Chopin: Nocturnes (CD review)

Jan Lisiecki, piano. MLS-CD-027 (2-CD set).

By Bill Heck

For a young pianist, Lisiecki has a fair number of recordings, and those recordings have met with considerable critical success. The most relevant to the work here is his 2012 album of Chopin Etudes, which was widely, although not universally, praised.

Perhaps the most salient characteristic of the current release is the slow tempi. In an interview published in Gramophone magazine, Lisiecki was asked why the tempos he used in recordings were slower than those of his live performances. His answer, to paraphrase, was that in the concert hall it was necessary to move things along because there were many potential distractions for the audience, but with recordings, presumably heard in the home environment, listeners would have fewer distractions and could engage more fully with the music even at the slower tempi. Of course, the reason for wanting to use slower tempi in the first place was, again paraphrasing, to engage more deeply in a musical dialogue with the listener.

When I queued up this release, the first thing I noticed was a sense of just that sort of engagement. I felt drawn in, metaphorically conversing with Chopin through the artist. And it wasn’t just the slow tempi of the first few nocturnes; there are several positives to note right away. First, Lisiecki’s playing demonstrates remarkable touch and dynamic shading, and the slow tempi allow those qualities to come through very nicely. Moreover, his rhythmic control is firm no matter the tempo: there is no danger of things falling apart as there might be with a lesser musician at the keyboard. These characteristics make for performances that do indeed invite full engagement with the music. And after all, these are nocturnes – they are supposed to be quiet and slow, are they not?

Speaking of rhythmic control, another fine example is Opus 37, number 2 in G major (track 12 on the disk): I don’t recall ever hearing quite the “swaying” quality that Lisiecki manages to convey. Further examples are scattered across the performances. Finally, it’s clear that Lisiecki can play a lot faster when the music calls for it: witness the acceleration in the middle of Opus 48, number 1 in C minor (track13).

Elsewhere in the Gramophone interview, Lisiecki mentions an emphasis on the left hand. This is easily noticeable in the current release: some performances seem to focus more on the right hand, i.e., the higher notes on the scale, the ones that typically carry the melody or main line of the music. Lisiecki pays more attention to balancing the two hands to bring out the underlying harmony, thus revealing more of the complexity of Chopin's writing; I find this a good thing.

But, but…. For all the positives, some (not all) of the tempi are not just slower than usual, but really, really slow. Depending on the patience and/or tolerance of the individual listener – meaning you, dear reader – it’s possible to imagine opportunities for distraction even in the quietest, most comfortable home environment.  For example, in the Opus 37, number 1 in G minor, (track 11 on the disk), the overall effect caused me to think of a lugubrious rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Marche Slav. (Yes, I count that as a distraction.) I noted a few points at which things seemed to me to descend into mere mannerism: for example, Opus 62, number 1 in B Major begins with an arpeggiated chord, a short pause, then a single note, followed by another longer pause. Yes, the pauses belong there, but their length seems to me over the top, more effect than called for; a few others in the same piece strike me in the same way. Finally, somewhere along the way I started to feel that enough was enough, we should just get on with things. Obviously, I’m an impatient sort of person; you may not be so afflicted.

On a related note, I find the dynamic range of Lisiecki’s playing a bit constrained. I certainly don’t mean that the sound is monochromatic, and again you may chalk this reaction up to another of my personality flaws, namely an overdeveloped appreciation for musical drama and excitement. You may be more even keeled.

So where do my meanderings leave us? There is no denying Lisiecki’s ability and his deep insight into Chopin’s compositions. Surely we all sympathize with his evident desire to, as he says, fully engage listeners with the music. There should be no doubt that much critical reaction will be very positive, and justifiably so. The question is not one of right or wrong, good or bad; it is simply whether his approach will work for you. As the old saying goes, you pays your money and you takes your chances.

The recorded sound is first rate. In the past, one may not have associated the DG label with full, natural recorded sound, piano or otherwise, but this is not the only recent DG recording I've heard that provides truly excellent sonics. (For example, check out the recent recording of the Rachmaninoff First Symphony and Symphonic Dances by the Philadelphia orchestra.) On my system, the piano sounds quite natural, well balanced from top to bottom with no hint of harshness or distortion and with a clear spatial image and natural presence.

BH

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

Saint-Saens: Symphonies Nos. 1 & 2 (SACD review)

Also, Symphony in A major. Jean-Jacques Kantorow, Orchestre Philharmonique Royal de Liege. BIS BIS-2460 SACD.

