Vivaldi: The Four Seasons (CD review)

Also, Concertos 8
and 9 of Il Cimento dell’Armonia e dell’Inventione. Giovanni Antonini, Il
Giardino Armonico, Milano. Teldec Classics/Warner Classics 2564 64763-0.

You can find recordings of Vivaldi’s Le Quattro stagioni (The Four
Seasons) performed on period and modern instruments in arrangements for
chamber orchestras, full orchestras, guitar ensembles, wooden blocks, tin
drums, and glockenspiels. My own preference is for period instruments and a
number of players that approximates what Vivaldi had in mind when he wrote it,
so this release from Warner Classics of a 1993 recording by Giovanni Antonini
and Il Giardino Armonico nicely fills the bill. The fact that they do it up
quite inventively helps, too.

That said, let me continue by saying that while Il
Giardino Armonico play the Seasons
splendidly and while I like period instruments, I’m not entirely sure any
orchestra in Vivaldi’s day would have performed the concertos this way.
Armonico’s way with them is, to say the least, unusual by today’s standards. Of
course, they represent probably what any modern listener would want in a
recording, considering that there are already hundreds of other, more
conventional versions available. However, in the long run I’d consider the
rendition of things by Il Giardino Armonico (“The Harmonious Garden”) primarily
an addition to one’s other recordings of The
Four Seasons rather than being one’s
only recording.

Even though Italian violinist and composer Antonio Vivaldi
(1678-1741) wrote hundreds of pieces of music, most folks probably only
recognize him for his Four Seasons
violin concertos, those little tone poems with their chirping birds, galumphing
horses, barking dogs, dripping icicles, and howling winds. Meant to accompany
four descriptive sonnets, they make up the first four sections of a longer work
the composer wrote in 1723 titled Il cimento
dell'armonia e dell'inventione (The
Contest between Harmony and Invention). People hardly remember the other
concertos in the set.

I recall reading years ago that in Baroque times
orchestras usually played fast movements slower than they do in subsequent eras
and slow movements faster. Later, I read just the opposite. In any case, Baroque
orchestras would probably have emphasized tempo contrasts among movements more
vividly than we do today. If that’s the case (and it’s a case still debated),
then Il Giardino Armonico must stand firmly behind contrast because they
definitely fill their Seasons with
differences and deviations from the norm. What’s more, they tend to overplay
Vivaldi’s descriptive elements, making this an entertaining but decidedly
unusual Four Seasons, one that will
delight some listeners and infuriate others.

We hear from Spring
onward that the Il Giardino Armonico players not only emphasize tempo changes
from movement to movement but practice a volatile rubato within movements with
their extreme ritardandos and accelerandos, often along with magnified
dynamics. The effect is dramatic, to be sure, and fun, but Antonini and his
team never convinced me that this is the way Vivaldi or his contemporaries
might have performed things.

Anyway, Armonico’s two most persuasive movements are in
the Summer and Fall concertos, the former because the playing is the most
creative, the latter because the slight hyperbole seems best to fit the
occasion of drunken peasants, baying hounds, fleeing animals, dancing, and
singing. Armonico’s most traditional reading is of the first, Spring Concerto, wherein the players
take things easy. Compared to the other concertos, it actually sounds a little
mundane.

Where Armonico’s style works least best is in Winter. Here, ensembles over the years
have interpreted the opening moments of the first movement either by following
the accompanying sonnet to the letter, that is, first slowly shivering in the
cold and then quickly running and stamping to keep warm, with abrupt tempo
changes between the two; or maintaining a more consistent tempo throughout. Obviously,
the Armonico group elect the first option, making the shivering very slow and
deliberate and the running fast and exuberant. But it’s the slow, second
movement that may seriously annoy some listeners. It’s one of Vivaldi’s most
amiable, most comforting tunes, a warm, cozy number suggesting folks sitting
inside a cottage by the fire, free from the wind and snow. Vivaldi intended it
as a Largo and marked it “peaceful
and content.” With Il Giardino Armonico the music sounds like another Allegro, racing along pell-mell and
losing most of its charm in the process.

We get some fine playing from the members of Il Giardino
Armonico but especially from first violinist Enrico Onofri. Moreover, the
disc’s two other pieces, Concerto No. 8
in G minor and Concerto No. 9 in D
minor, also from Il Cimento
dell-Armonia e dell’Inventione, make excellent couplings because we don’t
hear them often enough, and their creativity is boundless. Then, too, without
having to compare them to a ton of other recorded interpretations, they seem
just right. These certainly come off as spirited realizations.

So, in the end, for whom might Teldec/Warner Classics have
intended this rerelease? It’s not my business to make guesses or to tell people
what to buy, but if pressed I’d say the two primary audiences are (1) folks who
already have 800 copies of The Four
Seasons on their shelves and are looking for something unique to break the
monotony; or (2) folks who have never cared much for The Four Seasons and need something as captivating as this one to
get them excited. Still, as I said before, I wouldn’t want Il Giardino
Armonico’s interpretation as the one-and-only album in my library but as a
supplement to period-instruments recordings by the likes of the Philharmonia
Baroque Orchestra (PBP), La Petite Bande (Sony), the Drottningholm Baroque
Ensemble (BIS), the English Concert (DG Archiv), or Tafelmusik (Sony). I think
these other recordings are safer bets than Il Giardino Armonico, just as
entertaining, and at least as well or better recorded.

