Saturday, 7.26.08, 6:00 am
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 3)
"Library Building" posts are reviews of recordings I find to be essential to every good collection of classical music - recordings of interpretations that are the touchstone for their repertoire.
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Going back to the ‘broad-as-can-be’ brand of interpretation we arrive – expectedly – at Sergiu Celibidache and, perhaps less expectedly, at Karl Böhm, who both clock in at about 79 minutes. The latter’s second recording, finished just before his death, has all the marks of an old man’s performance – good and bad. The movements can grind down to a near halt, but there is a noble gravitas and atmosphere about the music that rises above specific tempos. To have a vocal quartet made up of Brigitte Fassbaender, Jessye Norman, Placido Domingo, and Walter Berry doesn’t hurt.
Celibidache is more difficult to recommend, despite the glorious sound that his Munich Philharmonic celebrates. Celibidache knew why he opposed recordings: they don’t tell the story of the live event upon which they are based. He once saw Furtwängler in a fit of anger during EMI recording sessions where his mentor objected to the tempos on the tape ‘not being his’. What can work – and must have worked – for the audience in the Philharmonic hall, cannot necessarily be communicated on CD, especially if you hadn’t been there for the initial, glorious, impression. Celibidache’s Beethoven – unlike his Bruckner – is very inaccessible on CD unless you know what you are listening for, and unless you give it a maximum of attention. Those who don’t mind the effort can get a fascinating glimpse into a ‘pre-historic’ musicality (such phrasing!) of the late 19th, early 20th century.
One further CD milestone may be mentioned, even if the result is rather bland: Deutsche Grammophon and Franz Welser-Möst have rung in a new age of recording projects for the Cleveland Orchestra which was last regularly recorded by Telarc under Dohnany. After so many years of ‘silence’ from one of the US’ foremost orchestras, that’s a celebration worthy of a Beethoven Ninth, and with some good soloists, too – notably bass René Pape and soprano Measha Brueggergosman. The sound is rich in bass, but too hazy, especially notable in the fourth movement. The performance is as if the interpretive change in Beethoven in the late 90s had never happened, without exaggeration or tension or anything brisk or terse, notable only for not standing out with anything in particular, but showing Welser-Möst to be – at the very least – a good custodian of the Clevelander’s homogonous, finely honed sound.
As good as it is to see the Cleveland Orchestra record again, it’s even better to hear the Minnesota Orchestra record! Osmo Vänskä has brought this important, but often overlooked American orchestra to the forefront of American symphony orchestras, and his Super Audio Beethoven cycle on BIS has ripped through the discography of Beethoven like few before. It was a trend started with David Zinman, whose very successful Beethoven traversal for Arte Nova sold (at budget price) over a million copies. Here was a modern orchestra playing with zest and speed, usually adhering to Beethoven’s metronome markings and playing from the new Bärenreiter score that tickled many ears in new ways. Abbado’s Berlin cycle from the same time was high-quality, comfortable blandness, Simon Rattle’s with Vienna genuinely new but uneven and indecisive, and Barenboim’s – as mentioned above – beautiful but old fashioned. But Zinman caught a mood and it’s has been continued and perfected by Vänskä and now Paavo Järvi, who both make Zinman look like old news.
Vänskä started with a Fourth Symphony that shot to the top of my list where it remains, but everything that followed was just as exciting, taut, bracing and invigorating. The Ninth doesn’t impress with a big-name vocal ensemble, it impresses by blowing the dust of years of weary performance tradition before it. And it isn’t just special because it is different (which would never be enough in Beethoven), it’s performance and production values are extraordinarily high throughout. It speedy but never rushing, slender but not skimpy – in short: it’s the best so far that the slightly smaller scale, more mobile and edgier Beethoven performance tradition has to offer.
The performances mentioned could very roughly be lumped into five categories:
“Historic” – which should be a self-evident title, even if it doesn’t say as much about interpretive differences as it does about the age of the recording. I have no allegiances here, though I would probably turn to the Furtwängler/Lucerne performance more often than any of the others. As truly historic performances, Fried or Weingartner (Naxos) will serve.
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“Burnished” – accounts that are (overtly) romantic, dwelling, and luscious. I will most likely seek out Barenboim for this, or Bernstein’s or Böhm’s Vienna performances. Should Christian Thielemann ever record this and the recording reasonably reflect the performance, it should be a hot contender in this category.