By John J. Puccio

The Third Symphony, the “Organ” Symphony of French composer Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921) so overshadowed most of his other work that one would hardly know he even wrote three previous symphonies. Of course, his other music like the Second Piano Concerto, the Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso, the Danse macabre, the Samson and Delilah opera, and The Carnival of the Animals also became famous. But they didn’t quite take on the life his “Organ” Symphony did. So, here we have his first three symphonies, which I admit I could hardly remember, it had been so long since I last heard them. Accordingly, I took down my old recordings by Jean Martinon (EMI and Brilliant Classics) of the works to refresh my memory, and I can honestly say that these new readings by French violinist and conductor Jean-Jacques Kantorow and the Royal Liege Philharmonic Orchestra do the music proud.

So, Saint-Saens wrote his Symphony No. 1 in E flat major, Op. 2 in 1853 at the ripe old age of eighteen. He had been a child prodigy at the piano and wrote his First Symphony at about the time he graduated from the Paris Conservatoire. It’s filled with youthful ambition and military gestures (particularly in the Finale), all the popular musical idioms of the time. While Maestro Kantorow takes the music a little faster than Martinon did, it’s not excessively quick. It does, however, provide an extra bounce to the score, especially noticeable in the second-movement Scherzo. Even the lovely little Adagio benefits from Kantorow’s hand. Not that it displaces the Martinon recording, but it certainly more than holds its own.

It would be another half dozen years before Saint-Saens would write his Symphony No. 2 in A minor, Op. 55 (in 1859, although he would not publish it until 1878). It’s a cyclical work, linking several themes in different movements by using several common elements. The piece is compact and orchestrated lightly, sounding much like a sinfonietta. However, because of the criticism he received for these early symphonies, Saint-Saens would not return to the composition of a symphony for close to thirty years and then created his masterpiece. Anyway, in No. 2 we get an appropriately reserved performance from Kantorow, with the final two movements enlivened by a properly upbeat spirit. Nevertheless, despite the conductor’s best efforts, these are not masterpieces of the Romantic Age but merely Saint-Saens’s youthful imitations of it, so we cannot expect silk purses. They are, however, fun to listen to, if sparingly, and under Kantorow’s direction (or Martinon’s) represent as good interpretations as you’ll likely to find.

Accompanying the Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 (and opening the program) is an even earlier work, the Symphony in A major, which Saint-Saens wrote in 1850, while fifteen years old and still in school. Musical scholars believe it was probably a classroom exercise. Still, it has a noteworthy Romantic spirit to it, borrowing as it does from Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Schumann, even Mozart. Saint-Saens didn’t see much merit to it, though, and, consequently, it probably never got a public performance in the composer’s lifetime, or at least not one we know of. It was only finally published in 1974. Again Kantorow gives us a smooth, polished reading that, if anything, reveals how lightweight the material is. I couldn’t help being reminded that I’ve always found the music “cute.” That is, it’s almost comical in its imitation of other composers. It is, in fact, cotton candy for the ear (a sticky metaphor at best), which, regardless, makes for pleasant, noncritical listening.

Producer Jens Braun and engineer Ingo Petry of Take5 Music Production recorded the symphonies for hybrid SACD at the Salle Philharmonique, Liege, Belgium in April and December 2019. You can play the disc in SACD two-channel stereo and multichannel surround sound from an SACD player or in two-channel stereo from a regular CD player. I listened to the SACD two-channel stereo layer.

As with many other BIS productions, this one is warm and smooth, with a natural feel to the hall and its environs. The miking appears a tad farther away from the players than one usually finds, but it adds to the recording’s sense of realism. One is simply a bit farther back in the concert hall and not in the first row. Accordingly, the orchestral spread is also a touch narrower than we normally hear. More important, it’s realistic and doesn’t take much away from the clarity of the reproduction. It’s a welcome change of pace from most of today’s close-up recordings.