Producer Wolfgang Mohr and engineer Lucienne Rosset
recorded the music for Teldec at Lugano, Radio della Svizzera Italiana (RTSI)
Studio 1 in 1993. Warner Classics released it 2013. There is some discussion in
the booklet notes about Il Armonico’s choice of pitch, suggesting that if they
had followed Venetian practices, the result would have been too “brilliant and
aggressive.” Fair enough, except that the sound still appears to favor the high
end slightly and might still appear too brilliant and aggressive depending on
one’s speakers. It’s not excessively bright, though, just a little light, and
this small degree of brightness may even contribute to the overall clarity of
the sonics.

The miking is fairly close-up, providing good definition,
if not the most entirely realistic perspective. The recording doesn’t offer a
lot in the way of room resonance or ambience, either, but, as I say, it does
supply good, clean, clear playback. Additionally, the small number of Il
Giardino Armonico players (about ten) contributes to the sound’s transparency,
as do the recording’s quick transient response and taut impact.

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

JJP

Beethoven: String Quartets (SACD review)

No. 3, Op. 18; No. 5,
Op. 18; No. 16, Op. 135. The Hagen Quartet. Myrios Classics MYR009.

No doubt I’m showing my age when I still think of the
Hagen Quartet as a young, new ensemble of Austrian players. In fact, the
siblings first began performing as a group professionally in 1981, making them
today among the oldest string quartets around. But, then, for me 1981 seems
like yesterday. Since the quartet’s formation, second violinist Rainer Schmidt
has replaced sister Angelika Hagen, joining first violinist Lukas Hagen,
violist Veronika Hagen, and cellist Clemens Hagen. Together, they have recorded
over forty albums for Decca, DG, Myrios Classics, and other labels. Following
up a highly successful and internationally celebrated thirtieth season devoted
to the Beethoven string quartet cycle, the Hagens offer the present album of
three Beethoven string quartets, an album that illustrates the group’s
virtuosity, sensitivity, and versatility.

The Hagens begin the program with Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 3 in D major, Op. 18,
which was actually the composer’s first string quartet composition, probably
written around 1798. This quartet’s most salient feature is its second-movement
Andante con moto, a piece of music
that is not only beautiful in anybody’s hands but especially so given the
expertise of the Hagens. It flows gently along, and even in its most energetic
moments the group keeps the tone relaxed and charming. Another unique aspect of
the quartet is a concluding Presto
for which Beethoven indicates a speed of some ninety-six beat per minute.
That’s a heck of a fast pace, and the Hagens try to emulate it while still
keeping the tempo as flexible as possible. Remarkably, they never make it
appear breathless.

Next is the String
Quartet No. 5 in A major, Op. 18, a lighter work than No. 3, with greater
lilt.  Beethoven patterned it more
closely than No 3 on the quartets of
Mozart, and the Hagens play it with great felicity. It’s delightful in every
way, particularly in the Minuetto
with its halting rhythms and in the Andante
Cantabile with its melancholy overtones.

The disc closes with the last quartet Beethoven ever
wrote, No. 16 in F major, Op. 135
from 1826, composed nearly three decades after his first quartet. There is
quite a difference in style, with No. 16
being far more creative, inventive, and mature than his previous quartets, more
completely “Beethoven” if you will. Here, it is again the slow movement that
stands out, one the composer marked “cantante e tranquillo.” Beethoven would
die shortly thereafter, making it, indeed, his final tranquil song. The Hagens
afford it all the sweet peace the music deserves.

A most generous playing time of almost eighty minutes,
pretty much the upper limit of a compact disc, puts the icing on the cake.

Myrios Classics recorded the music in 2012, No. 3 at Siemens-Villa, Berlin, and Nos. 5 and 16 at Deutschlandfunk Kammermusiksaal. Although the disc is an SACD
with the possibility for multichannel playback, it’s also a hybrid with a
regular two-channel stereo layer to which I listened (albeit from an SACD
player). I found the sound in both recording venues very wide for so small an
ensemble, so expect the stage to spread across your two front speakers. It’s
not quite as realistic an image as I’d like, it’s a tad bright in the lower
treble, and the balance tends slightly to favor the left side of the stage.
Otherwise, we get excellent definition, and certainly we hear a big, open, airy
sound, with a a more than ample dynamic range.

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

JJP

Strauss: Ein Heldenleben (CD review)

Also, Tod und Verklarung.
Francois-Xavier Roth, SWR Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden un Freiburg. Hanssler
Classic CD 93.299.

Is it really such tall leap from the heroic swagger of
Franz Liszt’s Les Preludes to the
heroic swagger of Richard Strauss’s Ein
Heldenleben? From Strauss’s Ein
Heldenleben to Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s The Sea Hawk? Or from Korngold’s Sea Hawk to John Williams’s Star
Wars? I think not. All composers owe
a little something to those who went before them, and Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben (“A Hero’s Life”) was a
natural step in the progression of the tone poem, here given a rousing
rendition by Maestro Francois-Xavier Roth and his Southwest German Radio Orchestra.
What’s more, the orchestra plays with the precision and solidity you would
expect of a thoroughly polished German ensemble, helping Roth immensely to
recreate Strauss’s picturesque musical poem.

A note before we continue, though, about the ensemble
involved, courtesy of Wikipedia: “The Southwest German Radio Symphony Orchestra
(also known in English as the SWR Baden-Baden and Freiburg Symphony Orchestra
or SWR Symphony Orchestra, and in German as the Sinfonieorchester des
Südwestrundfunks or SWR Sinfonieorchester) is a radio orchestra located in the
German cities of Baden-Baden and Freiburg.” Francois-Xavier Roth has been the
orchestra’s Chief Conductor since 2011. Now that we’ve cleared that up, on to
the music.