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“HIP” – which I might better have titled “Original Instruments”, because that’s the distinction I make between this and the still very much “historically informed” modern instrument recordings of the last few years. As mentioned above, I think Gardiner is not only my favorite here, but really the only one who can pull it off satisfyingly at all.
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“Modern” – a good enough category name until it becomes inevitably outdated. These are recordings that generally adhere to Beethoven’s metronome markings, use modern instruments but smaller orchestras and tend to an take aggressive, or at least a very assertive approach to the score. My favorite here is Vänskä… without challenger at least until Paavo Järvi gets around to his Ninth.
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“Standard” – not to be mistaken as ‘blasé’, but performances without particularly strong interpretive marks, in the traditional vain without exaggeration in any direction… perhaps the “none of the above” category. Some of my favorite performances fall into this category. Above all Abbado’s in Salzburg, but also Ferenc Fricsay’s, and Günter Wand’s or Szell’s Cleveland account and all of Karajan’s slick recordings.
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Part 1 can be found here: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 1)
Part 2 can be found here: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 2)
You can hear the choral Finale (”Ode to Joy”) of the Ninth Symphony, conducted by Emil DeCou on July 31st at the Wolf Trap. At that concert, subtly titled “Beethoven’s Best”, you will also encounter the Fifth – “Emperor” – Piano Concerto (Joyce Yang), the Leonore Overture No. 3, and selections from Fidelio.
Wednesday, 7.23.08, 6:00 am
Orchestral Music You Didn’t Know You Love (Friedrich Ernst Fesca)
Not behind every unknown composer rediscovered waits a hitherto hidden genius, a forgotten Mozart, or semi-Beethoven that fell between the cracks of music history. And despite so many delights that I have chanced upon, occasionally there is a sense of trepidation when unwrapping a CD of another unfamiliar Kleinmeister’s because – let’s face it – much of the music we don’t know has been neglected for a reason. There are no grounds to assume that great music was any more common then than it is now.
But there are many composers that were not neglected by history because their music lacked quality, but because their music was hopelessly old-fashioned when it was composed, or because they were overshadowed by Beethoven. Or both. Think Louis Spohr, George Onslow, Ferdinand Ries, and Johann Wilhelm Wilms. Others got ignored because their music didn’t fit the ideology and political sentiment of their time. Many of the first generation of post-romantics suffered that fate, which is why Langgaard, Marx, Mittler, Pfitzner, Reznicek, Rott, Saygun, Schoeck, Schreker, Thuille, Wellesz, and Zemlinsky get precious little airtime.
When I reviewed the stupendous Wilms symphonies, I finished by saying “you should also keep an eye out for the music of Ries, Onslow, and Fesca.” Ries and Onslow have been on my radar since, but I could have taken my own advice about Fesca more seriously. Friedrich Ernst Fesca (1789-1826), that is, a composer active at that awkward times between Beethoven and Chopin, Haydn and Brahms. By the time he got to compose wonderful symphonies, they were already hopelessly out of fashion, because Beethoven had ruined it for everyone with his 7th and 8th symphonies that year (as well as the preceding ones). By the time people were looking for great symphonies besides Beethoven’s, they discovered Schubert. Later Brahms, Schumann, and Mendelssohn – inadvertently but effectively – sealed Fesca’s status as the little composer that couldn’t.
But these days, despite classical music suffering such alleged woes and being declared dead every five years, are actually quite good for precisely this kind of discovery. For resuscitated British composers go to Naxos, Chandos, and Hyperion. For all things Scandinavian seek out BIS and Dacapo. For everything else, there is cpo. An independent German label, it just celebrated its 20th birthday and busily issues up to 70 new recordings every year. D’Albert, Atterberg, Enna, Pettersson, Toch, Villa-Lobos, Siegfried Wagner and Weingartner are in good hands with them, as are baroque masters like Biber, Handel, Keiser, Lully, Telemann and a host of other composers – famous, little known, and completely obscure alike.