JJP

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

Recent Releases, No. 17 (CD reviews)

By Karl W. Nehring

Songs of Solitude: Hiyoli Togawa, viola. Toshio Hosokawa: Sakura/Solitude; Bach: Cello Suite No. 4 in E flat major, BWV 1010 – Sarabande; Johanna Doderer: Shadows; José Serebrier: Nostalgia; Bach: Cello Suite No. 1 in G major, BWV 1007 – Sarabande; Tigran Mansurian: Ode an die Stille; Michiru Oshima: Silence; Bach: Cello Suite No. 3 in C major, BWV 1009 - Sarabande; Kalevi Aho: Am Horizont; John Powell: Perfect Time for a Spring Cleaning; Bach: Cello Suite No. 5 in C minor, BWV 1011 – Sarabande; Cristina Spinei: Keep Moving; Rhian Samuel: Salve Nos; Bach: Cello Suite No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1008 – Sarabande; Gabriel Prokofiev: Five Impressions of Self-Isolation (Calling Out/Wine for One/Only Birds in the Sky/How Many Weeks...?/Back to the English Garden); Bach: Cello Suite No. 6 in D major, BWV 1012 – Sarabande; Federico Gardella: Consolation. BIS 2533 SACD.

This gorgeous production is generously filled along several dimensions. At nearly 79 minutes in duration, you certainly get your money’s worth in that respect; moreover, the booklet included with the disc contains not only an introductory note from violist Togawa about how the recording came about (yes, this is another of those pandemic-inspired projects) but also notes about the composers, complete with photos, including a pair that capture Ms. Togawa playing the viola on the left and on the right, working on a painting. A glance through the program reveals not just works by contemporary composers, but several Bach Sarabandes originally composed for solo cello but played here on the viola. “In these times of isolation and global security,” Hosokawa writes, “Bach is my daily bread. Spiritual nourishment, comfort, grounding, confidence. His music is never fussy; it is pure and clear… This was precisely what I needed more than ever during the time of corona… Alongside music and painting my daily walks also formed peaceful havens in my life. I walked through Berlin’s empty streets, which in their silence seemed almost surreal to me. I asked myself how people in other cities and countries could manage, if they were no longer allowed at all. And then my mobile rang: it was Kalevi Aho! The Finnish composer told me that he had just completed a double concerto for percussion, viola and chamber orchestra that he had been planning for a while. How wonderful! Especially at this time of inactivity and isolation I have become aware of how special it is that something creative – a piece of music – can come into being. And so I hit on the idea of asking not just Aho but also other composers all over the world to write solo works for me. Pieces that would reflect life and work in the time of the coronavirus and that distil isolation in music.” Now, distilling isolation in music might sound like a process that would result in a real downer of a disc, but that is decidedly not the deal here. Yes, some of the pieces are reflective in nature, but never morose; besides, the listener must not forget that that the sarabande was a type of dance, after all. The end result is an album of energy and grace, appropriate listening during a pandemic that is, alas, still ongoing.

Astor Piazzolla: Cien Años. Piazzolla: Concerto for Bandoneon; Mosalini: Tomá, Tocá (Take It, Play It); Mosalini: Cien Años (One Hundred Years); Piazzolla/arr. Mosalini: The 4 Seasons of Buenos Aires; Piazzolla/arr. Mosalini: Libertango. Juanjo Mosalini, bandoneon; Kristina Nilsson, violin; Anne Black, viola; Steven Laven, cello; Gisèle Ben-Dor, Pro Arte Chamber Orchestra of Boston. Centaur Records CRC 3844.