The German composer and conductor Richard Strauss
(1864-1949) wrote Ein Heldenleben in
1899 as a kind of tongue-in-cheek autobiography, a semi-serious self-portrait.
Strauss was only thirty-four years old at the time, showing his supreme
self-confidence by writing a musical autobiography as he did at such an early
age. Mainly, though, he seems to have written it to get in a few digs at his
critics, whom he convincingly silences through the music.

Strauss divided Ein
Heldenleben into seven parts describing seven stages in the artist’s life.
The first segment, “The Hero,” obviously describes Strauss himself and does so
on a large, swashbuckling scale. Here, Maestro Roth is appropriately dashing,
with plenty of panache. Next, the music turns to “The Hero’s Adversaries,” his
critics, where we hear them squabbling among themselves in amusing fashion;
Roth captures their trivialities, yet their possibly sinister nature as well.
Following that is “The Hero’s Companion,” his wife, whom violinist Christian
Ostertag sweetly defines in solo; then in the ensuing “Love Scene” we find from
Roth not only a loving, harmonious wife but an apparently complex one.

“The Hero’s Battlefield” is the centerpiece of the work,
where Strauss engages in all-out war with his critics, reminding them
(musically) of his accomplishments with bits from Don Juan and Zarathustra,
as well as a few horns from Beethoven’s Eroica
Symphony. Roth provides it with an adequate urgency and excitement without
too much hectic, bombastic action.

“The Hero’s Works of Peace” is another slow movement,
again a remembrance of the composer’s previous tone poems as an almost-final
rebuke of his foes. After that, the work closes with “The Hero’s Retirement
from the World and His Fulfillment,” the longest movement, a concluding note of
possible contentment and repose for a life of art well spent. However, Roth
ends the piece more ominously than most conductors, so there’s still a question
about the hero’s actual resolution of his problems.

Tod und Verklarung
(“Death and Transfiguration”), which Strauss wrote in 1889, a full ten years
before Ein Heldenleben, is much more
serious in tone than the more playful later work, yet it pursues a similar
theme. It describes the death of an artist, who, as he lies dying, thinks of
life, the innocence of childhood, the struggles of manhood, and the achievement
of goals. Finally, the artist receives a desired transfiguration "from the
infinite reaches of heaven.” It is, perhaps, the kind of reflection on death
that only a very young (or a very old) man could write.

Roth takes his time to develop the various motifs in Tod und Verklarung, keeping everything
as somber as I’ve heard, yet without being too maudlin about it. In fact, in
some sections Roth will positively startle you from your seat. Of course, the
excellent recording helps here, too.

As this is apparently the first volume of Maestro Roth’s Strauss tone
poems, he’s off to an auspicious start.

Hanssler Classic recorded the music at the Konzerthaus,
Freiburg, Germany, in November 2012, and they did a really good of it. The
acoustic sounds very spacious, with a realistic hall ambience. There is a good
tonal balance, with perhaps a hint of mid-treble brightness and a slight
veiling but in general more than enough detailing. A nicely controlled low end
helps, too, given the resonance of the venue. The dynamic impact is moderate,
the stereo spread wide, and the depth of image impressive. It’s a fine,
lifelike presentation.

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

JJP

Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition (SACD review)

Also, A Night on Bald Mountain, and others. Fritz Reiner, Chicago
Symphony Orchestra. RCA SACD 82876-61394-2.

Many record
companies continue to see something in Super Audio Compact Discs because even
RCA jumped into the fray a number of years back with an SACD collection of
their old “Living Stereo” recordings of the Fifties and Sixties. The idea is
that some recording companies made many of these old recordings originally with
microphones to the left, center, and right of the stage, the three channels
subsequently mixed down into two-channel stereo. With the availability of
multiple channels of sound on SACDs, the companies can now utilize the original
mixes of three front channels to the fullest. And for those of us who don’t own
an SACD player, most of these discs are hybrids, meaning there is also a
regular two-channel layer that one can play on any regular CD machine. The
theory is that companies can remaster the regular two-channel layer and make it
sound even better than what they previously provided, as the folks at RCA have
supposedly done in their “Living Stereo” series, the sound remastered via DSD,
Direct Stream Digital.

Well, yes, in the two-channel
SACD mode to which I listened, RCA did slightly improve the sound of Modest
Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition with
Maestro Fritz Reiner and the Chicago Symphony. The highs no longer sound quite
so bright or hard-edged. However, I also happened to have on hand the
audiophile-remastered JVC disc of the same Mussorgsky recording, and I found
the JVC smoother still, with a marginally greater depth of image. But that’s
another story. The differences among the two-channel renderings on the three discs
are really so small that I doubt most people would notice them except on direct
comparison, let alone care. So I suppose the point is mostly moot unless you
really, really love the performance, which I do, and then you want only the
very best version of it.

The main thing about this whole affair is that Reiner’s
1957 interpretation of the Mussorgsky work is still the best one available,
each “picture” an elegant little masterpiece, and RCA’s SACD edition has
certain advantages over its regular competition. The SACD sounds good in
two-channel stereo, with wonderful detailing and range, if not quite so good as
the higher-priced JVC. It offers three-channel performance for those able to
play it back that way. And coupled with it you’ll find the additional goodies
that also come on the regular RCA release: Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain, Tchaikovsky’s Marche miniature, Borodin’s Polovtsian
March, Tchaikovsky’s March slave,
Kabalevsky’s Colas Breugnon, and
Glinka’s Russlan and Ludmilla Overture,
all of them filled with the color and excitement you’d expect from Reiner
performances.

Don’t you hate decisions? I’m glad it’s not my job to make
them for you. But for myself alone, I can’t think of a better Mussorgsky Pictures than Reiner’s.

