Saint-Saens: Cello Concerto in A minor (CD review)

Also, Lalo: Cello Concerto in D minor; Faure: Elegy in C minor. Kim Cook, cello; Valeri Vatchev and Grigor Palikarov, Philharmonica Bulgarica. MSR MS 1512.

It's not like the saxophone or trumpet or bass drum where there is a definite lack of concerto material out there. Not that the cellist has a surplus of cello concertos to play, either. The poor cello, a descendent of the bass violin, didn't find a serious place for itself until well into the Baroque period, and even then it held a limited position. Bach wrote his six cello suites, of course; later Haydn wrote a couple of cello concertos and Beethoven a few cello sonatas. But it wasn't until the later Romantic period that the cello came into its own, with concertos for it by Schumann, Dvorak, and Brahms. Then, the twentieth century saw a greater flourishing of material for the instrument. Anyway, the cello concertos by Frenchmen Saint-Saens and Lalo heard here from cellist Kim Cook came somewhat late in the Romantic era, 1872 and 1876 respectively. By that time the cello had firmly established itself as a commonly accepted part of the orchestral picture.

I suppose the question with all of the cello work on the album is how Ms. Cook's playing compares to acknowledged leaders in the cello field, how she holds up to the likes of Rostropovich, Starker, du Pre, Gendron, Ma, Bailey, and such. The answer is that she holds her own, but in a different sort of way. Her style appears sweeter, more lyrical, more singing than most cellists.

We might expect lyricism from the instrument, though. Of all the instruments of the orchestra, the cello is the one that seems best able to convey the feeling and spirit of the human voice. So, yes, Ms. Cook makes the cello speak and sing. Hers is a lovely technique.

First up on Ms. Cook's program is the Cello Concerto in A minor, Op. 33, by French composer Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921). In the Saint-Saens, Ms. Cook and Maestro Valeri Vatchev give the music a grand sweep, while at the same time Cook provides a clear voice. Saint-Saens's work may not be the most memorable in the catalogue, but Cook invests it with such charm that it's hard not to like it as it trips merrily and affably along.

Kim Cook

Next, we get a brief interlude between the concertos, the little Elegy in C minor, Op. 24, by French composer Gabriel Faure (1845-1924), written in 1897. Faure's piece is a fairly melancholy affair, as its name implies. Ms. Cook's cello contribution fills the music with the grief of the situation, a kind of grave lament and reflection on parting. It makes an appropriately restrained interlude between the two more-outgoing cello concertos.

The program concludes with the Cello Concerto in D minor by French composer Edouard Lalo (1823-1892). It is probably the most well-known item on the program, big and ambitious and communicative. Cook plays it that way as well, with a strong conviction in her performance, which is both dramatic and imaginatively poetic. Frankly, though, I rather enjoyed the quiet moments more than the exuberant ones, but that is not so much a criticism of Ms. Cook as it is of Lalo. The Intermezzo appears especially well crafted and affective, and Maestro Grigor Palikarov and the Philharmonica Bulgarica give her ample support. Finally, Cook shows off her virtuosity in the Allegro Vivace, where she negotiates the complexities of the score with consummate ease.

Product manager Robert LaPorta, recording engineer Christo Pavlov, and digital master engineer Richard Price made the album at the Bulgarian Radio Studio, Sofia, Bulgaria in November 2011 and September 2012. They created one of the better new recordings I've heard in a while. The sound is very dynamic, with a strong impact. What's more, it's a well-defined impact, with a fairly transparent midrange response. I do wish it weren't quite so close-up, however. The cello so dominates the orchestra that you sometimes forget there's even an orchestra involved. There's not much depth to the orchestra, either, which is more the pity with such good sonic characteristics elsewhere. Still, these are minor reservations when we hear such splendid sounds from the cello.

JJP

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

Saint-Saens: Symphony No. 3 "Organ" (CD review)

Also, Symphony in A major; Le rouet d'Omphale. Carl Adam Landstrom, organ; Marc Soustrot, Malmo Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.573139.

Here's one that sees a lot of action: The Saint-Saens "Organ Symphony" again. It seems as though we see a new recording of it every month, and so far none of the newcomers have challenged my old favorites: Fremaux with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra (EMI or Klavier), Charles Munch with the Boston Symphony (RCA or JVC), and Jean Martinon with the Orchestre National de l'ORTF (EMI or Brilliant Classics). Still, it's always good to hear what different conductors do with it, and certainly the Malmo Symphony under its principal conductor, Marc Soustrout, give it a good workout.

As you recall, the Symphony No. 3 in C minor, Op. 78 "Organ" by French composer Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921) is a colorful, sometimes bombastic, and thoroughly enjoyable piece of music. Although audiences recognize the piece by its nickname, the "Organ Symphony," the organ really only has a part in the second-movement Adagio and the later half of the Finale. Saint-Saëns called the work a symphony with organ, and said of it, "I gave everything to it I was able to give. What I have here accomplished, I will never achieve again." It appears he knew what he was talking about (or he was too contrary to go back on his words) because even though he lived another thirty-five years, he never wrote another symphony, organ or otherwise.

