Holst: The Planets (SACD review)

Walter Susskind, St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. Mobile Fidelity UDSACD
4005.

Mobile Fidelity
began life as a producer of half-speed remastered vinyl discs. When CD’s came along,
they kept pace in the audiophile arena by transferring music to gold discs.
These days, having largely moved away from gold discs and on to Super Audio
CDs, they have found some good source material in the performances of Walter
Susskind, such as this one where he conducts Gustav Holst’s The Planets with the St. Louis Symphony
Orchestra.

The first and only
time other time I heard this recording was almost thirty years ago when it
first appeared on a Vox/Turnabout LP in the mid Seventies. It was during the
quadraphonic era, and Vox had intended for listeners to play it back in four
channels. But I heard it at that time in ordinary two-channel stereo where the
sound appeared a mite blurry and noisy to me. Not being too impressed by the
sonics at that time, I quickly forgot about the performance. Unlike before,
however, I was able to hear it in cleaner, clearer stereo on this Mobile
Fidelity SACD, and I regret not having given the performance more credit back
then.

Mo-Fi is producing
hybrid two-channel/multi-channel discs, so a person can listen to The Planets with or without an SACD
player or rear channels. I listened in two-channel stereo through a Sony SACD
player, where the sound now appeared better focused, and Susskind’s
interpretation of this colorfully descriptive score thoroughly delighted me.

“Mars” begins things
with a zesty, saucy bravado. I’ve read that Holst wanted this “Bringer of War”
to ridicule the stupidity of war, and surely Susskind’s zippy rendition conveys
this thought. Nevertheless, it’s the slower movements that most impressed me,
“Venus” and “Saturn” and, of course, the ethereal “Neptune,” with their grace
and refinement. Still, it’s “Uranus” that always seems to me the centerpiece of
the work, the movement that combines the strongest tensions, the biggest
outbursts of emotion, and the softest moments of repose. Susskind handles it
superbly, the pacing immaculate. This is quite a nice reading, actually.

The sound, as I’ve said, is a marked improvement over the
old vinyl. But one must play it somewhat loudly to enjoy it to the full, in all
its spacious grandeur. At a soft or even moderate playback level, there seems
to be a degree of cloudiness to the proceedings. Yet at volume, the sound is
reasonably firm and well delineated. On the minus side, there is a minor
feeling of compartmentalization about it, an absence of ultimate depth, some
minor softness about the dynamics, and a lack of truly deep bass, all of which
could intrude upon one’s complete surrender to a willing suspension of
disbelief. Be that as it may, I’m sure it sounds realistic enough, overall, to
please most folks, probably close to the original master tape. It’s an
enjoyable disc, and I’m nitpicking.

The only flaw is that since my writing this review, Mo-Fi
seems to have discontinued the disc. Alas, if you’re interested in it, you may
have to do a search.

To hear a brief excerpt from this album, click here:

JJP

Cal Tjader & Stan Getz: Sextet (UltraHD CD review)

Cal Tjader, Stan
Getz, Vince Guaraldi, Eddie Duran, Scott Lafaro, Billy Higgins. FIM LIM UHD 061
LE.

When you’ve got a good thing, there’s nothing for it but
to make it better. That appears to be the philosophy of Winston Ma, president
and owner of FIM (First Impression Music), who supervises the CD remastering of
classic older recordings to today’s most-exacting audiophile standards. And
what more classic a jazz album is there than Sextet, the celebrated 1958 recording with the all-star cast. To
put it mildly, it’s never sounded better for home playback.

The players involved are Cal Tjader, vibes; Stan Getz,
tenor sax; Vince Guaraldi, piano; Eddie Duran, guitar; Scott Lafaro, bass; and
Billy Higgins, drums. Of course, not all of them were at the time as well known
as they are today; but, still, it was a remarkable feat for Fantasy Records to
gather them together for a one-time recording shot. No one figured just how
memorable or how historic the occasion would be.

The session begins with “For All We Know,” which features
Tjader on vibes and Getz eventually coming in on sax, the others providing
accompaniment. It’s a good opening number to showcase the primary stars, and
it’s wonderfully breezy and beautifully played. “My Buddy” follows, with even
more from the bassist and pianist, again with Tjader taking the lead on vibes.
The players had never performed before as a group, yet their contributions are
so seamless, you’d think they had been working together for years.

And so it goes. This is jazz for people who say they don’t
care much for jazz. I mean, how could one resist so affecting a number as their
rendition of “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face” from the then-new stage
musical My Fair Lady? It’s all quite
easy to grow accustomed to when every member of the ensemble is so thoroughly
professional and skilled his position.

While much of the music is laid-back and genial, there is
a particular track that finds the group at its rollicking best: a fast dance
called “Ginza Samba.” They swing in the best sense, backing each other with
supportive figures in a remarkably able fashion. Likewise, after starting the
album in relatively lyric form, the fellows do the final three numbers up
tempo. Pick your mood.

For fun, see if you can make out the words whispered in
the background. Interestingly, too, there were no rehearsals before the
recording date, no alternates, and second takes. Although the album lasts only
forty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds, you can’t help but have a great time
with it.

Fantasy Records made the album at Marines Memorial
Auditorium, San Francisco, California, in February of 1958. FIM (First
Impression Music) and their subsidiary LIM (Lasting Impression Music) brought
the music to the present audiophile UltraHD CD in 2013, using the latest
advances in 32-bit technology for the transfer. Moreover, as it seems that
every time producer Winston Ma releases a new series of discs, he’s added some
new and innovative engineering, this time we get something called Pure
Reflection, or as Ma calls it, putting the two words together, PureFlection.
It’s an improved disc reproduction process that makes replication even more
precise, and which Ma goes on to explain in several pages of detail in the
disc’s accompanying notes. Let it suffice that the technology seems to work,
and we get what Ma claims is a pure reflection of the original. The disc sounds
darned good, so I don’t doubt him.

The modestly close miking used in the original recording
produces a wide stereo spread, and certainly the high-definition UltraHD and
PureFlection systems produce pure, clean sound, no matter that the master tape
is over half a century old. It was obviously good to begin with, and it sounds
good now.  The disc opens with Tjader on
vibes, which ring out clearly and dynamically. When he’s joined by Getz on sax,
we hear how really lifelike the instruments sound. Percussion, including piano,
likewise display excellent transient response, and both ends of the frequency
spectrum appear well extended. Just as important, there is a fair amount of
depth to the group, with air and space around the instruments. A good thing
just keeps getting better.

FIM/LIM have packaged the disc in a glossy, foldout,
hardbound book-like case, with notes fastened to the inside and the disc itself
inserted into static-proof liner, further enclosed by a thin cardboard sleeve.
The liner and sleeve make sense for taking the best possible care of the disc,
although it can be something of a pain trying to get the liner back into the
sleeve properly if you’re as clumsy and nearsighted as I am. It’s a small price
to pay for dust and scratch protection.

And speaking of price, don’t forget that these audiophile
products aren’t cheap. Don’t say I didn’t warn you in advance against sticker
shock.

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

JJP

Mozart: Divertimenti Nos. 11 and 17 (CD review)

Helmut
Muller-Bruhl, Cologne Chamber Orchestra. Naxos 8.570990.