And it is cpo who makes Fesca’s chamber and symphonic music available to us and it is cause for unmitigated delight. In his short life rife with upheaval, Fesca managed to write three symphonies. Frank Beermann and the NDR Radio Philharmonic (from Hannover and not to be mistaken with the Hamburg NDR Symphony Orchestra) do a graceful and deft job of them. Symphony No.2 pleases from the first note without pandering. It is impossible not to think of the better Mozart symphonies when listening to this work, and while that might have made them terribly unfashionable then (they were well received and quickly forgotten – the last year a Fesca symphony to be played in before their resurrection was 1840), it doesn’t matter a whit now.
If the airs of casual genius and Mozartean spirit surround the Second Symphony, the more ambitious Third Symphony (1816) takes a few pages from Beethoven’s playbook. It’s a more ‘voluminous’ work, without being much longer. A tragic slow movement, a concise, stormy Scherzo with plenty timpani and brass, and the stately, triumphant finale are all exemplary of great late classical symphonic writing. To this and the Cantemire Overture, cpo has now added Symphony No.1 (1810?) and three more overtures with their most recent Fesca release. The same forces play with the same skill and agility – and the music is worth all their efforts. The Symphony is Mozartean again, with a ‘Don Giovanniesque’ opening* of unruly character and three more fine movements that more than hint at the suave qualities of the following symphonies. The two concert pieces op.41 and 43 would make very fine overtures to any symphony orchestra’s program of late classical or early romantic music, while the Omar & Leïla Overture is taken from the opera of the same name. It’s to conjure exotic notions of the orient and an apparently fantastical story which it doesn’t quite, to 21st century ears. But it’s a robust, busy overture with a reoccurring trumpet fanfare that reminds me of Il Trovatore’s “Alerta” opening.
If forced to chose between the two, I would go for the disc with Symphonies Two and Three – conveniently re-issued at half price in the “Discover New Worlds with cpo” series. But few who have heard these works won’t also be tempted to get the other available discs of Fesca’s music.
* More precisely: modeled on Mozart’s E-flat Major Symphony No.39
Previously and since in Chamber Music You Didn’t Know You Love:
( 1 ) – Ludwig Thuille, Piano Quintets
( 2 ) – Joseph Marx, String Quartets
( 3 ) – Franz Mittler, String Quartets
( 4 ) – Felix Weingartner, String Quartets
( 5 ) – Wilhelm Bernhard Molique, String Quartets
Previously and since in Orchestral Music You Didn’t Know You Love:
( 1 ) – Friedrich Ernst Fesca, Symphonies
( 2 ) – Max Bruch, Swedish & Russian Dances
( 3 ) – Emil Nikolaus von Reznicek, Orchestral Songs, Symphony
Sunday, 7.20.08, 6:00 am
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 2)
"Library Building" posts are reviews of recordings I find to be essential to every good collection of classical music - recordings of interpretations that are the touchstone for their repertoire.
It is impossible to cast off subjectivity, but I try not to include recordings in this list whose inclusion would be based on an emotional, rather than a musical response. Of course our response to music is in significant part emotional, a matter of taste and thus subjective and what is great to one may be perfunctory to another. Fortunately there are also objective standards of quality. And there are emotional capacities in music which resonate with like-minded listeners. Vivacity or grand opulence, sinuosity and long musical lines have an inevitable appeal – although of varying importance depending on personal preference.
Asked for a suggestion on the finest kind of ice-cream, I won’t recommend a brand’s strawberry blend above chocolate, if the asker is allergic to strawberries. All the greatness of a romantic reading won’t be of much use to someone who prefers fleet and classical Beethoven. In those very few cases where I feel the quality of an interpretation transcends its type, I will mention it – and ask for a small amount of faith of those listeners that might otherwise be instinctively disinclined.
As a basic building block for any classical collection, I recommend the somewhat overlooked Claudio Abbado 1996 performance from Salzburg. The Berlin Philharmonic, the Eric Ericson Chamber Choir, and the soloists Jane Eaglen, Waltraud Meier, Ben Heppner, and Bryn Terfel are a veritable dream-cast. Better yet: the sense of occasion on this live recording is palpable which animates the sometimes staid Abbado. Marginally on the broad side (~72 minutes), this is a ‘universal’ interpretation – Abbado’s best – that will satisfy all who want to listen to music, not ideology. Without any particular, strong interpretive flavor, the over-all impression is terrific, not bland.
