Hilary Hahn: Eclipse (CD review)

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

By John J. Puccio

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JJP

Vaughan Williams: Symphony No. 6 in E minor (CD review)

Also, English Folk Songs; Symphony No. 8 in D minor; England, my England. Martyn Brabbins, conductor; BBC Symphony Orchestra; BBC Symphony Chorus; Roderic Williams, baritone. Hyperion CDA68396.

2022 marks the sesquicentennial anniversary of certainly the greatest British composer and arguably one of the world’s greatest composers ever, one who often goes overlooked but surely belongs right up there with the very best ever to have composed music, Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958). Except for his Tallis Fantasia and The Lark Ascending, you will almost never encounter any of his music on a concert program here in the USA, which is a real shame. Thank goodness we have recordings! For example, there are excellent boxed CD sets of his complete nine symphonies available at remarkably affordable prices conducted by Slatkin (my favorite overall), Previn (wonderful – my other favorite), Boult (the touchstone), and Bakels (surprisingly good). There are also of course other individual recordings of his symphonies, concertos, chamber music, songs, etc. that are well worth seeking out, many of which have been reviewed here at Classical Candor and can easily be looked up by scrolling down to the Vaughan Williams link in our list of composers.

This new release led by British conductor Martyn Brabbins (b. 1959) belongs right up there in any discussion of the best recordings of RVW’s symphonies. The opening measures of Symphony No. 6 explode with energy, but the sound is well balanced from top to bottom in terms of frequency response as well as side-to-side and front-to-back in terms of stereo imaging. From the drama of the opening the symphony proceeds fairly straightforwardly, at least in terms of structure, with a Moderato second movement, and an energetic Scherzo third movement. Then there comes the final movement, which the composer designates with the unusual marking of Epilogue: Moderato. The liner notes point out that when the symphony was first performed, back in 1948 when the composer was 75, the “perceived nihilism” of the quiet last movement was thought by many in the public to be a reaction to or symbol of nuclear annihilation in the wake of the development and deployment of the atomic bomb in 1945 – a view that Vaughan Williams denied.

It is a unique symphony – explosively powerful opening, eerily quiet ending, but beautiful from start to finish – and Brabbins, the BBC Orchestra, and Hyperion’s engineering team do it full justice throughout. Brabbins never seems to rush, never seems to drag, never seems to underline or exaggerate, yet the music speaks with dramatic power when need be and whispered nuance in those placid yet in some ways unsettling final minutes.

Symphony No. 8 is a lighter work, but a delightfully entertaining one, full of lively high spirits. As a special note of contrast: while the final movement of No. 6 consists of ten quiet, mysterious minutes, the final movement of No. 8 consists of five lively minutes with plenty of boisterous brass and lively percussion – a treat for the ears as performed with great gusto by Brabbins and his BBC forces.

In addition to the two symphonies, Hyperion has included some bonus musical material. The three English folk songs that come between the two symphonies are sung by the BBC Symphony Chorus. These were probably composed around 1912 but were never published; in fact, the performances on this release are almost certainly the first time these arrangements have ever been heard. There is nothing profound here – these are folk songs, after all – but the music is fun and the songs make for a pleasant interlude between the two symphonies. Following the performance of Symphony No. 8, the program is closed out by England, my England, a choral song for baritone, chorus, and orchestra, which Vaughan Williams composed in 1941 for a BBC radio broadcast. As the liner notes point out, “it displays a rare nationalism in Vaughan Williams’s output – an extended tune of quasi-Elgarian stamp, candid in its expression, and sorely needed at the time early in World War II when Britain stood alone.”

Of course, the main interest for the majority of music lovers will be the two symphonies, both of which have been served exceedingly well by both the musicians and the engineers. If you have never heard the Vaughan Williams Symphony No. 6, this new release from Hyperion would be a perfect introduction, with an excellent account of Symphony No. 8 as a bonus. Add to that the splendid engineering and a recommendation falls right into place.

Bonus Book Recommendation:

Beauty and Sadness: Mahler’s 11 Symphonies by David Vernon (Candle Row Press, 2022).

Dr. David Vernon is a British academic and author with a passion for music, language, and literature. He has previously published a book on Wagner (Disturbing the Universe: Wagner's Musikdrama), has recently completed a book on Nabokov that will be published soon (Ada to Zembla: The Novels of Vladimir Nabokov), and is currently working on a book about Beethoven’s string quartets. His book on Mahler’s symphonies provides a deep dive into these 11 works (the 10 numbered symphonies plus Das Lied von der Erde). As you might expect, Vernon considers how events in Mahler’s life Mahler might have influenced his compositions, as do many other authors who have written about Mahler’s music, but he also goes on to explore many more aspects of Mahler’s symphonic achievements.