Mozart wrote a ton of divertimenti (well, several dozen at
least), light music intended largely as background entertainment for social
gatherings--dinners, parties, and the like--for families that could afford
them. The two we find here, Nos. 11
and 17, are fairly prominent examples
of the genre, conducted by the late Helmut Muller-Bruhl and his Cologne Chamber
Orchestra. Maestro Muller-Bruhl died just a few months after making the
recording, so it’s something of a swan song for him. He went out in style.

The Divertimento No.
11 in D major, K. 251, begins the program. 
Mozart wrote it in 1776, probably for the name-day of his sister
Nannerl. It’s a relatively small work in six movements, scored for an oboe, a
pair of horns, two violins, viola, double bass, and strings; and it’s filled
with the usual series of charming melodies we would expect from the young
composer. Muller-Bruhl provides a warm, sunny, yet highly refined
interpretation of the music. This is old-school Mozart, not your slingshot
period-instruments presentation.

Nevertheless, this is not to suggest there is anything
staid or stodgy about the performance. It is chipper, outgoing, and thoroughly
delightful. After giving us a frothy opening Allegro, Muller-Bruhl offers up the first of two highly polished
minuets. Between them we find a particularly graceful Andantino in a flowing dotted rhythm. The piece concludes with a
spirited Rondeau and a march in the
French manner.

Mozart composed the Divertimento
No. 17 in D major, K. 334, in 1780 for the university graduation of a
wealthy family friend. The piece is almost twice the length of No. 11 and displays a degree of maturity
and invention somewhat lacking in the earlier work. Again, Muller-Bruhl gives
us a gracious, friendly, cultivated reading, with an especially felicitous pair
of Menuettos, things we would expect
of dinner music. However, this is not merely background music; no Mozart could
be. These well-developed musical arrangements verge on symphonies; in fact, you
might even consider them overdeveloped symphonies, with their six-movement
design. Whatever you call them, they’re quite entertaining in Muller-Bruhl’s
capable hands. 

So, what Muller-Bruhl gives us are cultured, what some
people might call sedate Mozart interpretations, old-school Mozart you could
say, with accomplished playing from the Cologne Chamber Orchestra. To add
another plus to the affair, the total disc time is over seventy-three minutes,
something we don’t always find in this age of frugal recordings. Anyway,
if  some of today’s more frenetic
performances tire you, Muller-Bruhl’s more gentle approach may be right up your
alley.

Naxos recorded the music at the Deutschlandfunk
Kammermusiksaal, Cologne, Germany, in September of 2011. Typical of so many
Naxos products, the sound is warm and full, with a slightly soft, veiled
midrange and a slightly limited frequency and dynamic range. Still, these
qualities are not severe and may be just what the music needs; they provide an
easygoing atmosphere for Muller-Bruhl’s easygoing style. The moderately
close-up miking allows for a big sound, too, very wide and acceptably deep.

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

JJP

Mozart: In-Between (CD review)

Symphony No. 23;
Piano Concerto No. 9; Schuler: In-Between; others. David Greilsammer, piano and
conductor; Lawrence Zazzo, countertenor. L’Orchestre de Chamber de Geneve. Sony
88725430254.

Everybody needs a gimmick, I remarked the last time I
reviewed an album by David Greilsammer. That was Conversations, a disc that offered four segments comprised of three
piano selections each, two Baroque masterpieces as the outer movements and a
modern work in the middle. It was clever, and Greilsammer pulled it off pretty
well. With this follow-up album, In-Between,
Greilsammer provides several works by Mozart as a young man, a composer
“in-between” his earliest youth and his adulthood, along with the premiere
recording of a modern contemporary piece called In-Between by Swiss composer and musician Denis Schuler. While
Greilsammer again handles the music quite well, I’m not sure he and his
producer needed the “in-between” gimmick to sell it.

Anyway, David Greilsammer is a prizewinning pianist as
well as the Principal Conductor of the Geneva Chamber Orchestra. Born in
Jerusalem, Israel, he studied there at the Rubin Academy before entering the
Juliard School in New York and making his solo debut in 2004. Apparently, one
of the things audiences have enjoyed are his recitals juxtaposing Baroque and
contemporary music, as he did in his earlier program. Now, he tries a similarly
themed approach to Mozart.

Greilsammer says of the In-Between album, “Each of the pieces represents a different
in-between situation, all guiding us towards the violent imaginary storm that
occurs in Mozart’s heart. Once we have arrived inside this secret world, we
suddenly find ourselves facing a battle between opposing forces: light and
darkness, the human and the divine, childhood and adulthood, conservatism and
innovation, solitude and the collective, love and hatred, past and present,
dream and reality, father and mother.” I have only an inkling what he means, he
gets so carried away with his highfalutin rhetoric. Fortunately, Greilsammer’s
vague thematic connections cannot displace his excellent execution of the
music, which sounds delightful.

The program leads off with Mozart’s Symphony No. 23 in D major, K. 181, written in 1773 when the
composer was seventeen. Since it’s such a youthful work, that’s the way
Greilsammer conducts it--youthfully, with plenty of exuberant energy. The
symphony contains only three movements, in the Italian style of the day, and,
coincidentally, Mozart wrote it after his third trip to Italy. It’s very brief,
all three movements comprising less than ten minutes: fast-slow-fast, and more
like an overture, really. Greilsammer has fun with it, even though the second
movement isn’t so much fun as it is emphatically dramatic. The finale is ablaze
with action, which Greilsammer appears to delight in.

Next, we get Mozart’s Piano
Concerto No. 9 in E-flat major, K. 271 “Jeunehomme,” which he wrote in 1777
at the age of twenty-one. Here, Greilsammer both conducts the orchestra and
plays the piano, and it’s also here that Greilsammer proves his worth. The
piece has a delightful charm about it, and even if Greilsammer does go at it at
a lickety-split pace, he never loses track of either the pulse of the music or
the pleasures of the piano’s interactions with the orchestra. Meanwhile, the
orchestra provides a flawless dialogue with the piano.

Then, after a typically rambunctious first movement, we
get a surprisingly solemn and soul-searching second-movement Andantino that seems to come out of left
field and which Greilsammer performs with great sensitivity. The final movement
is also surprising in that it contains a lovely minuetto right in the middle of
an otherwise presto presentation. It’s like a miniature concerto unto itself,
and again Greilsammer impresses us with his spirited direction and virtuoso
performance.

To conclude the program we find two passages from Mozart’s
Thamos, Konig in Agypten, K. 345,
another early work, interrupted between passages by Denis Schuler’s In-Between, written in 2010, and,
finally, the aria “Venga pur, minacci e frema” from Mozart’s youthful opera Mitradate, re di Ponto, K. 87, which he
wrote around 1770 when he was only in his mid teens. Although the modern
Schuler work strikes an odd note alongside the Mozart, I suppose that’s the
point. Schuler tells us he intended it to sound like breathing, the sound going
in and out. Fair enough; but there seems little connection with Mozart outside
of Schuler’s title coinciding with Greilsammer’s. In any case, I would rather
have heard two longer Mozart pieces on the disc than the one longer work and
four shorter ones, but we have what we have, and it’s all pretty good.

Sony recorded the music at La Chaux-de-Fonds, Switzerland
in 2011, and they did a good job of it, too. The midrange is clear and taut,
with an exemplary transient response. Highs sound reasonably well extended, and
while the bass doesn’t need much low end, it’s there when necessary. The
orchestra displays a realistic depth of image as well as being suitably wide.
In the Concerto, the piano seems
ideally positioned just slightly ahead of the orchestra, and even if it tends
to change in size from time to time, it is hardly noticeable. A very light,
warm, ambient bloom complements the music making nicely.