Here, Carl Adam Landstrom takes the organ part and for this recording plays a Hoffrichter console with, as the booklet note explains, "the 'Hauptwerk' virtual pipeorgan software by Milandigitalaudio and a sample set produced by Sonusparadisi based on the complete sampling of the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Saint-Etienne Abbaye in Caen (France). That famous instrument was built in 1885, the same year Saint-Saens wrote his Symphony No. 3." It seems a pity the recording didn't use a real pipe organ for the occasion, but at least we get a feeling for the sound of an instrument that Saint-Saens himself probably heard playing his music.

Maestro Soustrot takes a relatively relaxed approach to much of the first movement, his time for it clocking in slower than any of the conductors I had on hand: Fremaux, Munch, Martinon, Stern, and Simon. Nevertheless, Soustrot maintains a rather flexible rubato, so his contrasts in tempo help to keep our attention.

The second-movement also goes by at a rather slow pace, even for a Poco adagio (a little slow). Nor does the organ flow over us like a huge but gentle wave as it should; it's more of small, gentle current. Nevertheless, there's nothing wrong with the sweetly mild effect Soustrot creates in this movement, and it is wonderfully serene, just as Saint-Saens must have intended.

Marc Soustrot

Then, with the Scherzo, Soustrot finally lets his hair down, still just a fraction slower than the aforementioned conductors but in the ballpark with a rousing conclusion. It comes off in both dramatic and ambitious fashion, with the organ pounding out a strong contribution.

The couplings on the disc are the Symphony in A major, which Saint-Saens wrote while in his teens, and the symphonic poem Le rouet d'Omphale ("The Spinning Wheel of Omphale"), which he wrote in 1871. The little Symphony in A is not in the same league as its big brother, a bit more old fashioned in its classical feeling and design. Yet even in his youth we can see Saint-Saens wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Soustrot makes it sound like a typical early Romantic piece of music, with huge crescendos and light lyricism in a classical form. The tone poem, on the other hand, is all picturesqueness, mood, and atmosphere, which Soustrot captures nicely.

Producer, engineer, and editor Sean Lewis made the recording at Malmo Concert Hall, Malmo, Sweden in August 2013. The sound appears very big and open, with reasonably good depth to the image, a modest room resonance, and a round, warm midrange response, which tend to make listening smooth and easy. There is a slight forwardness to the upper strings, not much, and maybe a slight constriction in the dynamics. For the most part, though, the orchestral sound is fairly natural. Although the console organ is not really as deep, rich, or taut as I might have liked, I doubt that many listeners would be able to tell it from a full, regulation pipe organ.

JJP

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

Previn Conducts Korngold (CD review)

Suites from film scores. Andre Previn, London Symphony Orchestra. DG 289 471 347-2.

Movie music owes much of its being to Max Steiner and Erich Wolfgang Korngold. The latter is responsible for most of what we now consider to be "symphonic" themes and accompaniment, sometimes mistakenly associated with Hollywood blockbusters. Without Korngold, in other words, there wouldn't have been a John Williams and his ilk as we know them today.

The present disc, released by DG in 2001, contains four Korngold suites from the Errol Flynn movies Captain Blood, The Sea Hawk, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, and The Prince and the Pauper, with conductor, composer, pianist Andre Previn leading the London Symphony Orchestra. It was good to hear him back at the helm of his old orchestra and doing music that comes so naturally to him.

Anyway, Austro-Hungarian composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957) came to the movie industry in 1934 after a flourishing career as a classical composer for the European orchestra and opera stage, so it's understandable why his films' musical scores sound so luxuriant, so rich, so thematically complex. Starting in 1935 with his first important film score (and for which he went uncredited), Captain Blood, his music has thrilled audiences as much as the swashbuckling daring-do of the films' heroes; but, of course, he wasn't just a composer of big-scale, heroic material, as the four suites on this disc demonstrate.

Andre Previn

Previn's album begins with one of the greatest and most memorable of all action-adventure movie scores, The Sea Hawk. No matter how many times I listen to it, it impresses me with its splendor and eloquence. Think Star Wars here, and you'll understand where Williams got his inspiration. The second and third suites, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex and Captain Blood, are almost if not quite as stirring; and the concluding suite, The Prince and the Pauper, shows the lighter side of the composer. There are echoes of Liszt and Rossini in all of Korngold's music, which is a compliment, indeed.

The question of how well Andre Previn interprets this material is hardly of consequence. Previn grew up in Hollywood (he graduated from Beverly Hills High School) and knows how to handle a Hollywood score as well as anyone. He does so with consummate skill, swashing a buckle or conjuring up a tender moment with equal zest and grace. The question of The Sea Hawk, however, is how well it holds up compared to the celebrated performance by Charles Gerhardt on RCA. The answer is, pretty well, actually, helped by the fact that Previn was back in front of an orchestra he knew as intimately as anyone could know an orchestra.

But, then, there is the matter of DG's sound. Although the RCA recording is much older than Previn's, it has the clearer, more robust sonics. DG engineers, on the other hand, opt for a softer, more resonant, more one-dimensional sound. Switching to the RCA is like wiping away a thin haze from the surface of the sonic picture. However, other than The Sea Hawk the two discs contain entirely different Korngold companion music, so perhaps both discs are essential to one's film-music library in any case.

JJP

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