Similar in feel of ‘over-all greatness’, though dissimilar in execution, is Günter Wand’s studio recording with the NDRSO from ten years earlier. At 66 minutes it is a tighter, more straight forward reading. It has less a sense of occasion, but a quicker pulse. The total absence of ego or sense of interpretation makes it a contender. Others fall into this category too– Muti, Kubelik, Jochum – but Wand’s is a true gem.
For me, unassuming, inextinguishable musicality was also found in conductor Ferenc Fricsay. There are few recordings of his that I don’t love – and even if I never finish that half-written article on his discography, I must mention his 1958 Beethoven Ninth. A milestone for the recording industry as the first Ninth recorded in stereo, it still sounds terrific to this day… there is nothing ‘historic’ about it. A splendid cast (Irmgard Seefried, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Ernst Haefliger, Maureen Forrester), and the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra in great shape help Fricsay make this one of the great recordings of the Ninth, able to compete with the finest modern accounts. Karajan added many recordings with the Berliners later on, and while those from 1962 and 1976 are superb, too, the greater sense of buoyancy with Fricsay is worth the (relative to Karajan) lack of polish and sheen.
‘Emotional greatness’ may admittedly be the reason for including Bernstein’s Berlin Ninth, but it’s not a personal emotional experience but rather one of people around the world that made ‘great’ this performance in honor of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Not even two months after November 9th – on Christmas Day 1989 – Leonard Bernstein led an orchestra with members from both Germanies and all occupying forces, an East- and West-German choir, and fine soloists to celebrate the occasion. And because it was such an occasion, Bernstein had no qualms changing “Freude schöner Götterfunken” (Ode to Joy) to “Freiheit schöner Götterfunken” (Ode to Freedom). (Here’s a YouTube video clip of Bernstein talking about it.) It’s a grand and touching (and flawed) performance even on CD, but its 78 minutes make more sense with the visual the DVD can offer. Bernstein’s live Vienna performance on DG from 1979, a study in exuberant, loving jubilation, is much better if just the ears are listening and you like an old-school Ninth.
Having spoken of Daniel Barenboim already, his Beethoven cycle with the Staatskapelle Berlin must be mentioned, even if it isn’t easily available in the US. Like darkly varnished oak – with the patina of “Old Europe”, if you will – Barenboim delivers Beethoven that is luxurious and luscious in performance and sound. Even if the Ninth is not the primus inter pares in this set (the Sixth is), it’s a dramatic, captivating, big-boned beauty. (The bargain box on Warner is available on Amazon as an import, but might be cheaper directly from the UK.)
The polar opposite of Barenboim might be John Elliot Gardiner’s Beethoven. Around the time that Harnoncourt gave a first taste of historically informed (HIP) Beethoven (though with the modern instruments of his Chamber Orchestra of Europe, Teldec), and well before Bärenreiter’s Jonathan Del Mar Urtext Edition changed modern Beethoven performance practice nearly across the board, the original instrument crowd honed in on Beethoven, Gardiner (Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique, Archiv) – between 1992 and 1994 – among them.
But first came Roy Goodman (The Hannover Band, Nimbus), Roger Norrington (London Classical Players, EMI) and Frans Brüggen (Orchestra of the 18th Century, Philips). The latter recorded his cycle between 1984 (Symphony No.1) and 1992 (Symphony No.9). You could quip that this was “original instruments” alright, but historically uninformed – because often Brüggen is closer in his tempos to Karajan than his HIP colleagues then and now. Roger Norrington recorded his between 1986 and 88 and unlike Brüggen he sticks to original tempos. The recordings created a sensation when they came out, but they have not aged terribly well. Especially the 9th comes across as wimpy here as with Hogwood (Academy of Ancient Music, Decca L’Oiseau-Lyre), and Goodman.
Brüggen is an odd mix of weighty and wiry, bold and drab – satisfying, but perhaps because it isn’t all that HIP. The only Ninth that truly works in the HIP guise and at HIP tempos is Gardiner’s, which retains weight and power throughout. The effort is aided by the orchestra’s impeccable execution, the palpable excitement, and all the seemingly new, audible orchestral colors. Admittedly, not even this Ninth (unlike Gardiner’s genre-defyingly terrific “Eroica”) will convince those ears that demand their Beethoven decidedly big and broadly-romantic, but for those who wish to broaden their Beethoven horizon into that direction, and hear a Ninth that is HIP in terms of tempos, dynamics, instrumentation, and instruments, this has to be the one.