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

JJP

Grieg: Piano Concerto (CD review)

Also, Symphonic Dances; In Autumn Overture. Havard Gimse, piano; Bjarte
Engeset, Royal Scottish National Orchestra. Naxos 8.557279.

Naxos has always
offered good value for the classical buyer’s dollar, as this album of Grieg’s
music demonstrates. The performances and sound may not rank with the absolute
best, but they’re close enough for most folks, I’m sure, and the seventy-one
minutes of playing time provide plenty to listen to.

The opening movement
of Edvard Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A
minor, a staple of the piano concerto repertoire and therefore having many
alternative rivals, is famous for its dramatic opening drum roll and cascading
crescendos from the piano. Pianist Havard Gimse, Maestro Bjarte Engeset, the
Royal Scottish National Orchestra, and the Naxos engineers nicely capture the
theatrical effect of this opening, and, indeed, the whole of the first movement
follows closely the excitement set out in the beginning. Throughout the work,
Gimse follows this pattern in exemplary fashion. Tempos remain moderate but
flexible; intonation is nuanced; transitions, as into the second subject, sound
smooth and fluid; and Gimse seems always sensitive to Grieg’s designs.

The second movement
comes across wonderfully hushed and continues to portray the beauty of nature
as Grieg intended. It’s in the final movement that the Concerto itself begins to suffer, as the finale has never seemed to
hang together well with the rest of the piece. The last movement is like a
miniature concerto unto itself, very folksy in its outer sections and sweetly
quiet in its middle. But it doesn’t have much to do with anything that went
before it, and neither Gimse nor conductor Engeset can do much about that. In
fact, by playing up the extremes, the performers only make matters worse. Oh,
well; it’s not a serious complaint.

Accompanying the Concerto is the brief tone poem “In
Autumn” and the suite of folk tunes called “Symphonic Dances.” They also come
off well, very colorfully and pictorially presented, although I doubt that most
buyers would be attracted to the disc by anything but the Concerto.

The Naxos sound is
excellent in terms of the piano tone in the Concerto,
very vibrant, clean, and alive. As for the orchestral sound, it’s a little less
so, both in the accompaniment to the Concerto
and in the coupling. I found it a bit lean in the bass and not entirely
transparent in the midrange. Still, it’s more than adequate, broad and
spacious.

Finally, I should
mention that as good a bargain as this Naxos release is, one can still buy the
two-disc, mid-priced Philips set that includes one of the best Grieg Concerto performances of all, with
Stephen Kovacevich and Colin Davis, along with piano concertos from Schumann
(Kovacevich), Addinsell (Dichter), Tchaikovsky (Argerich), and Brahms
(Kovacevich again), making the Philips set one of the ultimate great bargains
in the history of recorded music.

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

JJP

Mahler: Symphony No. 1 (HDCD review)

Christoph
Eschenbach, Houston Symphony Orchestra. HDTT HDCD283.

The folks at HDTT (High Definition Tape Transfers) usually
take recordings that are either out of the catalogue or out of copyright and
transfer them to CD from commercial tapes or vinyl discs in audiophile sound.
This time they did something slightly different, taking 16-bit Betamax master
tape and converting and processing it for compact disc. The results are up to
HDTT’s typically high sonic standards, and the performance by Maestro Christoph
Eschenbach and the Houston Symphony, heretofore commercially unreleased, is
quite good.

Gustav Mahler wrote the Symphony No. 1 in D major in 1888, premiering it in 1889, calling
it at first a symphonic poem rather than a symphony and temporarily, at least,
giving it the nickname “Titan.” Within a few years, however, he revised it to
the four-movement piece we have today and dropped the “Titan” designation. The
work’s popularity soared at the beginning of the stereo age, along with that of
the Fourth Symphony, possibly because
the composer scored the First for a
very large orchestra, and with its soaring melodies, enormous impact, and
dramatic contrasts it makes a spectacular impression on the listener. Plus, the
First and Fourth are Mahler’s shortest symphonies, making them ideal for home
listening.

Anyway, you’ll recall that for the Symphony No. 1 Mahler said he was trying to describe a protagonist
facing life, with a progression beginning with the lighter moments of youth and
proceeding to the darker years of maturity. In the first movement, “Spring
without End,” we see Mahler’s youthful hero in the symbolic stirring of Nature
before a long spring. In the second-movement Scherzo, “With Full Sail,” we find Mahler in one of his early
mock-sentimental moods, displaying an exuberance that he may have meant as
ironic. In the third movement we get an intentionally awkward funeral march
depicting a hunter’s fairy-tale burial, which comes off as a typical Mahler
parody. It may represent the hero’s first glimpse of death or maybe Mahler’s
own recollection of a youthful encounter with the death of a loved one. The
movement has long been one of the Mahler’s most controversial, with audiences
still debating just what the composer was up to. Then, in the finale, Mahler
conveys the panic “of a deeply wounded heart,” as his central figure faces the
suffering of life and fate. Still, Mahler was a spiritual optimist and wanted
Man to triumph in the end. In the final twenty minutes or so, Mahler pulls out
all the stops and puts the orchestra into full swing, making it an audiophile
favorite for home playback.

Maestro Eschenbach has proved himself a sturdy conductor.
Expect no idiosyncratic or revelatory performance here but a good, solid,
serious-minded, highly refined one. Of course, I suppose a person could
question the need for yet another straightforward interpretation of Mahler’s
score with so many emotionally charged recordings already available from the
likes of Mackerras (EMI), Horenstein (Unicorn), Solti (Decca), Kubelik (DG),
Bernstein (DG), Walter (Sony), Haitink (Philips), Tennstedt (EMI), Luisi (WS),
and others. There is, however, something one can say for a performance that is
all Mahler, with few excesses or exaggerations, and a recording that sounds as
good as this one.

In the first movement Eschenbach takes his time with the
morning mists and the coming of spring. Mahler marked the opening “slowly,
sluggish or dragging,” and while “sluggish” and “dragging” can seem somewhat
derogatory, I’m sure the composer didn’t mean them that way, nor does
Eschenbach “drag” anything out. But, yes, Eschenbach’s account of the music
does appear more leisurely than most other accounts. When the main theme enters
some five or six minutes in, it has an appropriately youthful bounce.
Eschenbach also shows a propensity for emphasizing contrasts by bringing the
orchestra down to a whisper in quieter passages, making those big Mahlerian
outbursts appear all the more earthshaking. So, even though Eschenbach may be a
tad more relaxed than many other conductors here, you can’t say the performance
lacks requisite thrills.

In the second movement the conductor moves implacably
forward, not too quickly yet with enough momentum to keep listeners on their
toes, so to speak. Then he introduces some heady tempo changes to keep everyone
just a little off balance. Even so, the music is lovely in the Landler section
especially.

The third-movement funeral march could have advanced at a
little faster pace, and this is the only part of the performance where I
thought Eschenbach’s reading seemed a touch undernourished and under
characterized. Be that as it may, the music comes off as bizarre as ever,
particularly in the second half.

In the finale, Mahler appears to ask if life’s upheavals
truly come to a resolution in the hero’s victory over life’s tribulations, or
if the triumph is illusory, a temporary conquest, as ironic as the earlier
funeral march. You’ll hear nothing undernourished about Eschenbach’s reading
here. He unleashes his Houston players in a flurry of power and excitement.
Mahler wanted a stormily agitated and energetic feeling from the music, and the
conductor provides it in aces, aided by a bass drum that sounds as though it
could do some serious woofer damage if played too carelessly loud.