Some regular followers of Classical Candor might recognize the name of Argentinian composer Astor Piazzolla from JJP’s recent review (here) of a Pentatone recording that included a version of  the composer’s The 4 Seasons of Buenos Aires, a different arrangement of which is included on this new Centaur CD. Others might instead remember Piazzolla as the father of the “Nuevo Tango” movement, either by hearing recordings of Piazzolla himself of other musicians who enthusiastically embraced this fusion of tango and jazz first undertaken by Piazzolla in the 1950s. Piazzolla was a master of the bandoneon, a more expressive cousin of the harmonica, played on this recording by Juanjo Mosalini, Jr. (b. 1972), whose father had played bandoneon and worked with Piazzolla in Argentina before moving to France in 1977. In 1984, Juanjo Jr. left Buenos Aires for Paris to reunite with his father. According to the liner notes, “musically, he remembers his father’s Parisian trio of the mid ‘80s, and Piazzolla’s music, as the most significant inspirations of his formative years. ‘Piazzolla’s album La Camorra blew my mind, the way Queen and Bill Evans blew my mind,” says Junajo. “And when you are a teenager those things leave a mark for the rest of your life. It’s in your flesh.’” Those who may be unfamiliar with the sound of the bandoneon are in for a treat as Mosalini digs right in at the very outset, joined by piano, strings, and the rest of the orchestra in an energetic performance of Piazzolla’s lively concerto. This is music that at one moment will have you wanting to get up and dance, the next moment perhaps reflecting on a lost love, then perhaps wanting to play the air bandoneon. The two shorter pieces by Mosalini,  Tomá, Tocá and Cien Años – the first quick and lively, the second beginning slower and building in energy and rhythmic energy as it proceeds – sound right at home among the Piazzolla pieces. The 4 Seasons of Buenos Aires is a lively and colorful romp, well worth consideration as a serious “classical” music composition. Interestingly enough, the liner notes declare something that I never would have supposed: “Astor Piazzolla has become for many a symbol of Tango and the music of Buenos Aires. It’s an ironic association for a musician who had, at best, a love-hate relationship with music that he had fought to liberate from its conservative confines, and a city where he was always largely a stranger… Piazzolla was born March 11, 1921, in Mar del Plata, a seaside resort 250 miles south of Buenos Aires. He didn’t visit the capital city until he was 17, and by then he was a feisty teenager who had grown up in the Lower East Side of New York City.” Well, then… The album closes with Mosalini’s arrangement of Piazzolla’s Libertango, a piece whose very title brings us back to the idea of the dance, and whose insistent rhythms and lively accents can’t help but boost our energy levels. The recording quality is clean and dynamic and the liner notes are interesting and informative, with plenty of interesting photos. All in all, this is an exciting release.  

Brad Mehldau: Variations on  a Melancholy Theme. Brad Mehldau, piano; Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. Theme; Variation 1; Variation 2; Variation 1; Variation 3; Variation 4; Variation 5; Variation 6; Variation 7; Variation 8; Variation 9; Variation 10; Variation 11; Cadenza; Postlude; Encore: Variations “X” & “Y”. Nonesuch 075597916508.

Brad Mehldau is best known as a jazz pianist who has made quite a name for himself both as a leader and sideman. Not all that long ago we did a brief review of one of his recent solo piano releases, which can be found here. This new Nonesuch release finds him in front of the venerable Orpheus Chamber Orchestra as they combine to record a serious composition by Mehldau, his Variations on a Melancholy Theme. Mehldau offers a brief overview of the piece in his liner note: “My melancholy theme has a two-part form, and each part is repeated:A1A2B1B2. It’s a common variation form – Bach’s Goldberg or Beethoven’s Diabelli, for example. The piece concludes with a piano cadenza and extended coda which revisits aspects of the opening motif, but roams freely, moving through shifting tonal centers. It ends in a meditative mood, in the waltz meter in which it began… The melancholy theme itself has a wistful character; perhaps a feeling of resignation. There is some sense of finality and ending to it already when heard for the first time. As I composed, a narrative challenge emerged, namely. How to embark on a story that begins with a conclusion.” As a reviewer, I also find myself with a challenge, for this is one of the most unusual recordings I have come across in quite some time. I had been looking forward to auditioning it, but the first time or two I played it, I found it nearly unlistenable. It is mastered at a really high level, like those pop recordings that are meant to be heard on earbuds from mp3 source files. And even when I adjusted the volume control down a couple of clicks, the treble seemed a bit harsh, making it impossible to enjoy the music. It took a few more tries to realize that I had to turn the volume down even more – my goodness, this thing is mastered hot! Only then could I begin to appreciate the music, which is really quite enjoyable. There still seemed to be a bit of harshness in the upper strings, but not unbearably so. The sound quality is in some senses quite good – the piano sounds quite robust, for example, and the woodwinds and brass are quite vivid – but there is no sense of space or depth, with the instruments seeming to be strung out in “clothesline” fashion between the speakers, no feeling for the venue (which the notes do not specify), most likely the result of multimiking with relatively close microphone placement. Now, let’s get back to the music. The more I listened, though, the more I came to be able to follow the theme through the different variations, and the more I came to appreciate and enjoy the music despite my reservations about the engineering. Although the writing for the orchestra at times sounds reminiscent of either a Hollywood score or a jazz band, the variations move right along and Mehldau’s imagination at the keyboard never flags. The final variation, the cadenza, and the postlude are simply beautiful, Mehldau really showing his great depth of musical feeling. The applause after the encore reveals that this was a live concert recording – does that perhaps account for some of the engineering issues? All in all, recommended, but with a warning to turn your volume control down a few notches before you hit the PLAY button.

