineer Erdo Groot recorded the concerto live in the Amsterdam Concertgebouw, Netherlands, in November 2015. Producer and engineer Ulrich Ruscher recorded the other pieces live at the Auditorio Stello Molo Luganao, Switzerland in June 2009 and 2010, and November 2012.

The engineers miked the concerto a little farther away than we usually hear in a live performance, thus making it sound a bit more realistic. It's also a little softer than usual but again not unrealistically so. The solo instrument, too, is a bit farther back but well integrated with the orchestra. Detailing, as I say, is not entirely transparent but more natural than is common for a live recording. Dynamics seem a little restrained as well, so you may have to turn up the volume to get it to sound at all impressive.

In the closing duets, the sound is also a bit softer and more distant than one often finds in live recordings, making them sound more like studio recordings. I'm not sure if this was the result of the mike placement or a bit engineering magic afterward, but they sound quite nice.

The engineers have also mercifully edited out any applause.

JJP

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

Favourite Piano Concertos, Vol. 2 (CD review)

Piano concertos by Grieg, Schumann, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, and Addinsell. Stephen Kovacevich, piano; Sir Colin Davis, BBC Symphony Orchestra. Martha Argerich, piano; Kyrill Kondrashin, Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks. Misha Dichter, piano; Sir Neville Marriner, Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. Philips Duo 289 462 182-2 (2-CD set)

I have often written on this site about fabulous buys, bargains among bargains, things like the Beethoven Fifth and Seventh Symphonies with Carlos Kleiber on a single DG Originals or the Dvorak Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Symphonies with Sir Colin Davis in a Philips Duo set, each of which packages two or three great performances on one or two mid-priced discs. Well, this particular Philips Duo, issued by the company in the late Nineties, may have even them beat.

Of the five concertos on the two discs, there are three works--the Grieg, Schumann, and Addinsell--that are number-one choices in my book. And the other two recordings--the Brahms and Tchaikovsky--are among a handful of my top choices. In fact, I have been recommending most of these items for years. Here, they all come for the cost of a single mid-priced set. Incredible.

The Grieg and Schumann concertos with Stephen Kovacevich are outstanding, and until this release they were available only at full price. The sound is slightly warmer than necessary for good definition, but it is more than acceptable.

Steven Kovacevich

The Brahms, also from Kovacevich, is as powerful and lyrical as one could ask for. I believe it even beats Kovacevich's later EMI recording in performance, if not in sound, which is only slightly less warm and soft than the aforementioned Grieg and Schumann. Second only to Gilels on DG, Kovacevich's Brahms is the one to own, and now you can have it along with four other great performances.

Martha Argerich's Tchaikovsky First Piano Concerto is probably a first-choice for many people. I still think her earlier account on DG is more satisfying, as is Cliburn's on RCA, but there is no doubting that this live Philips performance is more energetic than the others. And it's pretty well recorded, too, despite its being live.

Finally, the little, one-movement Warsaw Concerto from Richard Addinsell, composed for the 1941 film Dangerous Moonlight, has seldom gotten such good treatment as this one from pianist Misha Dichter and Sir Neville Marriner, and the sound here is the best of any in the set.

All of the recordings derive from the Seventies and Eighties, and all of them have already withstood the test of time. This particular incarnation should have already won them some new fans, and I hope it continues to do so.

JJP

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

Schumann/Dvorak Cello Concerti (CD review)

Carmine Miranda, cello; Petr Vronsky, Moravian Philharmonic Orchestra. Navona Records NV6034.

You've probably heard me ask this before but the question bears repeating: How does the average music buyer keep up with all the new and upcoming young artists there are in the classical field? I mean, for over forty years I've been lucky enough to receive promotional discs or at least monthly release sheets from virtually every classical record company in the world, yet every month there are still names that pop up who are apparently famous to everyone but me. A name like Carmine Miranda, for instance.

Of course, my being a certain age, the first person I thought of when I saw the name was Carmen Miranda, the "Brazilian Bombshell" actress and singer of the 1930's and 40's. But nope; this is Carmine Filippo Miranda, the Venezuelan-American cellist, soloist, and recording artist who was born in Valencia, Spain in 1988 to Italian immigrants and who moved to the United States at an early age, winning awards galore before recording several albums. The current disc is the young cello player's first concerto recording, and while competition in Schumann/Dvorak repertoire is intense, he does a decent job keeping up with his rivals.

In fact, in the Schumann concerto he practically dominates the field. It's in the more well-known Dvorak concerto that he runs into a little trouble, with people like Starker (Mercury), Gendron (HDTT), Wallfisch (Chandos), Rostropovich (DG), and Ma (Sony) tending to overshadow him. Still, with a fine-sounding recording, a highly personal approach, and veteran conductor Petr Vronsky and the Moravian Philharmonic accompanying him, Miranda is worth one's consideration.

Miranda begins the program with his interpretation of the Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 129 by German composer Robert Schumann (1810-1856). It's something of an odd work, written in the traditional three movements but played without interruption. Because of its many fits and starts and because Schumann wrote it at the end of his career, most people consider it an erratic product of the composer's agitated mental state at the time (he died shortly afterward in an asylum). Most people. Not so Mr. Miranda, however. He sees the work as a kind of cryptographic love letter from the composer to his wife, a testament, says Miranda, of his "desire to unify himself with his wife through music. His ability to clearly and carefully infuse meaning into every section of the entire piece is impressive."

Carmine Miranda

As such, Miranda plays the piece as lyrically, as rhapsodically, as romantically as possible, which may leave some listeners a bit confused but certainly adds to the charm of the music. Miranda works to its fullest the idea of the score being a love poem to Clara Schumann, the cellist's interpretation producing a sweet, soaringly beautiful realization. This is evident from the very outset when the cello speaks eloquently, plaintively to the orchestra (whom, one supposes, represents Clara), and especially in the second movement, which is heart-meltingly moving. It's basically a romantic conversation between the two, and it comes off quite vividly, almost as if you could hear the words they're speaking to one another.

It helps, too, that Miranda produces a lovely string tone, rich and expressive, and that the orchestra under Vronsky accompany him with their own emphatic and sympathetic gestures. It's a fine group effort all the way around.

Then we come to the Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in B minor, Op. 104 by Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904). As I said a couple of paragraphs above, there is intense competition in the field, and Miranda doesn't really add much with his performance that we haven't heard before.

The Dvorak contains a plentiful supply of tunes, giving Miranda a lot of room to display his talents.
Yet, beyond the cellist's obvious virtuosity, he seems content merely to play the notes, giving us a realization of poise and dexterity but little real inspiration. While tempos appear about average for this music, the speeds seem slower somehow. Perhaps it's because of the lack of energy behind both the orchestra and the soloist that nothing comes off with as much punch or authority as one might like.

Anyway, the highlight of this album is the Schumann, which often takes one's breath away with its gently passionate interplay. There are already enough recordings of the Dvorak concerto, anyhow.

Producer Vit Muzik and engineers Jan Kosulic and Ales Dvorak recorded the album at Reduta Hall, Olomouc, Czech Republic in June 2015. The sound is very clean, super clean in fact, with excellent detail and definition. The depth of image appears somewhat limited by the closeness of the recording, but it's hardly an issue when the rest of the sound is so good. The cello also seems somewhat too close compared to the rest of the ensemble, but, again, not really an issue. The cello tone I described earlier shows up to it fullest and sounds most realistic.

JJP

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