In all, Eschenbach offers up a more cultured, more lyrical
Mahler First than we often hear.
Although he lets the music speak eloquently for itself, there is much refined
beauty in the conductor’s rendition of this familiar score.

HDTT transferred the music from an original 16-bit Betamax
master, using a Sony PCM501ES digital processor feeding an Antelope Audio
Eclipse converter and transformed to 24/96 resolution. With minimal miking (two
Neumann KM83 microphones across the front of the orchestra), the recordist made
the Betamax tape live at Jones Hall, Houston, Texas, in 1987.

Betamax?, I hear some of you asking yourselves. Yes,
Betamax, which was quite a good recording format, even if it didn’t yield the
bit rates of today’s digital masters. Regardless, the folks at HDTT do such a
good job transferring it for today’s home use, it doesn’t matter where they got
it. Believe me, it will satisfy most demanding audiophiles. The giant bass
whacks alone will please most listeners; then add in a wide dynamic range, a
very smooth, very extended frequency range, sharp transient attacks, and a
broad stereo spread, and you get some pleasing effects. What’s more, the
recording exhibits a good sense of orchestral depth and a fine,
natural-sounding midrange transparency, making it all the more lifelike and
attractive. But it is a live recording, so expect an inevitable outburst of
applause at the end. That said, the audience is generally quiet during the
performance, even when the music fades into almost silent intervals. In all,
excellent sound.

For further
information about the various formats, configurations, and prices of HDTT
products, you can visit their Web site at
http://www.highdeftapetransfers.com/storefront.php.

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

JJP

Chavez: Piano Concerto (CD review)

Also, Meditacion; Moncayo:
Muros Verdes; Zyman: Variations on an Original Theme. Jorge Federico Osorio,
piano; Miguel Prieto, Orquesta Sinfonica Nacional de Mexico. Cedille CDR 90000
140.

So, who is Carlos Chavez, whose Piano Concerto is the centerpiece of this Cedille disc?
Regrettably, I must admit that I had never heard of him before now, which only
demonstrates how little I know. Carlos Antonio de Padua Chávez y Ramírez
(1899-1978) was a Mexican composer, conductor, educator, and journalist, the
founder and director of the National Symphony Orchestra of Mexico, the very
group who perform on this album. Chavez wrote symphonies, quartets, sonatas,
incidental music, and concertos, and he was among the most influential
composers of his day.

Fortunately, I can say I have heard of pianist Jorge
Federico Osorio, who performs the Piano
Concerto along with several solo pieces on the disc. Osorio is a piano
virtuoso of international fame, and in my experience he has never demonstrated
anything but sensitive, immaculate, committed, passionate  playing in his work. It was a pleasure
listening to him on the Cedille disc, and even though I had never heard any of
the music before, he made it appear vibrant and entertaining.

As I say, the centerpiece is Chavez’s Piano Concerto, written in 1940. Now, here’s the thing: If you’re
looking for something Latin-inflected, this may not be what you want. While the
booklet note says that Chavez adhered to local tradition and borrowed from
indiginous native culture, I could hardly detect it. The fact is, there is more
Stravinsky here than anything Hispanic or Native American; however, as Chavez’s
style is to create constantly shifting dissonances, it’s hard to tell what
might be buried in all the notes.

Anyway, there seemed to me to be as many Asian-oriented
passages as anything else, at least in the first few minutes. Now, here’s the
thing: You may find it as complex and scintillating as critics did at the
premiere or as cacophonous as audiences did, which may explain why the piece
has gotten so little attention since. Nevertheless, as a modernist, Chavez used
cacophony as a part of his technique, so you live with it.

Although I had no other recording of the Concerto with which to compare this one,
I can’t imagine another surpassing Osorio’s way with it. His playing is full of
intense, nervous energy, which no doubt the Chavez work requires. There is
nothing Romantic or sentimental, either, not in Chavez’s music and not in
Osorio’s performance.

What we get here is an abundance of sharp contrasts and
vibrant rhythms, with a good deal of percussion and flute backing up Osorio’s
piano. But it’s always Osorio’s piano that is front and center in the music,
with Osorio mining a seemingly inexhaustible fund of accents, textures,
nuances, and brief flurries of melody.

Chavez follows the momentous first movement with a rather
outgoing slow one, largely scored for piano, harp, and reeds. Again, it’s
Osorio who rightly dominates, his playing always keeping the listener intently
aware that this is music of an original kind, strongly characterful, but,
again, never romanticized or nostalgic. Then, with the finale, we’re back to
the cacophony of the first movement, where Osorio dazzles with his gymnastic
finger work. It’s quite a bravura piece of music with a performance by Osorio,
Maestro Miguel Prieto, and the Orquesta Sinfonica Nacional de Mexico to match.
Whether you’ll like it or not is another question.

Also on the program are three solo piano pieces, the first
of which is Chavez’s Meditacion, an
early work from 1918. As the name implies, it’s contemplative, sounding rather
Debussy-like in its quiet, dreamy way. Osorio makes sure, though, that we don’t
dismiss it out of hand as lightweight, and his alternating dynamism brings out
the work’s more-creative development.

Next, there is Muros
Verdes (“Green Wall,” 1951) by Jose Pablo Moncayo (1912-1958), a Mexican
pianist, percussionist, music teacher, composer, and conductor. As with Meditacion, Muros Verdes comes across
with an easygoing stillness. Then, the album ends with Variations on an Original Theme (2007) by the contemporary Mexican
composer Samuel Zyman (b. 1956). It exhibits a remarkable variety of fast,
slow, agitated, relaxed, and vibrant characteristics. Needless to say, Osorio
puts his heart into it, and while it can sound somewhat as cacophonous as
Chavez’s Concerto, it also sounds
richly expressive.

Producer and engineer Bogdan Zawistowski and engineer
Humberto Teran recorded the Concerto
in 2011 at Sala Nezahualcoyotl, Centro Cultural Universitario UNAM, Mexico; and
producer James Ginsburg and engineer Bill Maylone recorded the additional solo
pieces in 2012 at the Fay and Daniel Levin Performance Studio at 98.7 WFMT,
Chicago. The miking in the Concerto
ideally integrates the piano and orchestra, even if the modest distance
employed can result in a slightly recessed sound if played back too softly. The
midrange is smooth and natural, without losing too much detail, the hall
imparting a faint, pleasant glow to the music. At an appropriate playback level
the sound is nigh-well perfect, with wonderful percussion effects. In the solo
pieces, we hear a slightly closer, more-dynamic piano sound, near ideal.

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

JJP

Stravinsky: The Rite of Spring (CD review)

Also, Petrouchka.
Jon Kimura Parker, solo piano. Jon Kimura Parker FP 0907.

Over the years there have been a number of piano
transcriptions of Stravinsky’s Rite of
Spring, including several that Stravinsky himself wrote for two hands and
four. The former the composer used to preview the work for producers and
conductors and the latter he used for rehearsals. So, the new transcription for
solo piano we get here from noted Canadian pianist Jon Kimura Parker is nothing
innovative. It’s just something better, being more complex, more detailed, more
demanding than any piano transcription we’ve yet heard of the Rite, and probably better played in this
world-premiere recording.