As Vernon explains in his introduction: “No two Mahler symphonies are alike, but there is a remarkable continuity and connection between the eleven, both a spirit and a thread. Each takes you into a new condition, a new world and realm of feeling, a detachment and engagement that lasts for an hour, an hour and a half. This book contains imaginative explorations of all eleven of them. Each chapter proceeds from a discussion of the contextual, personal, historical, cultural, philosophical and musical rudiments which forged the symphony; it then delves more deeply and systematically into the work itself, movement by movement.” And delve Vernon does, diving deeply into both the background of each symphony and the music itself – discussing the symphony as a whole and the individual movements.

His writing is rich, complex, and erudite. This is not a book that you can just casually skim through, because Vernon’s analyses are complex and his language is sophisticated. However, Beauty and Sadness is not at all dry and academic; far from it – it is passionate and personal, clearly written from Vernon’s deep love for Mahler’s music and his heartfelt desire to interest others in Mahler’s remarkable music. To that end, he even provides an appendix with his recommendations of other books on Mahler’s life and music that he has found to be “among the most captivating and beneficial.” Having myself read the first two books he recommends (Gustav Mahler: An Introduction to His Music by Deryck Cooke and Mahler by Michael Kennedy) early in my own discovery of Mahler’s music, I can vouch for those  recommendations. But for the passionate Mahler fan eager to dive ever more deeply into Mahler’s music, Beauty and Sadness, which is available both as a relatively inexpensive paperback and an even more inexpensive e-book, is a richly rewarding resource.

KWN

Transmission (CD review)

Music of Bloch, Korngold, Bruch, and Ravel. Edgar Moreau, cello; Michael Sanderling, Luzerner Sinfonieorchester. Erato 0190295105105.

By John J. Puccio

“I’ve always had a profound love for the music of the great Jewish composers and for compositions on Jewish themes. With the invaluable support of the Luzerner Sinfonieorchester and chief conductor Michael Sandlering I’m proud to lend my voice today to the vital task of transmitting this universal cultural legacy.”  --Edgar Moreau

The French classical cellist Edgar Moreau was born in Paris in 1994, began studying the cello at the age of four, and from the age of sixteen went on to win awards, competitions, and accolades from just about everybody. “Transmission” marks the seventh or eighth record album on which Moreau has appeared.

As he said in the opening quote, Mr. Moreau has a love for the music of great Jewish composers and presents five such pieces for cello on the present album, starting with the little three-movement suite From Jewish Life (1924-25) by the Swiss-born American composer Ernest Bloch (1880-1959). The work’s three sections are like little tone poems with the self-explanatory titles “Prayer: Andante moderato,” “Supplication,” and “Jewish Song.” Moreau demonstrates his love for the music by presenting each section in emotionally passionate yet lyrical terms. The mellow, easygoing sound of the cello naturally makes the most of the music’s pensive, sometimes brooding moods.

Next is the Cello Concerto in C, Op. 37 by the Austrian-born American composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957). Korngold is perhaps best known for his film scores, and the Cello Concerto is no exception. He wrote it for the 1946 movie Deception starring Bette Davis and then later expanded it for the concert stage. If you enjoy Korngold’s movie music (Anthony Adverse, The Sea Hawk, Captain Blood, The Adventures of Robin Hood, King’s Row), you’ll notice a similarity to those grand-scale productions. Moreau, conductor Michael Sanderling, and the Lucerne Symphony players give it their best Hollywood all, while still maintaining the esteem of the classical stage.

After that is one of the several more-famous pieces on the album, Kol Nidrei, by the German composer and conductor Max Bruch (1838-1920). “Kol Nidrei” translates as “All vows,” the opening words of a Jewish prayer sung on the eve of Yom Kippur. After the somewhat swashbuckling nature of the Korngold piece, the Kol Nidrei is a sweet contrast, Moreau playing it in an affectionate, meditative style that never strays too close to sentimentality.

The penultimate selection on the program is another renowned work, Schelomo - Rhapsodie hebraique (1915-16), by the aforementioned Ernest Bloch. The central figure in the piece is King Solomon, although a booklet comment by writer Reinmar Wagner notes that Bloch probably wasn’t so much referring to Solomon as the King but as “a preacher in the desert, who bemoans the vanity of the world and reflects on the transience of life.” Under Moreau and company, the tale unfolds with a clear-eyed vigor.

The album concludes with 2 Melodies hebraiques (1910) by the French composer, pianist, and conductor Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). Ravel included the Melodies as a part of a larger work in which he characterized the music of various peoples of the world, the Melodies becoming some of the most-popular pieces in the work. Moreau captures the color, tranquillity, and charm of the music without indulging in some of the histrionics we’ve sometimes heard from other musicians. He appears to have a keen vision of what he wants to convey in his performances and does so handsomely.

Producers Alain Lanceron and Martin Sauer and engineer Julian Schwenkner made the recording in Lucerne, Switzerland in October 2020. Obviously, the cello plays a prominent place in the sound field. Yet it’s not so forward as to dwarf the accompanying ensemble. While there is perhaps a degree of depth lacking in the sound, as well as its being somewhat soft on details, it is nevertheless easy on the ears and compliments nicely the soulful tone of much of the music. A few instances of impressively deep bass help, too.

JJP