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

JJP

Mozart: Horn Concertos (CD review)

Herman Jeurissen,
horn; Roy Goodman, Netherlands Chamber Orchestra. Brilliant Classics 94644.

You might think that a fellow like Roy Goodman, who has
specialized over the years in conducting early music and leading
period-instruments ensembles like the Hanover Band, would when working with a
modern-instruments group like the Netherlands Chamber Orchestra perhaps
overindulge himself in historical practice and go all lickety-split on us. In
these performances of Mozart’s Horn
Concertos, however, nothing could be further from the truth. Not that
Goodman doesn’t give us historically informed readings, but they are also
graceful and relaxed, with horn player Herman Jeurissen making a most elegant
contribution.

Mr. Jeurissen plays on a modern valved horn, and while his
tone is not as plummy as many horn players I’ve heard, it is pleasantly warm
and resonant. Goodman’s direction follows Jeurissen’s lead, fluent and
articulate, the Netherlands musicians performing with precision, and all of
them maintaining a sensible pace throughout the concertos.

Jeurissen and Goodman begin the program with the Horn Concerto No. 2 in E flat, K.417
because despite the numbering, Mozart wrote it first. As the composer did with
the other three horn concertos, Mozart wrote No. 2 for his friend, the virtuoso horn player Joseph Leutgeb. He
wanted to give Leutgeb something that would show off his friend’s unique
abilities on the natural horn, in the meantime the composer writing sometimes
crude, joking, mocking comments about his friend throughout the score. This was
the Mozart we see in the movie and stage play Amadeus. Leutgeb apparently didn’t mind the teasing, and the two
men remained friends until the composer’s death.

Anyway, under Goodman No.
2 has a snappy gait yet still sounds mellifluent and urbane. In the
finale’s familiar hunting theme Jeurissen is appropriately playful while
pursuing the generally urbane approach of the interpretation.

No. 3 in E flat,
K.447, No. 4 in E flat, K.495, and No. 1 in D, K.412 continue in a like
manner, with Jeurissen making the Romance
of No. 3 particularly affecting.

Coupled with the Horn
Concertos we find some of Mozart’s unfinished horn works, reconstructed or
completed by Mr. Jeurissen: the Concerto
Movement in E, K.494A; the Horn
Concerto in E flat, K.370B/371; and, just for fun, the Rondo: Allegro of No. 1 with Mozart’s original text read by Giorgo
Mereu.

One minor thing that continues to annoy me about most
albums of Mozart’s Horn Concertos is
that by themselves they don’t quite offer enough material to fill out a disc.
So, fair enough, the people involved usually include other bits and pieces of
Mozart horn music as accompaniment, but which they most often spread out all
over the place, as we see here. Personally, I’d rather just hear the four
concertos and then at the end listen to anything else the program had to offer.
Also, I’d rather hear the four concertos arranged numerically rather than
chronologically. Of course, I can always program my CD player to play back the
music any way I like it, but who wants to go to the trouble? Yeah, I’m just
being difficult. Sorry.

At mid price, Jeurissen/Goodman’s rendering of the Horn Concertos offers good value. The
only snag is that there are many other worthy contenders in a crowded field,
including Dennis Brain’s celebrated mono account with the Philharmonia
Orchestra (EMI), Lowell Greer with the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra (Harmonia
Mundi), Alan Civil with the Philharmonia Orchestra (EMI), Ab Koster and
Tafelmusik (Sony or Newton Classics), Barry Tuckwell and the English Chamber
Orchestra (Decca), Eric Ruske and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra (Telarc), and
a ton of others. Decisions, decisions.

Brilliant Classics licensed the recording from Olympia,
who made it in 1996 at Beurs van Berlage, Amsterdam. The sonics are round and
slightly soft, extremely smooth, and very comforting. The engineers miked the
players at a modest distance, narrowing the stereo spread somewhat but
replicating a fairly realistic presentation. The horn sounds well integrated
with the orchestra, never too far out in front nor enveloped by the other
instruments. Although inner detailing could be better, the overall aural effect
is quite pleasing.

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

JJP

Conrad Tao: Voyages (CD review)

Music of Monk,
Rachmaninov, Tao, and Ravel.  Conrad
Tao, piano. EMI Classics 50999 9 34476 2.

EMI Records has a long tradition of helping and promoting
talented newcomers, and the present disc is no exception. Although Voyages is not the first album from enormously talented American pianist, violinist, and composer Conrad Tao (b. 1994), it is his first
full-length solo effort.

I wish I could say the album was entirely successful, but
it did not strike me that way. Of the five works on the disc, one of them, the
Monk piece, is extremely short; two of them Tao wrote himself, and they did not
interest me much; and the other two are by old hands, Rachmaninov and Ravel,
which come off best. However, because the latter works are so famous, one may
find any number of equally good competing discs with even more attractive
material on them. Still, Voyages
should please Tao’s fans, and it certainly shows off his pianistic versatility.

The program begins with Railroad (Travel Song) by
Meredith Monk, a rhythmically dynamic piece that suggests the sounds and feel
of a fast-moving train. It’s a fascinating little work that lasts about two
minutes (you can hear it below). The only drawback I found in Tao’s rendering
of it is that I never got the impression of the size and power of a locomotive
and railroad carriages. Tao’s version of it is more like a night ride in a
sleeping car--at once animated and restful but not exactly vibrant.