Explaining his reasons for the new piano arrangements of
old orchestral scores we hear on the present disc, Mr. Parker says in a liner
note, “When I discovered Stravinsky’s piano duet version, my obsession with
playing this music at the piano began in earnest. I noticed that Stravinsky,
having arranged the duet primarily to facilitate ballet rehearsal, was less
fastidious with details than I had expected. I became engrossed in adding
instrumental lines that had been left out. From there, it was a natural
evolution to try to manage it all myself. The
Rite of Spring has been transcribed for solo piano before, in versions so
bare as to be unsatisfying, or so inclusive as to be unplayable. However, it is
well known that Stravinsky often composed at the piano, and many sections in The Rite bear this out. Petrouchka (1911) presented a different
challenge, in that Stravinsky had already created a virtuoso solo piano suite
from selected moments of the ballet. Upon reflection I chose to honor the
tragic conclusion of the story by transcribing the ballet in its original and
complete form.”

Listening to any transcription of a familiar work may take
a little getting used to, and these adaptions of Stravinsky for the keyboard
may be an acquired taste. Personally, I miss the vibrant percussion of a full
orchestra. However, there is no denying that in Mr. Parker’s hands, The Rite, especially, reveals new depths
of clarity and detail without losing much of its rhythmic pulse. This is no
doubt a tribute not only to Parker’s fine piano arrangement but to his dynamic
piano playing.

Russian-born American composer Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971)
wrote The Rite of Spring for the 1913
Paris season of Sergei Diaghilev's Ballets Russes, where the music scandalized
the country. To be fair, it had probably as much to do with Vaslav Nijinsky’s
choreography as with the music. Anyway, Mr. Parker’s piano score brings out all
the primitive strains in the piece as well as its quiet lyricism.

Parker manages to capture all of Stravinsky’s rowdy,
sensual, rhythmic vitality in his piano rendition.  Going in, I had some minor reservations about whether or not he
really could pull it off. But the man is amazing. His virtuosity is dazzling
and his expressive technique remarkable. You won’t be more than five minutes
into the album before you forget there’s no orchestra involved. It’s almost
uncanny how Parker is able to recreate the orchestral textures and harmonic
nuances of the music. If you are fond of The
Rite but have grown tired of all the new recordings of it sounding alike,
you owe it to yourself to try this one; it’s like nothing you’ve probably heard
before.

Stravinsky composed his ballet Petrouchka in 1910–11 and revised it in 1947. It tells the story of
a traditional Russian puppet, Petrouchka, made of straw and sawdust, who comes
to life and develops a life of his own, complete with emotions. The composer
wrote it just a year after The Firebird
and two years before The Rite, so he
was flying high.

Petrouchka
benefits a little less from Parker’s new transcription, probably because the
music itself, while exceptionally melodious, is less innovative than The Rite and because the composer
himself wrote a really good piano suite of the music with which many people are
already familiar. Nevertheless, Parker’s complete piano rendering contains a
good deal of color and excitement, and with the performer’s brilliant finger
work the tale comes to life with passion and pathos.

Stravinsky wrote some spectacular ballet music, and Jon
Kimura Parker’s piano transcriptions and his playing of them do both scores
justice.

Mr. Parker recorded The
Rite and Petrouchka for his own
recording label in 2009 and 2012 at Stude Concert Hall, The Shephard School of
Music, Rice University, Houston, Texas. The piano sound is rich, warm,
mellifluous, and resonant. Its mellow bloom accompanies a strong impact from
the keys, well caught by the audio engineer. Highs ring out vividly, and low
notes make their presence known.  It’s
the kind of big, brawny, yet intimate piano sound that fits the music
perfectly. It lights up the room.

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

JJP

Haydn: Symphonies Nos. 99-104 (CD review)

Sir Thomas Beecham, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. EMI 7243 5 85513-2
(2-disc set).

Time was, you
couldn’t consider recordings of the late Haydn symphonies without mentioning Sir
Thomas Beecham. The symphonies were among his treasures, and he spent a
lifetime playing and perfecting them before recording them in stereo late in
his career in 1959. The maestro’s experience showed, and for most of the late
Fifties and Sixties, the Beecham records held sway.

By the late Sixties
and mid Seventies, however, other conductors had come along to provide Beecham
some competition, Otto Klemperer and Eugen Jochum in particular. Then came
Colin Davis, Leonard Slatkin, Charles Mackerras, Sigiswald Kuijken, Roy
Goodman, Christopher Hogwood, and others. But now that I’ve returned to these
recordings, I see little reason to question their authority as some of the
overall best of the lot.

Oh, there are
individual favorites I still retain, like Klemperer in “The Clock” and Jochum
in the “Military” Symphony, but as a set, these final six of Haydn’s twelve
“London” Symphonies from Beecham are hard to beat. They got the nickname
“London” Symphonies, of course, because Haydn wrote them while he was
temporarily living in London. Four of the final six have descriptive nicknames
that call them easily to mind: No. 100, the “Military” because of its march and
the martial sound of its percussive instrumentation; No. 101, the “Clock”
because of its second movement imitation of a clock’s second hand ticking; No.
103, the “Drum Roll” because of its...wait for it...drum roll; and No. 104, the
“London” simply because it was the last symphony Haydn would write in London.
Or anywhere, for that matter.

Beecham brings to
the performances his usual joyous, cheerful mood plus a touch so light you can
feel the music wafting out of the speakers, floating out the window, and into
the breeze. Yet in the culminating “London” Symphony there is a nobility and
grandeur to match Mozart’s “Jupiter.” The playing is felicitous throughout, the
atmosphere always loving, always caring. Nothing about the performances seems
anything but perfect. They simply remain head and shoulders above most of their
rivals.

When I first heard
Beecham’s Haydn symphonies on compact disc, unfortunately early in the CD era,
I didn’t care much for the sound; they had not made a good transition to silver
disc and sounded hard, edgy, and exceptionally noisy. It was one of my biggest
disappointments not to have Beecham’s Haydn included in my then-new CD music
collection. But a few years ago EMI remastered the symphonies, and in the
present two-disc set they sound fine. There is still a touch of background
noise if played loudly, but who plays Haydn that loudly? And the sound is still
a tad thin in the bass. But a smoother net effect now graces the ear, warmer
and less brittle. The midrange is perhaps not as transparent as it could be,
but there is nothing, really, that should deter a listener from appreciating
the performances to their fullest. A wonderful investment.

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

JJP

Bach: Violin Concertos (XRCD review)

Concerto in A
minor; Double Concerto in D minor; Concerto in E major. Yehudi Menuhin, violin;
Christian Ferras, violin; Bath Festival Orchestra. Hi-Q HIQXRCD9.

This recording by violinist Yehudi Menuhin from the late
Fifties is probably my earliest encounter with Bach’s violin concertos, and it
was fortuitous because Menuhin played them so well. After buying the EMI LP in
the late Sixties, I had it until the advent of the compact disc era in the
early Eighties, at which point it became a casualty of the transition. After
giving the vinyl away, I had always meant to replace it with a CD copy, but it
never happened. I suppose by then I had become rather fond of Baroque music
played on period instruments (or “historically informed performances” as folks
call them today), and I probably thought Menuhin too old fashioned for my
taste. Listening to the recording again, however, newly remastered to
audiophile standards by JVC and distributed by Hi-Q Records, was something of a
revelation. I can see now why I liked it so much all those many years ago.