You can hear the choral Finale (”Ode to Joy”) of the Ninth Symphony, conducted by Emil DeCou on July 31st at the Wolf Trap. At that concert, subtly titled “Beethoven’s Best”, you will also encounter the Fifth – “Emperor” – Piano Concerto (Joyce Yang), the Leonore Overture No. 3, and selections from Fidelio.
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Continue with part 3: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 3)
Part 1 can be found here: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 1)
Thursday, 7.17.08, 6:00 am
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 1)
"Library Building" posts are reviews of recordings I find to be essential to every good collection of classical music - recordings of interpretations that are the touchstone for their repertoire.
When Christian Thielemann conducted Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony as part of the 850th anniversary celebration for Munich – a free concert of the ‘city’s own’ orchestra, the Munich Philharmonic – he produced a performance that was as splendid as it was long (~74 minutes), and then some. Burnished, flexible, smooth, broad and unapologetically romantic without any pretense of offering something historically correct, reduced to the humble size of aspiring ‘accuracy’. It would be disingenuous for me to say that it was in the mold of Furtwängler, because I don’t know more about what that mold might be than what prevailing stereotypes and grainy recordings reveal. But I can say that it resembled the Beethoven of Barenboim. Even if that might not be a comparison Thielemann can appreciate, the emphasis on sound, transition, flexibility and tradition offers plenty – actually verifiable – analogies.
The claim may be musicologically untenable, but in listening to Thielemann’s performance, the idea that Beethoven composed the Ninth for a future orchestra and sound, rather than what he had available, becomes inevitable. The work does not suffer from the possibilities of a modern symphony orchestra, it appreciates them, it embraces them, and it blooms only further. The only proof I have to offer is the one found in the eating of that symphonic pudding, but it’s one I suspect to be convincing enough. At least when a performance like this comes along.
The first movement started soft and nebulous, the crescendo turning it quickly into something rousing and dominant. The second movement ripped through with tightly controlled force and with special care lavished on transitions; everything was homogenous and organic, nothing jerky. Thielemann works out the compelling necessity of the music, that inevitability where a composition begins to sound as though it could only be written (and played) just as it is and how every note follows necessarily from the preceding ones.
It really isn’t a secret, and it certainly can’t be one to anyone who regularly hears symphonic orchestras in concert: the bigger the orchestra and the more string players, the more subtle and softer will the pianissimos be. The size of a huge, or even just very large, orchestra is not primarily a function of loudness (pace Elektra), but softness. And 30 violins well coordinated with 30 more lower strings (in the traditional German setting, seating first violins and basses stage right, second violins and violas stage left) bring the greatest tenderness to the fore with more ease than a smaller band ever could. And if forced to chose between tenderness and authenticity, I’ll chose the former in that third movement – Adagio molto e cantabile – as was the case here. (Now if flutes and reeds had melded into another a little more, that movement – 18 luxuriously long minutes – might have come yet closer to perfection.)
No performance can win the listener over on account of a great last movement alone, but many a performance falls with a mediocre one. The Munich performance didn’t fall, but it stumbled over mere adequacy where excellence was expected. Krassimira Stoyanova (soprano), Lioba Braun (mezzo), Steve Davislim (tenor), Guido Jentjens (bass), and the Philharmonic Choir of Munich (director Andreas Herrmann) proved good enough not to dilute a great impression, but didn’t add to the ecstasy.
When it comes to recordings, there must be two to three hundred different versions available. Two dozen versions of Furtwängler and Karajan each are available on ArkivMusic alone, though many are simply different editions of the same performance. The genesis of the recordings of the Ninth Symphony doesn’t start with Furtwängler (chronologically it starts with Oscar Fried, later with Felix Weingartner and Arturo Toscanini), but he seems the epicenter whenever discussion of “great Ninths” comes up. Enthusiasts must disregard issues of sound and fidelity to listen through (sometimes excruciating) noise to dissect the genius that Furtwängler injected into his interpretations. Heated discussions can erupt over the various merits of post-war (’54 Lucerne or ’51 Bayreuth?) vs. war-performances (March 22nd or April 19th 1942?). Relaxed geniality in the former but greater intensity in the latter, are the claims. The Furtwängler-Society website gives plenty information about his available recordings, but it’s quite confusing.