Next come some of the most-pleasing things on the album:
five Preludes by Sergei Rachmaninov,
which Tao chose from the composer’s Op. 23 and Op. 32 sets. They range from
soft and ethereal (No. 5, Op. 32) to
big and swirling (No. 7, Op. 23),
both of which Tao handles in a very Debussy-like way, full of color, strong
passions, and gentle persuasions. In the Rachmaninov, Tao demonstrates his
poetic sensibility above all, while still projecting a skillful sense of
authority (No. 2, Op. 23). If he had
devoted the entire album just to the Preludes,
I think I would have been happier.

Tao also does well conveying the surreal imagery of
Maurice Ravel’s Gaspard de la nuit
(“Treasurer of the Night,” or in some interpretations, “The Devil”). The
pianist appears ideally suited to illustrate the sensitivity of the French
idiom, and I enjoyed the open airiness of Tao’s playing.

Then there are the two works Tao composed himself: Vestiges and Iridescence for piano and iPad. Both pieces, the former in four
movements, create small tone pictures of dreamy, changeable landscapes; both
are easily accessible; and both are worth hearing. Once. I’m just not sure how
often I’d want to return to them, as they seem rather lightweight, spacey, and
pop sounding. But what do I know. At least they’re easy on the ears.

Producers Marina and Victor Ledin and engineer Leslie Ann
Jones recorded the album in 2012 at Skywalker Sound, the world-famous venue in
Marin County, California, not too far from me and one I have visited on several
occasions. It’s not surprising the recording team found a suitable location for
showing off Tao’s abilities. The sound is warm and comfortable, miked at a
moderate distance for a piano recording, yet with suitable detail. Perhaps some
listeners will prefer more bite to the notes, but the sound seems to fit the
music nicely, especially Tao’s delicate approach to things. Then, too, the
engineers capture a pleasant hall ambience that helps communicate the music in
a most relaxing manner.

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

JJP

Bach: Violin Concertos (CD review)

Thomas Zehetmair,
violin; Amsterdam Bach Soloists. Brilliant Classics 94666.

This disc has a lot going for it. Thomas Zehetmair is a
world-renowned violinist; the Amsterdam Bach Soloists comprise a little over a
dozen players from the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra; and while they
perform on modern instruments, they adhere largely to historically informed
performance practice. Thus, we get the best of all worlds: world-class playing;
smooth, mellifluous sound; and convincing interpretations.

Bach wrote his two Violin
Concertos, No. 1 in A minor,
BWV1041 and No. 2 in E major,
BWV1042, somewhere between 1717 and 1723, around the same time he was writing
the Brandenburg Concertos, so if you
hear any similarities, especially in the opening of 1042, you know why.

The program begins with BWV1042, which is probably the
earlier of the two concertos, despite its catalogue number. Zehetmair and his
players perform it in a lively style, with great flair; the ensemble is precise
and spirited; and the reading remains animated without resorting to breakneck
speeds. In the slow middle movement Zehetmair sounds lyrically refined; and in
the final movement the whole group play as one, with an excellent, uniform
response, exuberant and fun.

The program continues with BWV1041, which is probably the
last of the specifically named violin concertos, again despite the catalogue
number. Here, the entire ensemble begin the main theme, with the soloist
quickly taking the lead. Zehetmair tackles it playfully, darting in and out of
the accompaniment with a fleet ease. The tutti and solo parts alternate
rapidly, and everyone involved appears to be on the same page in terms of the
overall joy they bring to the music. In the Andante
we find a more solemn or sedate mood, still played with much character. Then
comes the finale, possibly the most virtuosic of all the music, with Zehetmair
and company in full command. These are first-rate performances in every way.

Accompanying the two violin concertos are two violin
arrangements reconstructed from harpsichord concertos, the Violin Concerto in D minor BWV1052 and the Violin Concerto in G minor BWV1056. Since Bach often reused his own
material--re-arranging things for other instruments--it is quite possible that
he initially wrote these two concertos for the violin in the first place and
later transcribed them for harpichord. Whatever, they sound as though Bach had
written them specifically for the violin, which is all that counts. Whether or
not these transcriptions sound as Bach might have intended or if Bach even
wrote the harpsichord concertos themselves is of little consequence when one
hears how well Zehetmair and the Amsterdam Bach Soloists perform them. There is
an air of authority about the music that pronounces all of it right and proper.

Yes, I would rather the coupling had been the usual Concerto for Two Violins, BWV1043, that
we hear so often on these discs, but that’s neither here nor there. We have
what we have, and it’s plenty good enough. And, besides, there’s that exquisite
Largo in 1056 to consider.

Originally recorded at Waalse Kerk, Amsterdam, in 1994 by
Edel Classics and released on the Berlin Classics label, Brilliant Classics
have re-released it in 2013. The sound is quite transparent, among the best
I’ve heard in these works. It’s a small ensemble so we might expect as much.
The miking catches the solos in clear, vibrant, natural sonics, without the
violin being too far forward. Good dynamics and a quick transient response
contribute to the lifelike effect, along with a realistic tonal balance and a
fairly wide stereo spread. Like everything else about the recording, the sound
is practically ideal.

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

JJP

Beethoven: Triple Concerto (CD review)

Also, Rondo in B flat; Choral Fantasy. Pierre-Laurent Aimard, piano;
Thomas Zehetmair, violin; Clemens Hagen, cello. Nikolaus Harnoncourt, Chamber
Orchestra of Europe. Warner Classics 2564 60602-2.