The album begins with Bach’s Violin Concerto in A minor, BWV 1041, which may have been the last
of the three violin concertos the composer wrote, despite the catalogue number.
Menuhin plays it with a flowing grace--Romantic by today’s standards, to be
sure--but still lively. Unlike the practices of artists using period or modern
instruments who try to emphasize the fast-slow contrasts they believe are most
authentic by playing them ultra fast or ultra slowly, Menuhin sounds more
cultured and refined for any of that, all the while providing the needed
excitement in the music. Although we hear some of the dynamic variety we expect
from a Baroque concerto, Menuhin doesn’t go to the extremes that some other
violinists and groups currently favor.

Menuhin takes the first movement in a spirited manner; the
slow middle movement in a serious, almost grave way; and the finale in a
cheerful, fluid mode that skips along lightly and eloquently. All the time, the
accompaniment by the strings and continuo offer him the utmost care and
sympathy.

Next, we hear the Concerto
for 2 Violins in D minor, BWV 1043, the “Double Concerto,” which Bach probably wrote somewhere between
1717-1723 and has long been a favorite of the public. Here, violinist Christian
Ferras joins Menuhin in a fine pairing, their violin parts intertwining as a
whole. They handle the opening Vivace
movement in commendably animated style; the Largo
is as lovely as any I’ve heard; and even with their relaxed speeds, the closing
Allegro sounds energetic, echoing
some of the composer’s Brandenburg
work. Interestingly, the ensemble accompaniment more or less fades into the
background on this one, practically disappearing from our notice.

The Violin Concerto
in E major, BWV 1042, has long been my own personal favorite among the
three violin concertos, and I’d quite forgotten how charming it sounded in
Menuhin’s hands. Again, with its well-known Brandenburg
connections, there is a more gentle touch throughout than I’ve heard in most
other renditions, and Menuhin appears more expressive than I remember; the Adagio more somber, thoughtful, and
contemplative; and the final Allegro
happier and more content. In all, it’s a splendid disc.

Incidentally, the album lists the accompanying ensemble as
both the Robert Masters Chamber Orchestra as well as the Bath Festival
Orchestra. To clear things up, I went to the Web site of the Royal Academy of
Music, where we learn that violinist Robert Masters was a “keen observer of the
career path followed by the legendary Yehudi Menuhin and recognised by the late
1950’s that what Menuhin needed most was a grouping of exceptional musicians to
accompany him on recordings, on concert tours, and in festivals. Yehudi greeted
the proposal with typical enthusiasm, and by mid 1958 Robert had brought
together the players--all drawn from the foremost chamber music ensembles
including the Aeolian and Allegri Quartets--for their first concerts at the
Festival Hall and recording sessions in the studios of EMI. It became known
over the next 20 years as the Bath Festival Orchestra and the Menuhin Festival
Orchestra.” And, apparently, EMI sometimes listed it as the Robert Masters Chambers
Orchestra.

Two of EMI’s top people--producer Peter Andry and engineer
Robert Gooch--recorded the music in 1958 and 1959 at London’s Kingsway Hall,
the venue EMI, Decca, and other companies used for any number of fine
recordings over the years. Here, they captured the solo violin pieces a little
brightly but extremely clearly and cleanly; and JVC, using their XRCD and K2
remastering and manufacturing processes, replicate it on disc about as well as
I would imagine possible. They also got a wide stereo spread, yet without
stretching the image too far beyond the speakers. It’s a natural, transparent
sound, the violin nicely integrated into the orchestral setting, with a modicum
of depth, air, and ambient hall bloom adding to the feeling of realism. The
second of solo concertos, BWV 1042, actually sounds a tad smoother to me than
the first, and the Double Concerto
appears a touch darker.

The packaging from Hi-Q continues to look quite lavish,
the disc fastened to a slick, hard-cardboard Digipak case with notes bound
inside. Sure, the whole affair is expensive, and it’s not the kind of recording
for which everyone would be willing to shell out; yet there’s no denying how
good it is, interpretively and sonically.

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

JJP

Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition (HQCD review)

Calvin Hampton,
organ. HDTT HQCD281.

Originally, Russian composer
Modest Mussorgsky (1839-1881) wrote his Pictures at an Exhibition in 1874 as a collection of piano pieces,
each of the short movements describing a different painting or drawing by his
friend, Viktor Hartmann. The composer’s idea was to create a series of tone
poems as a tribute to the artist by depicting impressions of ten of Hartmann’s paintings
hanging in a gallery and being viewed by passersby. All the same, Mussorgsky’s
piano music never really impressed the public; then, many years later, Maurice
Ravel orchestrated the music, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Over the years, we’ve
had any number of good piano recordings of the work, but it wasn’t until the
early Seventies that church organist Calvin Hampton transcribed the piano
pieces for organ and recorded them for Musical Heritage Society. Since then, we
have gotten a number of organ recordings. Still, it was Hampton’s controversial
organ recording that people probably knew best, a recording as highly praised
for its sound as criticized for its interpretation. Then, in 1982, recording
engineer John Profitt heard that Hampton was performing the Mussorgsky piece on
the organ in Rochester, NY, and figured he and his team could perhaps, in his
words, “do Hampton’s masterful transcription better justice” than the earlier
recording had. Thus, the impetus for the present recording, remastered here by
HDTT (High Definition Tape Transfers).

I suspect that listeners may react to this HDTT remaster
much as they did to Mr. Hampton’s earlier MHS recording, that is, with as much
admiration as disdain. Let’s begin with Hampton’s organ transcription and his
performance of it. On the plus side, Hampton’s transcription is very
straightforward and unadorned, and that’s the way he plays it. You won’t find
any ornamentation or flourishes here, just the notes of Mussorgsky’s music
plain and simple. On the minus side, Hampton’s transcription is very
straightforward and unadorned, and that’s the way he plays it. You won’t find
any ornamentation or flourishes here, just the notes of Mussorgsky’s music
plain and simple. In other words, everyone who hears the performance will
respond to it differently. Those who like their music simple and unmannered
will probably find great comfort in what Hampton provides. Those who prefer
more character, more passion, a more individualized interpretation will
probably find Hampton’s rending rather sterile.

Personally, I found Hampton’s realization of Mussorgsky’s
tone poems somewhat lacking in color, in the drama behind the pictures. The
organist appears more interested in what the music sounds like than in what the
music represents. As a consequence, the performance seems to me too
uncompromising for its own good, too devoid of life. Mussorgsky created little
works of art, after all, to depict, well, little works of art. I’d have
preferred the musician playing them to have brought those works of art more
vividly to life. But, who knows, maybe I just don’t have enough imagination;
for other listeners, Hampton’s readings may reveal a wealth of imagery.

By the time the second “Promenade” rolls around, however,
Hampton has warmed more to his subject. “The Old Castle” is appropriately
eerie, “Tuileres” sounds charming, and “Bydlo” lumber along satisfactorily.
“The Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” comes to life more than almost anything
else on the program, “Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuyle” argue convincingly, and
“The Market at Limoges” seems lively enough. So, while Hampton doesn’t exactly
light up the house with his playing, he is more than competent. It’s in the
final four movements that I thought he lost some enthusiasm. “The Catacombs”
and “Con mortuis mortua” seemed fairly perfunctory, and the big finish with
“The Hut on Fowl’s Legs” and “The Great Gate of Kiev” haven’t the impact or
splendor I expected, the former seeming rushed and the latter a bit shaky.

HDTT transferred the music from a 15ips 2-track master
tape, recorded live in 1982 at the Ashbury First Methodist Church, Rochester,
NY. Here, too, in the matter of sound quality we may find contention among
listeners, with audiophiles perhaps loving it best of all and ordinary
listeners bewildered at what the fuss is all about. Let me explain.