Probably the most famous recording is the one from July 29th 1951 in Bayreuth. Recorded by EMI and re-issued numerous times. Every detail has been scrutinized here, the last drop of greatness wrung out, adding to the posthumous reputation of Furtwängler. It won’t hurt his, but maybe some of the critics’ reputation, that it now turns out to have been made partly with rehearsal segments and ‘improved’ on the soundboard (Henry Fogel, in Fanfare, notices an added crescendo in the fourth movement). It came out when Bavarian Radio tapes were found and compared to the well known EMI recording. A recording based on these tapes – “pure Furtwängler”, if you will – is now available through the Furtwängler Society of America, though I suspect it is identical with the new Archipel recording 0401.
I try to appreciate something in all of these recordings and, unlike with the Toscanini interpretations, I can occasionally glean their greatness. But before I or you get caught in the crossfire of the Lucerne, Bayreuth, Salzburg (October 31st, ‘51), Vienna (May 30th, ‘53) or Berlin factions, I recommend leaving the issue well behind and getting a modern recording of which there are plenty great ones, none of which the ears have to strain to get the musical essence.
You can hear the choral Finale (”Ode to Joy”) of the Ninth Symphony, conducted by Emil DeCou on July 31st at the Wolf Trap. At that concert, subtly titled “Beethoven’s Best”, you will also encounter the Fifth – “Emperor” – Piano Concerto (Joyce Yang), the Leonore Overture No. 3, and selections from Fidelio.
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Continue with part 2: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 2)
Part 3 can be found here: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Part 3)
Sunday, 7.13.08, 6:00 am
New Releases: CDs
Seven Words, Finally
"New Releases" posts are regular columns that feature reviews of new CDs that are, for one reason or another, truly outstanding among the many I come across every month.
Heinrich Schütz* (1585-1672), Charles Gounod (1818-1893), César Franck (1822-1890), Théodore Dubois (1837-1924), Charles Tornemiere (1870-1939), Ruth Zechlin (1926-2007), Sofia Gubaidulina (*1931), and James MacMillan (*1959) all composed works based on the Seven Last Words of Christ. But the most famous version of the “Seven Last Words” is clearly Haydn’s.
Or perhaps versions would be more appropriate, since Haydn wrote “Les sept dernières paroles de notre Rédempteur sur la Croix” for orchestra first (1786/97), then later appended it with a choral part (after 1791). Presumably – though not certainly – from Haydn’s pen comes the transcription for String Quartet, which has entered the Haydn String Quartet canon without controversy. And there is a version for keyboard which isn’t Haydn’s own, but was proof-read and approved by him.
The “seven last words”, taken from the Gospels of Mark, Luke, and John and put into presumed chronological order, form a sort of short-hand interpretation of the crucifixion for Catholics. They are:
- Pater, dimitte illis; quia nesciunt, quid faciunt – “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34)
- Hodie mecum eris in paradise – “Verily, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43)
- Mulier, ecce filius tuus – “Woman, behold your son. (Behold your mother)” (John 19:26-27)
- Deus meus, Deus meus, utquid dereliquisti me? – “Eli Eli lama sabachthani” [My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?] (Mark 15:34 and Matthew 27:46)
- Sitio – “I thirst” (John 19:28)
- Consumatum est! – “It has been done!” [It has been completed] (John 19:30)
- In manus tuas, Domine, commendo Spiritum meum – “Into Thy hands I command my spirit” (Luke 23:46)
Haydn’s challenge was to compose seven meditative instrumental movements for the bishop of Cádiz, each to follow one of his contemplations on one of these words on Good Friday. Seven Adagios of just under 10 minutes each in a row – eight, if you count the Maestoso ed Adagio introduction – could make for some very turgid listening. But Haydn was well aware of that, for one, and secondly he was a master of the slow movement. The result was one of Haydn’s own proudest achievements and the enduring popularity especially of the ‘naked’ string quartet version proves him right. He created a work that defies convention and strikes as modern yet old-fashioned at once. Or neither – and instead as timeless.
No wonder a fair number of string quartets flock to this composition. The Griller, Talich, Fitzwilliam, Lindsay, and Guarneri string quartets have recorded it over their careers. In 2001 the Emerson String Quartet threw its hat in the ring with a slightly ‘enhanced’ version (the only Haydn recording of them that I like – perhaps because humor isn’t terribly important in the “Seven Words”). The Ysaÿe String Quartet put out a wonderful, slightly romantic, version interpolated with spoken mediations (in French), and my favorite quartet in Haydn, the Quatuor Mosaïque, has recorded them, too. Most recently, the Klenke Quartet(t) added their version, a live recording, for Berlin Classics.