I immensely enjoyed this Warner Classics recording of the
Beethoven Triple Concerto for a
combination of reasons. First and foremost, you’ll hardly find a better played
account. Aimard, Zehetmair, Hagen, Harnoncourt, and the Chamber Orchestra of
Europe take it more gently than I’ve heard it most often before (also
surprising from Harnoncourt), yet it benefits from the tender, loving care. If
I found any snag at all in it, it’s that I thought the piano sometimes sounded
too big, too close, while the other two soloists seemed more realistically
positioned. Well, we might expect that, I suppose, as the piano in this
particular piece of music generally takes pride of place amongst all the
instruments.

Second, I enjoyed the harmonious interplay among the three
soloists, Aimard on piano, Zehetmair on violin, and Hagen on cello, as well as
their non-obtrusive accompaniment by Harnoncourt and the Chamber Orchestra of
Europe. True, no one is going to mistake this group’s work for the more grand
and opulent performance by Richter, Oistrakh, and Rostropovich with Karajan and
the Berlin Philharmonic (EMI or Hi-Q), but look at what giants we had working
there.

Third, I liked the two companion pieces on the disc, the Rondo in B flat, which may have been the
original closing movement of the B-flat
Piano Concerto, Aimard giving it a lively reading; and the Choral Fantasy, which is a sort of
miniature, scaled-down Ninth Symphony,
complete with a rousing choral finale.

Finally, I liked the sound: Very subtle, very refined,
very natural. Perhaps not always so transparent as it might be, it always
appeared wonderfully realistic and was a definite pleasure to listen to. In
all, a most felicitous release.

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

JJP

Schumann: Carnaval (CD review)

Also, Kinderszenen.
Canadian Brass. Opening Day ODR 7438.

German composer and music critic Robert Schumann
(1810-1856) wrote Carnaval, a set of
short, solo piano works, in 1834-35. Although various folks have orchestrated
them over the years, including a ballet in 1910, I believe this is the first
time anyone has arranged them for brass quintet. And if anyone could pull it
off, it would be Canadian Brass, the world’s premier exponent all things brass.

Trumpeters Chris Coletti and Brandon Ridenour adapted Carnaval and the accompanying Kinderszenen for brass quintet, nicely
maintaining the spirit of both works. Then it’s up to the players to do justice
to the transcriptions, and that they do just that. Joining the aforementioned
Coletti and Ridenour are Eric Reed, horn; Achilles Liarmakopoulos, trombone and
baritone horn; Chuck Daellenbach, tuba; and Caleb Hudson, additional piccolo
trumpet and Bb trumpet.

In Carnaval,
Schumann portrayed masked revelers at Carnaval, a festive season occurring in
mainly Catholic countries just before Lent. Schumann portrays himself, his
friends, and his colleagues in the music, as well as characters from Italian
comedy. It’s all quite showy and rambunctious, with Schumann going so far as to
include in the musical notations an embedded puzzle that he expected people to
decipher.

Whether you fancy the puzzle angle in the masked revelers
is beside the point; the music is vibrant and colorful, expertly presented by
Canadian Brass. I have to admit that there is a certain quality about these
pieces on brass instruments that kept reminding me of Scott Joplin
orchestrations, yet I mean that in the best possible way; undoubtedly Schumann
influenced Joplin’s ragtime creations. The remarkable thing is that these
Schumann pieces should work so well with a brass quintet. They almost sound as
though Schumann intended them that way, with the added nuances the various
brass instruments contribute. Of course, it helps that Carnaval is so vibrant a work itself, with so much energy to
expend. Fun stuff, done up in high good spirits.

Accompanying Carnaval
on the disc is perhaps an even better-known set of Schumann piano pieces, Kinderszenen (“Scenes from Childhood”),
which he wrote in 1838. In the work, Schumann looks back in fond remembrance of
younger days. If Carnaval seemed a
stretch for brass quintet, Kinderszenen
takes things a step even further. Yet, again, Canadian Brass pull it off with
an uncommon aplomb, combining their usual virtuosic playing with the utmost
delicacy.

Like Carnaval, Kinderszenen comprises a set of
descriptive tone poems, but judging their success in adaptation is another
story. The various “Scenes” are more ephemeral than Carnaval, their mood more ethereal and sentimental. It takes all of
Canadian Brass’s expertise to pull them off and not sound like a circus band.
They handle it well enough, although I wouldn’t want these transcriptions to
replace the piano originals. That said, the famous “Traumerei” (“Dreaming”)
comes off more tenderly than I would have thought and exemplifies the
sensitivity with which Canadian Brass approach these scores.

In short, the music on the program is endlessly inventive
and entertaining, and Canadian Brass’s versions of it show just how flexible
the music is and how flexible the group is performing it. If you’re a fan of
Canadian Brass, you’ll no doubt find this album a fascinating listen.

Producers M.B. Daellenbach and Dixon Van Winkle and
engineer Philippe Fages recorded the music for Opening Day Entertainment Group
at Christ Church Deer Park, Toronto, Canada, in August 2012. They captured a
pleasant hall resonance that gives the instruments a rich, mellifluous sound.
With no undue brightness or edginess, we get plenty of detail from the group,
plus a good separation of the players. There is also a realistic depth and air
around the instruments making the whole affair quite lifelike.

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

JJP

Bach: Organ Works, Vol. II (CD review)

Robert Quinney,
organ. CORO COR16112.

Robert Quinney, Director of Music at Peterborough
Cathedral, is a relatively young man (b. 1976) insofar as classical organists
are concerned, and his playing shows it. His music is full of youthful dash,
vigor, and élan. Whether or not you like your J.S. Bach performed with such
enthusiastic verve is obviously a matter of taste, but certainly it’s good to
have such choices available.

Quinney plays this second volume of Bach organ works on
the Metzler Organ of Trinity College, Cambridge, which produces a gorgeous
sound. This second volume concentrates on the composer’s early organ music,
most of it from the 1710’s and 20’s.