The remastering sounds quite clean and quite clear
transferred to an HQCD as I heard it. Transient response is outstanding, with
every note exceptionally taut, beginning and ending in a thoroughly
well-defined manner. The mikes pick up very few hall reflections, so the organ
notes have a kind of clinical precision about them. There is good depth in the
hall, though, and we appear to be hearing the organ from a comfortable
distance. There are some very deep lows involved, again very well controlled.
Nevertheless, without out much hall reverberation, the bass may not seem as
superficially impressive as the woolly low end we too often encounter in these
affairs. More important, absent a severe mid-bass rise in the response, the
rest of the frequency spectrum appears all the more transparent

Two things did annoy me slightly, however: Hampton’s
arrangement and playing style occasionally elicit what I can only describe as a
few squawks from the organ; they strike an odd note I did not find particularly
attractive. Then there is the matter of the minor but noticeable audience
noise, especially conspicuous between movements and during quieter passages. I
could have done without it, along with the inevitable burst of applause at the
end.

For further information about the various formats,
configurations, and prices of HDTT products, you can visit their Web site at
http://www.highdeftapetransfers.com/storefront.php.

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

JJP

Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 4 & 7 (CD review)

Nicholas McGegan,
Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra. Philharmonia Baroque Productions PBP-06.

To begin, let me admit a bias: I’ve been attending
performances of the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra almost since the day they
first started offering concerts in the San Francisco Bay Area over thirty years
ago. They are, in my opinion, one of the best period-instruments ensembles in
the country; nay, in the world. Needless to say, their present recording of
Beethoven’s Fourth and Seventh Symphonies did not disappoint
me. If you think my highly positive predisposition toward the orchestra colors
my judgment, so be it.

First up, we get the Symphony
No. 4 in B flat, Op. 60 (1806),
the piece that often gets lost between the bigger and more popular Third and Fifth Symphonies. Compared to them, the Fourth Symphony may appear lightweight and something of a letdown
for a lot of listeners. Fortunately, Maestro Nicholas McGegan and the PBO
provide the Fourth such a vigorous
and spirited presentation that it sounds better than ever. Their performance
reminded me of Hector Berlioz’s description of the Fourth as “lively, nimble, joyous, or of a heavenly sweetness.”
Like a recent recording by Joshua Bell and the ASMF, McGegan and the PBO take
Berlioz’s depiction of the work to heart.

After an appropriately slow, sedate introduction (Adagio), the main Allegro vivace takes over, the tempo as vivacious and “vivace” as
one could want, with hints of the Pastoral
Symphony to come. You can almost see McGegan gleefully dancing through the
movement (as is his wont; he’s a very animated conductor).

The second-movement Largo
(one of Beethoven’s most relaxed) flows gracefully and sweetly along.  The Scherzo
takes us through genuine Presto
territory and leads to a finale that inevitably reminds us of the first
movement, if at a slightly less-heightened step. McGegan forces the listener to
reevaluate the symphony’s worth.

Beethoven wrote his Symphony
No. 7 in A, Op. 92 in 1812, about half a dozen years after he wrote the Fourth. Critics sometimes identify it
with characteristics of the dance (“The apotheosis of the dance,” as Wagner
remarked), and it should certainly radiate a sprightly charm. Like the Fourth Symphony, the Seventh
begins with a lengthy preface, this time bigger and grander, before the
entrance of the main theme, again in a Vivace
tempo. And again McGegan and his players reward us with well-judged speeds and
rhythms, all of them springing to life with the utmost lyricism. McGegan does
it up most heartily.

The conductor next takes the Allegretto at a healthy but not extravagant walking pace, this
“processional in the catacombs” never turning into the full-fledged funeral
march we often hear. Beethoven marked the body of the third movement “Assai
meno presto” (very much less fast), which has led conductors to puzzle over it
ever since. McGegan takes a middle course, and the whole thing winds up less
hectic than some period conductors have played.

Then we come to the finale, which should sound wild and
swirling without going all crazy and breathless. You can hear a snippet of it
below, where McGegan shapes it perfectly: fast, energetic, and exciting, yet
refined and cultured, too. The PBO’s account of the Seventh Symphony stands with the best, most-thrilling versions on
record, on period or modern instruments.

The orchestra made the recording live during performances
in 2012 (No. 4) and 2009 (No. 7) at First Congregational Church in
Berkeley, California. I’ve listened to many a concert over the years at First
Congregational, and I can attest to the recording sounding pretty much as I’ve
always found the hall sounding. Which is to say, pretty good. However, by
“pretty good” I don’t mean to imply that the recording is better than the PBO’s
best non-live productions, like their Handel Water Music, Mozart Horn
Concertos, or, especially, their Vivaldi Four Seasons, which are clearer, tauter, airier, more dynamic, and
better focused. Nevertheless, as I say, both Beethoven recordings sound
lifelike enough, with almost no audience noise. What’s more, the engineers
edited out the applause after the first work, leaving only a burst of applause
after the final piece, the Seventh
Symphony. Perhaps in their next live production, they’ll eliminate the
applause altogether. Or, who knows, since the applause is admittedly a minor
detail, maybe I’m the only one in the world who disapproves of it interrupting
my appreciation of recorded music. Of course, we expect applause at live
events, and I have no objection; but a recording played in my living room is a
different experience. Yeah, I know, picky, picky, picky.

Anyway, the present recording sounds warm and resonant,
clearly a condition of the venue. There is a wide stereo spread, a quality of
the microphone placement, no doubt, which needs to be relatively close in order
to minimize audience noise. Inner detailing suffers a little from the natural
reverberation of the church setting, and the high end seems a tad limited,
perhaps because of the absorptive properties of the listeners themselves.
Otherwise, the sound opens up nicely, with plenty of ambient bloom and at least
a modicum of orchestral depth.

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

JJP

Elgar: Violin Concerto (CD review)

Also, Vaughan Williams: The Lark Ascending. Hillary Hahn, violin; Sir
Colin Davis, London Symphony Orchestra. DG B00003026-02.

I have to admit that
it’s hard for me to remain attentive through music I don’t particularly enjoy.
The Elgar Violin Concerto has been
popular among the public for nearly a century, so there’s no doubting its
quality, but I have never found it entirely compelling, especially not the
first movement, which seems to me to drift from one place to another. There is
a sweet second movement, true, and things do finally come together in the last
movement, but it seems a long time coming.

Anyway, this is
meant as no disrespect to Ms. Hahn’s violin playing, for which I have the
utmost respect and admiration. I just don’t know that there is a lot she can
do, even with her beautiful performance of the second movement, with something
that other artists haven’t done better before her. The “better” in this case
would be Zukerman’s recording (Sony), Menuhin’s (EMI), Perlman’s (DG), and,
especially, either of Nigel Kennedy’s (EMI) recordings, in which Kennedy’s
violin almost literally “sings” through the music. It is Kennedy’s greater
expressive quality that almost (I say “almost”) makes me appreciate the work
for the intimate, biographical outpouring of personal spirit it contains.
Nevertheless, Ms. Hahn gives it her all, and while her tempos may seem a bit
hurried in places and she misses some of the darker aspects of the score, she
does convey much of the composer’s soul, as well, perhaps, of her own. Without
a doubt, if you love the music, you’ll love Ms. Hahn’s way with it, especially
with the late Sir Colin Davis leading the LSO in sympathetic support.