I first noted the all-female Klenke Quartet when I came across their terrific Mozart cycle of the “Haydn-Quartets” on Profil; next to the Quatour Mosaique’s cycle now my favorite recordings thereof. It shouldn’t surprise that their latest offering convinces wholly as well, even as it will not be everyone’s preferred version. Direct comparison to a favorite version of mine – the Rosamunde Quartet’s on ECM – is telling.
Where the Klenke’s tone is flexible, offering a good amount of vibrato, the Rosamunde Quartet is more matter-of-fact, with a straight forward and unsentimental reading. The latters’ is a true lament, the Klenke’s subversively romantic. With a rounder, more luxurious sound and a touch more reverb, the live Klenke recording offers a gentler view and a bit more humanity.
Annegret Klenke’s first violin sounds more nasal than Andreas Reiner’s, and she floats above her colleagues; whereas the Rosamunde remains a tight cohesive whole, even where the melodic material is unevenly distributed. And– perhaps a matter of live recording vs. studio recording, perhaps a matter of style–the Rosamunde Quartet’s intonation is dead-on whereas the Klenke Quartet bends the sound here and there, sometimes dropping slightly flat in a flexible, bungee-like way. (Interestingly, many of the qualities that made their Mozart so irresistible are better represented by the Rosamunde Quartet in this work.)
The Klenke Quartet might not ‘indulge’ per se, but its slow tempos remind a little of the Emerson without achieving their rhythmic rigor but offering a broader flow. This is particularly notable with “Sitio”, the fifth sonata, where the Klenke Quartet takes 11:31 to the Rosamunde’s 7:57. The concluding movement depicting the earthquake – “Il terremoto” – starts out nice and dark but then fails to be, well, earth-shattering. Alas, that is a problem shared with most, if not all, versions for string quartet. It’s recommended for their flexible tone, and to those who like breath in already broad movements. Those who prefer something that lets the music speak more plainly – less an interpretation rather than musical excavation – will find more satisfaction from the way of playing the Rosamunde Quartet epitomizes.
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Thursday, 7.10.08, 6:00 am
New Releases: CDs
Aimez-vous Brahms? (Piano Concerto No.1, op.15)
"New Releases" posts are regular columns that feature reviews of new CDs that are, for one reason or another, truly outstanding among the many I come across every month.
Not liking Brahms is not an option for anyone involved in classical music – be it a musician, conductor, or critic. Brahms is always on the menu, and Brahms is permanently being recorded. A Brahms-aversion would be a little like a food critic with pronounced dislike for potatoes. And even if repeat encounters with his music don’t kindle a love with (all of) his music, they should at least lay the ground for some respect.
In the last months alone I’ve come across some two dozen recordings of his symphonies, serenades, piano works, variations, concertos, and sonatas on disc. In the concert hall I heard orchestral works of his at least seven times. With some skill one can hide from Tchaikovsky or avoid Rachmaninov – Brahms, however, is omnipresent, no matter the country or time of year.
Brahms’ first Piano Concerto op.15 is one of the perennially popular pieces. ArkivMusic currently lists over 70 different versions available on CD alone, and more, new recordings arrive every year. And if the d-minor concerto shows up less often in concert halls than you might think, it feels very present all the same.
For everyone whose love of Brahms is not yet properly developed, meanwhile, the reviewer of the second ever performance (Leipzig, 1859) has words that might ring true:
“A new composition has been carried to its grave… this invention had at no point anything arresting or soothing; its thoughts either crept along all worn-out or pallid, or they reared up in feverish anxiety only to collapse all the more exhaustedly. In one word: its feelings and inventions are unhealthy… This retching and plowing, jerking and yanking, this patching and tearing of phrases – mostly clichéd – has to be endured for over three quarters of an hour.”
A bit caustic, but too good not to quote at length.
A recent live experience for me was the sixth Academy Concert of the Bavarian State Orchestra, with Vladimir Fedoseyev conducting and Nikolai Lugansky* as the soloist. The first movement, despite the orchestra being at its least cohesive, was most pleasant, because it charged into the work instead of lumbering through that opening that remembers only after about four minutes that it is a piano concerto, not a symphony.