Quinney begins the program with probably Bach’s most
well-known organ music, the Toccata and
Fugue in D minor, BWV 565. The organist attacks it with a fury, yet he
doesn’t actually rush it too much. Compared to four or five other recordings of
the work I had on hand, Quinney is the quickest but not by much. Let’s say it’s
about 10-20% faster than the others. It’s enough, though, to supercharge the
old warhorse with an extra degree of vigor that makes the interpretation sound
like something fresh, new, and invigorating. Of course, he misses out on some
of the music’s dynamic contrasts that he might have emphasized if he had taken
more time, yet that’s the trade-off we have to accept for the additional
thrills.

People of Bach’s day considered him “the world-famous
organist.” He was a virtuoso on the instrument. Apparently, Mr. Quinney wants
to make sure we still see Bach that way, with performances that point up the
man’s virtuosity (and Quinney’s own). I have to admit, though, that sometimes
Quinney goes so lickety-split through the readings, it’s hard to tell if he
isn’t just showing off. He’s that good.

Anyway, among the other pleasurable pieces on the disc, we
have the Passacaglia in C minor, BWV
582, with its wonderfully sonorous variations; the inventive Toccata, Adagio and Fugue in C, BWV 564,
that Bach wrote just before his more-celebrated one; the three refreshingly
relaxed presentations of Allein Gott in
der Hoh sei Ehr, BWV 662-664; and the very early Toccata and Fugue in F, BWV 540, which sounds both powerful and
sensuous.

These are performances of strength and beauty, and even if
you find Quinney’s style a little too relentlessly fast-paced, it’s hard to
knock the sense of excitement and wonder he creates. Maybe this is Bach for the
twenty-first century; I don’t know. I do know that while it’s a little
different, it is not without merit.

Producer David Trendell and engineer David Hinitt recorded
the music at Trinity College Chapel, Cambridge, England, in 2013. There is good
depth to the setting, as we might expect from a large chapel organ and a room
providing spacious, resplendent sound. Needless to say, any good organ
recording lives or dies by its bass response, and this one lives it up pretty
well. The bass is very deep and very taut. Overall, we get a realistic sound in
every way; very impressive. Quinney doesn’t always allow too many pauses,
however, so we don’t hear as much of the organ’s decay time as we might. Still,
fans of organ music will no doubt appreciate this new entry in the field.

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

JJP

Guan Xia: Earth Requiem (CD review)

Yao Hong, soprano;
Liu Shan, mezzo-soprano; Jin Yongzhe, tenor; Sun Li, baritone; Shen Fanxiu,
organ; He Wangjin, Qiang flute; Michel Plasson, China National Symphony Orchestra
and Chorus. Virgin Classics 5099993411929.

My Random House
Unabridged Dictionary defines a requiem as “any musical service, hymn, or
dirge for the repose of the dead.” The most famous of these musical settings,
of course, is the Requiem Mass of the
Catholic Church, although Chinese composer Guan Xia didn’t exactly have this in
mind when he composed his Earth Requiem
in 2009. He wrote the work as a remembrance of the Sichuan earthquake of 2008,
which took thousands of innocent lives. Rather than simply mourn this loss,
which the work certainly does, it is above all a celebration of life. Michel
Plasson and the China National Symphony Orchestra, chorus, and others, an
ensemble comprising over 100 instrumentalists, 150 singers, an organ, and four
soloists, do the massive work justice.

The composer divides the Earth
Requiem into four parts: (1) Gazing
at the stars, a “Meditation for Orchestra and Chorus”; (2) Heavenly Wind and Earth Fire, a “Trilogy
on a Fixed Melody, for Orchestra and Chorus”; (3) Boundless Love, a “Romance for Orchestra, Soprano, Bass and
Chorus”; and Wings of Angels, an “Ode
for Qiang Flute, Organ, Orchestra, Soprano, Mezzo-soprano, Tenor, Bass and
Chorus.”

The first movement, Gazing
at the Stars, is sweet and gentle, under Maestro Plasson’s direction
projecting an appropriate melancholy, a mourning of the tragedy. It’s all
rather solemn, yet there seems to be a note of hope here, too, a longing that
all will be well. Plasson and his players give it a resonant, emotional uplift
that is quite touching.

The second movement, Heavenly
Wind and Earth Fire, is considerably different from the first movement in
that it sounds almost angry, outraged at the brutality of Man and Nature. The
booklet explains that the music is all highly pictorial as it “attacks the
odiousness of life and the hypocrisy of mankind.” Plasson does a fine job
conveying the music’s shifting moods of suffering, desperation, and ethereal
eeriness.

The third movement, Boundless
Love, comes as a welcome relief from the tensions of the previous section,
for Boundless Love is just that: all
heavenly melodies and restful lyricism. The way Plasson handles it, it’s
beautifully serene, representing the healing power of pure love.

The final movement, Wings
of Angels, begins with the sound of the Qiang flute, which has a tone
resembling a bagpipe and sets the stage for the work’s climax. The music here
alternates between fast and slow segments, mostly slow, some of it reflecting
Chinese folk tunes. I found this the most moving part of the Requiem, as it ends on a note of triumph
for all humankind. While the music of Earth
Requiem may not be earthshaking in its inspiration or originality, it is
uplifting to be sure. That is to say, I don’t know if Earth Requiem will ever become a modern classic, but surely there
is no doubt Maestro Plasson does his best to show it in its best light.

Oddly, Virgin list the final movement on the back cover of
the jewel case and in the accompanying booklet as 4.23 minutes. Actually, it’s
14.23. I can see company overlooking the mistake once, but twice? The entire
symphony lasts a little over an hour, 63.51 minutes.

