Schumann: Piano Concerto (CD review)

Also, selections from Kinderszenen, Drei Romanzen, Fantasiestucke, and Gesange der Fruhe.  Thomas Lorango, piano; Anthony Newman, the New Brandenburg Collegium. Newport Classic NCD 60034.

There is certainly no wont of good Schumann Piano Concerto discs on the market from artists like Stephen Kovacevich (Philips or Newton Classics), Van Cliburn (RCA), Radu Lupu (Decca or LIM), Vladimir Ashkenazy (Decca), Martha Argerich (EMI), Murray Perahia (Sony), Leiv Ove Andsnes (EMI), and more. Yet there is always room for one more, and this 1991 recording from pianist Thomas Lorango, conductor Anthony Newman, and the New Brandenburg Collegium, a recording I had never heard before, is certainly another one to consider, especially when it's as well played as here and has the unique advantage of using period instruments in its presentation.

Robert Schumann (1810-1856) wrote his Concerto for Piano and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 54, over a period of about five years before premiering it in 1845. He called it something of a concerto, a symphony, and sonata as he was writing it. Whatever, it works, and audiences have loved it for over 160 years.

Pianist Thomas Lorango tells us in a booklet note that the piano used in the recording is an original instrument built by the Viennese Johann Baptiste Streicher, its origins going back to c. 1792 (the piano on loan for the recording from the E. Michael Frederick Collection). Lorango further states that "rather than the bright, percussive sound of a modern instrument, the Streicher has a more singing, sustained sound, deep with resonance." It is, indeed, a gorgeous sounding instrument, no doubt helped along by Mr. Lorango's lyrical, "singing" style.

The opening Allegro is as liltingly beautiful as I've heard it, eschewing much of the brawny, bombastic tone one sometimes finds in performances of the work. Instead, the first movement flows gently and naturally, as Schumann intended, into the second-movement Intermezzo: Andante grazioso, which, like the preceding section, displays the beauty of the music rather than the showmanship of the performer. In the final movement, an Allegro vivace, Lorango does exhibit his virtuosity, yet he never does so in any frenetic or exhausting way. This is one of the loveliest Schumann Concerto performances I've heard, with or without period instruments.

The rest of the disc contains a number of solo Schumann selections from Lorango, starting with five items from the Kinderszenen (Scenes from Childhood), Op. 15, an adult's recollection of youth. The numbers are sweet and direct, with Lorango supplying loving care. Almost every listener will recognize the opening "Of Foreign Lands and People" and, of course, the famous "Traumerei" segments, whether the listener is a Schumann fan or not. Lorango plays these pieces, including the Romance in F-sharp Major No. 2, the Fantasiestucke No. 3, and the Gesange der Fruhe (Song of the Morning) No. 1, in a straightforward manner, with no attempt at overt sentimentality, making them all the more affecting by allowing the music to speak for itself.

Recorded digitally and released in 1993, the sound is top drawer in every respect, if not quite in the audiophile or demonstration category. The audio engineers capture the sound of the period instruments nicely at a moderate distance, providing a clear and lifelike presence without any disfiguring harshness or brightness. Like the rest of the orchestra, the piano sounds rich, mellow, and smooth. This is subtle, nuanced sound, perfectly balanced, with a touch of warm acoustic ambience to give it a truthful impression. It is not the kind of sonic spectacular that will knock your house down; it will just knock you out. Very pleasant stuff.

JJP

Tchaikovsky: Manfred Symphony (CD review)

Vladimir Jurowski, London Philharmonic Orchestra. LPO-0009.

If you are considering this disc, I would advise you not to read the back cover of the jewel box, where it says "Recorded live at Royal Festival Hall, London." If you are like me, you may not care for live recordings, and that would be a shame because this one is not like most other live recordings. There is virtually no audience noise to deal with until the very end, when the audience unfortunately erupt into applause, and there is no vague, distant miking involved. In fact, the sound is most realistic, and the performance is quite emotional.