As a companion work
with the Concerto we find Ralph
Vaughan Williams’s “The Lark Ascending,” a piece for which I have a most
heartfelt affection. It is one of the loveliest pieces of music ever written,
and one of the staples of the repertoire for calming the frayed nerves of the
weary traveler at the end of a long day. Ms. Hahn conveys the beauty of the
lark’s upward flight with dignity and compassion, but, like the Elgar, it
didn’t quite touch me the way another artist’s does, Hugh Bean’s celebrated
performance with Sir Adrian Boult and the Philharmonia Orchestra (EMI, 1967).

In all, I’d say if
you’re looking for this particular coupling on a single disc, or if you’ve got
a yearning to hear Elgar’s violin piece for the first time, Ms. Hahn’s
recording is one to consider. There is no questioning her artistry.

As to the audio
quality, time was when I thought DG’s sound was too hard, bright, and edgy, but
with this release it appears their sound is a little too warm and smooth. Maybe
I’m just hard to please. A quick comparison of both the EMI discs mentioned
above with this DG release makes the point. The EMI recordings have greater
transparency, greater dynamic impact, and greater depth to the stereo image. No
one is likely to find DG’s sound lacking, mind you, except dedicated
audiophiles, who will probably not care for the sound of the EMI’s, either, so
it may be a moot point.

A final note on the
packaging: If you count the back cover picture of Ms. Hahn, the inside cover
picture, the outside booklet cover, the back booklet cover, and the seven
additional pictures of the artist inside the booklet, you will find eleven
pictures of her in all. Now, I don’t deny she is a lovely lady and pleasant to
look at, but it does seem like overkill, a certain waste of space that might
otherwise have gone to more informational text about the composers, the
artists, or the works involved. Oh, well; I suppose marketing is marketing.

To hear a brief excerpt from this album, click here:

JJP

Stravinsky: The Rite of Spring (CD review)

Leonard Bernstein,
New York Philharmonic. Sony 88765469152
(remastered).

When I first started seriously collecting classical
records back in the Sixties and Seventies, I always admired the performances of
Columbia (CBS) recording artists like Leonard Bernstein, George Szell, Bruno
Walter, and Eugene Ormandy. But the sound of their recordings always
disappointed me, most often being thin, bright, shrill, and devoid of anything
resembling deep bass. Then along came the digital age in the early Eighties,
and I sent away for a Japanese remastered CD of Ormandy’s Holiday for Orchestra, originally an LP from the Sixties. What a
revelation; the engineers had opened up the frequency response and dynamic
range, creating a whole new sonic world I’d never heard before from a
Columbia/CBS product. Then when Sony took over the CBS catalogue in the late
Eighties and began remastering many of the old titles themselves, I found a new
wealth of material to enjoy. So, perhaps you can understand my delight when the
folks at Sony told me they had completely remastered Leonard Bernstein’s 1958
recording of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring,
a recording they had already transferred to CD years before but this time have
done up even better.

While Bernstein would go on to record The Rite of Spring two more times in stereo, a second for CBS and then one for DG, this first stereo version remains my favorite. It may have been among the composer's favorites, too, because upon hearing Bernstein's interpretation, I've read Stravinsky had one word for it: "Wow!" Of course, the composer may have simply been being sarcastic. In any event, there is no doubt the recording had an effect on him.

Wow, indeed.

Bernstein described The
Rite saying, “Only one of your everyday volcanic masterpieces...a
miraculous new creation of such originality and power that still today it
shocks and overwhelms us.” I’d say “Volcanic,” “miraculous,” “originality,” and
“power” are words that might well describe Bernstein’s 1958 recording, too.
Bernstein at the time was just taking over the reins of the New York
Philharmonic and about to shape it back into the best ensemble it had ever
been. The Rite was only the
beginning.

The thing with The
Rite is that at the ballet’s Paris premiere in 1913, it (and, to be fair,
the choreography) so shocked audiences that many of them booed and headed for
the doors. By 1958 when Bernstein had his chance at it, the world had pretty
much begun to take it for granted. So, the question was how to shock the world
all over again. Bernstein did it through sheer energy, the power of excitement,
producing a performance that continues to thrill us to this day.

Bernstein doesn’t take as much time as many other
conductors do in building up the opening atmosphere, which Stravinsky called “a
profound mystic sensation which comes to all things at the hour when nature
seeks to renew its various forms of life.” Instead, Bernstein seems eager to
get on with it, to get to the core of the work, shaping and releasing the
tensions and ever increasing the rhythmic pulse like no one before or since. In
other words, he begins turning up the heat from the very beginning and never
lets it drop.

The conductor further described the music as “a kind of
prehistoric jazz,” and because Bernstein was a master of the jazz idiom (just
listen to his Rhapsody in Blue), he
must have found The Rite ideally
suited to his temperament. Under Bernstein, you really do get savage, primitive
outbursts of sound and fury, with emphases on huge dynamic contrasts and a
surprisingly flexible rubato.

In the opening movements of Part Two, Bernstein does take his time to establish the
atmospherics of the piece, yet even here we can sense the pent-up energy
impatiently waiting to burst forth. When it does, all hell breaks loose. Those
highly palpable timpani attacks are downright electrifying, the conductor
particularly consumed by the forward momentum of the piece. Adding icing to the
cake, the Philharmonic play their hearts out for their new conductor, the
precision of their playing remarkable.

Yes, I still like the recorded Rite performances of Georg Solti (Decca or Decca/JVC), Riccardo
Muti (EMI), Pierre Boulez
(Sony), Stravinsky himself (Sony), and others, but for a sheer adrenaline rush,
this newly remastered Bernstein recording must go to the head of the list.

                       

Columbia Records recorded the music in a single session at
the Hotel St. George, Brooklyn, New York, in 1958. Now, in celebration of the
one-hundredth anniversary of the work’s premiere, the engineers at Sony have
gone back to the original analogue master tapes of the Bernstein performance
and remastered it for the present disc. What they got for their trouble,
foremost, is a wonderful sense of presence. The sessions took place in the
hotel’s massive Colorama Ballroom, an enormous room, which sounds every bit as
large as it is in this spacious recording, even though the miking is fairly
close. The sound is clean and clear, with plenty of orchestral depth and width.
The midrange is as transparent as you would want, the highs are sparkling and
extended, and only the deepest bass seems a tad wanting at times. A strong,
taut impact and a sharp transient attack also help to make the music come
alive. Still, it’s that sense of space, of ambience, that carries the day. It’s
a terrific-sounding recording, with a raw sonic vitality that perfectly suits
the music.

To top off a good thing, Sony’s production values are
generally excellent, including their use of the original LP album cover art by
Gray Foy and informative booklet notes and pictures. About my only concerns are
the fact that Sony included only The Rite
of Spring on the disc, about thirty-four minutes long under Bernstein’s
astonishing direction; and that they packaged the disc in a three-section
cardboard foldout, with the disc fitting into one end sleeve and the booklet
into the other. In order to get the disc out or put it back in requires you
slide it along the cardboard, not something I like to do with a quality CD; and
trying to get the booklet out is a chore, too. In both cases I found the
easiest method of extraction was to turn the package upside down and let the
disc and then the booklet simply drop out. Nevertheless, these are minor
distractions in an otherwise superlative product, which the folks at Sony are
offering at a remarkably reasonable price.

To hear a brief excerpt from this album, click here:

JJP