And isn’t that just the work’s problem: A concerto that so desperately wanted to be a symphony (indeed: was supposed to be a symphony), with 90 unnecessary opening bars of an overbearing, verbose maestoso that only reluctantly gives way to the sublime lyricism of the piano entry. A lyricism so divine that it doesn’t need that overblown contrast to make its delicately strong impact. But it goes on in exaggerated contrast, a musical quilt and – I repeat myself whenever writing about it – a concerto with great music, but not a great concerto. Which are all reasons why it is difficult for the concerto to retain the listener’s attention throughout.
That was true for Lugansky, too, although it is difficult to complain about anything when as fine a pianist as he handles the ivory. Everything played with feeling, panache, and elegant understatement. The unmannered and gracious contribution was very appealing – even where the music suggests that brute force might be necessary. Not so, here! Even agitated fortissimo moments were solved with stylish politeness. Not a bad choice for an interpretation, seeing that Lugansky’s tone impressed much more below forte than above. His transitions between conversational-bubbly and overtly dramatic, loud and soft were particularly high points.
On CD the Emmanuel Ax set was re-issued last year (fine, but not among the best). Notable new releases since are Cédric Tiberghien’s and Nicolas Angelich’s who both put the d-minor concerto down on disc. Tiberghien with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Jiři Bělohlávek (Harmonia Mundi), Nikolaus Angelich with Paavo Järvi and the Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra (Virgin).
Both of the latter are good recordings, and they are rather similar. The absence of exaggerations or erraticisms, a similar conception, and even similar sound quality makes pointing to distinct differences rather difficult. If it were not for Tiberghien’s ecstatic breathing in the slow movement, I might not yet – after a dozen listenings – be able to tell them apart in a blind test. There is none of the booming thickness of Ax/Levine, nor the dramatic extremes in which Bernstein and Krystian Zimerman (newly released on DVD by DG/Unitel) somehow manage to tell their story compellingly.
In that performance from Vienna (the second of Bernstein’s after the infamous collaboration with Glenn Gould where Bernstein delivered a disclaimer-speech beforehand – all caught on the live recording on Sony), and probably the slowest on record (~55 minutes), the conductor coaxes gently, thunders mightily, waxes lyrically, explodes angrily, and then bubbles along with Zimerman as if they played an episode of Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals. Bernstein/Zimerman explore extremes, pull and push, retch up the tension, then relax in the calmest possible ways. It’s Brahms in bold letters with plenty exclamation marks and it works surprisingly well.
Zimerman’s searching slow movement has the notes built upon each other as if he were carefully constructing a Bach fugue – with very little by way of horizontal line. It’s not ‘careful’ playing, but self-consciously deliberate – at least until he is caught up with by the orchestral tutti in monumental fashion. It may not be for everyone, but is distinctive and memorable.
The same cannot be said about Tiberghien or Angelich. Both accounts are plenty lovely, rousing in the final movement… and yet somewhat faceless. Their achievement might be that they resemble the Gilels/Jochum collaboration (DG). On that latter recording the contrast between the tensely wired and flowing calm, tightly aggressive and lovingly tender is Eugen Jochum’s triumphal contribution. Gilels needed some convincing before recording this concerto, but whatever his reservations were – he manages very well with the score. The album hasn’t without reason been considered a top choice for recordings of both of Brahms Piano Concertos since it came out in 1972.
Still, either of the new performances – and I’d give the Tiberghien/Bělohlávek the edge – will be more readily likable to more listeners than Zimerman/Bernstein, precisely because extremes are avoided. Both convince upon repeat listening with their cohesion of orchestra and pianist, and the BBC SO with a particularly generous sound on the Harmonia Mundi recording.
Tiberghien’s concerto is coupled with Bělohlávek taking on the op.56a Variations on a Theme of Haydn (which isn’t actually by Haydn), Angelich’s with nine Hungarian Dances for Piano 4 Hands. Both of which will find mention in a future posts on Brahms.
* Nikolai Lugansky will perform together with Vadim Repin on November 15th at the Kennedy Center.
Previous posts on Brahms have covered the Double Concerto, Symphony No.1, and Exposition Repeats.