Tchaikovsky's Manfred Symphony is one of his most personal, the plight of Lord Byron's semi-fictional, semiautobiographical character mirroring to some degree the composer's own feelings of shame and guilt. Jurowski tells us it was the first Tchaikovsky symphony he ever conducted, calling it "inimitable Tchaikovsky, especially in the fantastic, one-of-a-kind melodies he invents, and also in his virtuoso ending." He says the Manfred Symphony is "challenging but gratifying because the symphony makes a huge effect on the audience.''

Maestro Jurowski, now the Principal Conductor of the London Philharmonic, emphasizes the pathos in the work, sometimes lingering to the point of being a tad lax or languid but not too often, yet manages to wring a good deal of excitement from the piece as well. Just listen to the climaxes of the first and fourth movements for proof of his patience in building to a really big finish. While the overall effect of this 2004 recording does not strike me as quite as energetic or heartfelt as Riccardo Muti's 1982 EMI disc with the Philharmonia, maybe the newer project's more robust sound makes up the difference.

Engineer Mike Hatch made the recording for the LPO's own record label, and he set the microphones close enough to the orchestra that, as I say, practically no audience noise intrudes. More important, the orchestral spread is wide, and transparency is paramount. Even the bass drum has a vibrant resonance about it, although it is not overpoweringly loud. Now, I wish the art director had chosen something other than black-and-white for the cover picture; although it is handsome, it tends to make the whole affair look a bit like a bootleg copy.

JJP

Mozert: Concierto de la Bowerie (CD-R review)

Billy Halop, piccolo; Leo Gorcey, timpani; Huntz Hall, triangle; Isadore "Friz" Freleng, East Side Philharmonic Orchestra. HiBrow Records ICU-007.

Then nine-year-old Wolfsbane Amadayold Mozert (1758-1892) wrote his Sinfonia de la Bowerie in 1725 when he was only four years old. But in one of the classic stories of classical music, he left the manuscript in the breast pocket of his best plaid waistcoat when his mother ran it through the wash. "Wolfie," she famously remarked, "why do always leave things in your pockets!" And, thus, we have the Concierto de la Bowerie, written in 1743 but never performed in young Mozert's lifetime nor in our own.

In response to a dwindling public interest, Spike Jones and his City Slickers took up the baton, and several instruments, in 1943 to lead a revival of this essential share of nearly washed-up writing. Scored for two trombones and a pennywhistle, the Concierto found a near-perfect realization from Maestro Jones, Concertmaster Maestoso Maestricht, and the gang of Slickers on a never-released and long-forgotten LP, the musicians playing the three-minute opus uncut, without the usual repeats in the second-movement Allegro, the fourth-movement Allegorio, or the seventh-movement Allergico. The result is a perfectly charming example of the work of early Dutch settlers in the New York area.

As to the music of the Concierto, it stinks. If it weren't for the fact that conductor Freleng misses every beat, the players botch every note, and the audio engineers appear to have recorded the orchestra in the men's room of the East Side Masonic Lodge, the whole thing would have been a disaster. Fortunately, the awfulness of the performance complements the quality of the music, which is suspect from beginning to end.

Scholars believe that Mozert wrote about 8,542 compositions, from brief harmonica solos for his pals to full orchestral oratorios for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir (an organization founded in 372 A.D. by the Roman plutocrat Glennus Becktus). But there is no record that W.A. ever sold a sheet of music in his life. Instead, young Mozert, the son of a prosperous pretzel maker, and his wife, Mitzi, the son of a wealthy pizza grinder, lived comfortably off their parents' dough their entire lives.

Incidentally, scholars have long debated whether W.A. Mozert was in any way related to his more celebrated namesake, Carlo Benitto Leonardi von Heineken Mozert (1758-1723), but so far as can be established, there is no familial tie (nor so much as a cravat). Although the two men shared the same Hamburg condo for decades and married the same woman, they apparently never met. Even W.A.'s own blood son was only related to him by marriage (on his mother's side).

One final note: For those listeners who prefer to hear the Concierto played by a small ensemble on period instruments, the company also make it available from the Guggenheim Grammar School Band and Bugle Corps de Ballet on their companion label, LoBrow Records ICU2-008.

JJP