Camino: Sean Shibe, guitar. Manuel de Falla; Danza del molinero (arr. Tilman Hoppstock); Antonio José: Pavana triste (third movement of Sonata for Guitar); Frederic (Federico) Mompou: Canço i dansa 10 (arr. Mompou) (Canço; Dansa); Erik Satie: Gymnopédie No. 1; Gnossienne No. 1; Gnossienne No. 3; Mompou: Canço i dansa 6 (Canço; Dansa); Ravel: Pavane pour une Infante défunte (arr. Sean Shibe); de Falla: Homenaje, pour Le Tombeau de Claude Debussy; Mompou: Suite compostelana (I. Preludio; II. Coral; III. Cuna; IV. Recitativo; V. Canción; VI. Muñeira); Francis Poulenc: Sarabande, FP179. Pentatone PTC 5186 670.

Although an earlier release by (softLOUD, on the Delphian label) Scottish guitarist Sean Shibe featured him on both acoustic and electric guitars, this new Pentatone recording is all acoustic, focusing on Spanish and French composers. Not surprisingly, having been recorded over the latter part of 2020, this is yet another album affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. In his liner note, Shibe asserts, “everything on this album has given me deep comfort and sustenance over a difficult and traumatic period. Colleagues of mine have sometimes asked what it would take for me to get over my apparent aversion to the sentimentality of the Spanish repertoire traditionally associated with the guitar. I could, perhaps, tell those colleagues that a global pandemic would do the trick, but I would argue that all of the ostensibly Spanish composers presented here demonstrate the fecundity of the Franco-Spanish connection, and – to go further than that – Mompou, central to this programme, is perhaps more European than Spanish. He eschews all flamboyant piquancy; his homage to Santiago de Compostela instead softly adores, the ecclesiastical overtones never overbear; and, somehow, these pieces sum up pilgrimage at its most existentially humanist. For Mompou, melancholy, aimlessness and a whole host of other feelings are not things to be avoided or fixed or solved, but experiences to be deeply felt; when his music reflects, it is less with sad nostalgia than genuine wonder and excitement at what this means for the future.” As you might infer from the list of composers and titles, this is a set of music that is atmospheric and beguiling. None of the playing here is overtly virtuosic or ostentatious; instead, Shibe employ his skills on the guitar to lead the listener gently into a sound world of calm and reflection that is not, however, devoid of energy and color. (I wonder whether there might be other listeners out there who like me were first introduced to the enchanting music of Erik Satie by none other than the rock group Blood, Sweat, & Tears…) Most classical music lovers are probably familiar with at least some of these pieces from hearing them played by the orchestra or on the piano; to hear them played on the classical guitar will open a new dimension of enjoyment and appreciation.

Jurgis Karnavičius: String Quartets Nos. 1 and 2. Vilnius String Quartet (Dalia Kuznecovaité and Arturas Silalé, violins; Kristina Anuseviciuté, viola; Augustinas Vasiliauskas, cello). Ondine ODE 1351-2. String Quartets Nos. 3 and 4. Ondine ODE 1387-2. 

Jurgis Karnavičius )1884-1941) was born in Lithuania and went on to study first law and then music (under Lyadov, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Glazunov, among others) in St. Petersburg. After the outbreak of World War I he was drafted into the Russian Army, was captured by the Germans, and lived in a prison camp near Vienna until 1918. After returning to Russia (St. Petersburg had now been renamed Petrograd) he became involved in Russian contemporary music. In 1927, he returned to Lithuania for good. String Quartet No. 1 was composed in 1913 soon after his graduation from the St. Petersburg Academy, while String Quartet No. 2 was composed in far different circumstances – while he was in captivity in 1917. The former is pleasant, but at least to these ears, not particularly striking or memorable. The latter seems to have a bit more substance. Both these earlier quartets are easy on the ears; indeed, there is nothing dissonant or “Modernist” about them.

String Quartets Nos. 3 and 4 were composed in 1922 and 1925, respectively. With these two, the music becomes more interesting. The harmonies become richer, the emotional expression becomes more intense, and in general the music seems to be that of a more mature, confident composer with a clearer musical vision. These two well-recorded and well performed discs represent the entirety of Karnavičius’s writing for string quartet, so those interested in exploring the music of a previously overlooked composer while adding some enjoyable string quartet music to their collection now have an excellent opportunity to do just that.

KWN