Producer Guan Xia and engineer Daniel Zalay recorded the Requiem at the Beijing Concert Hall in
March of 2011. The sonics they obtained are fairly open, widespread, clean, and
detailed. Although there is a very slight forwardness to the strings that
overly bright loudspeakers might exacerbate, I found it often added to the
sound’s clarity. The chorus and soloists appear almost ideally integrated with
the orchestra, nothing too close or too recessed. However, the singers can
appear a touch edgy at times. Treble extension is good, the low end is somewhat
light, and dynamics and impact are adequate for the occasion. Overall, the
sound is a tad soft in the upper bass to middle midrange and, as I say, a bit
sharp in the upper mids. Nevertheless, there is nothing distracting about it,
and it does complement the spirit of the music nicely.

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

JJP

Beethoven: Piano Concertos Nos. 2 and 3 (CD review)

Martha Argerich, piano; Claudio Abbado, Mahler Chamber Orchestra. DG
B0003398-02.

Listening to Martha
Argerich play anything is a joy. She possesses the ability to communicate the
most ethereal and the most grandiose passages with equal authority. And her
fingers must have extra digits in them the way she’s able to command a
keyboard.

It’s a little odd,
then, that I didn’t find her 2004 recording of the Beethoven Second and Third Piano Concertos with Claudio Abbado and the Mahler Chamber
Orchestra quite as appealing as I expected. Not that they aren’t appealing;
they are, in fact, excellent. It’s just that maybe I expected too much, or
maybe I expected something a little different.

What we get is a performance of the Third Concerto that seems more sedate than I’m used to, more
reserved, at least in part. Perhaps this was the effect of having Maestro
Abbado leading the orchestra because the seriousness of the approach doesn’t
affect Ms. Argerich’s solo passages much. It’s just that when Abbado leads the
introduction and bridges, things seem to take on a heavier, more high-voltage
tone that I’m not accustomed to hearing from the more-sensitive Ms. Argerich.
Compare, for instance, Kovacevich/Davis or Perahia/Haitink and you notice at
least a slight difference in mood, a certain lightness and brilliance missing
with Argerich/Abbado. On the other hand, you could also say that because the
Argerich/Abbado recording is more serious, it is therefore their intent to make
it more challenging and more demanding. Nevertheless, Ms. Argerich is as
persuasive as ever, and Abbado’s accompaniment is robust, to say the least.
Personal preference, as always.

In the Second
Concerto, though, we find a more relaxed, more stylish, yet more
spontaneous approach than in the Third.
The Second was actually Beethoven’s
first work in the genre, and it remains among his best. Argerich/Abbado reach
down into it more deeply than they do the Third,
with more conviction, and with a seemingly greater rapport between soloist and
conductor. It is very fine, indeed, one of the best available.

The sound, unfortunately, doesn’t always help the
atmosphere of the recordings. Abbado follows his practice of insisting upon
live recordings, and while the audience for each piece is very quiet, one can
sense that maybe the audio engineers applied a little noise reduction and even
toned down the highest treble to keep things quieter and more subdued. Although
the sound is remarkably smooth and dynamic, it doesn’t have a lot of natural,
lifelike bite, the frequency extremes seemingly clamped down. The orchestra
appears fine by itself and Ms. Argerich is fine by herself, but together her
piano is too close and big relative to the rest of the players, and they all
seem a trifle compressed. Then, the audience erupts into an inevitable burst of
applause at the end of each work, which I didn’t care to hear, either. Oh,
well.

Regardless of my nitpicks, these are still very elegant,
very refined, and exceptionally well played performances. For fans of these two
particular Concertos, the
Argerich/Abbado recording should make a good alternative to what they already
own. Especially the Second.

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

JJP

Bruch: Scottish Fantasy (SACD review)

Also, Violin
Concerto No. 1; Romance for Violin and Orchestra. Guy Braunstein, violin; Ion
Marin, Bamberger Symphoniker-Bayerische Staatsphilharmonie. Tudor/BR Klassik
SACD 7188.

If the rather imposing name Bamberger
Symphoniker-Bayerische Staatsphilharmonie sounds only vaguely familiar to you,
you might know it better as simply the Bamberg Symphony; in 1993 the powers
that be gave it the name the Bavarian State Philharmonic, and they have gone by
both names, hyphenated, ever since. More important, if the name Guy Braunstein
is also only vaguely familiar to you, he has been the Concertmaster of the
Berlin Philharmonic since 2000, stepping down in 2013 to dedicate himself to a
solo violin career. The present all-Bruch disc is his first major album as a
soloist.

Braunstein chose to begin the album with the Scottish Fantasy in E-flat Major for Violin
and Orchestra, Op. 46, written by German composer and conductor Max Bruch
(1838-1920) in 1880 and dedicated to the violin virtuoso Pablo de Sarasate. The
Fantasy, as you probably know, is
Bruch’s survey of Scottish folk tunes, about thirty minutes of them, loosely
tied together in four movements.

The Fantasy
starts off rather solemnly with an introduction marked “Grave,” which is slow
and somber, indeed (listen to the excerpt below), before giving way to the more
familiar and frolicsome melodies that follow. Braunstein infuses the opening
with a good sense of atmosphere and emotion. The Adagio that follows has an appealing melancholy, which Braunstein
never over-sentimentalizes. He ensures the Scottish airs have a lovely lilt,
and he sweetly captures the flavor of the Scottish countryside. Then he brings
a zesty spirit to the central Allegro
and a quiet longing to the Andante.
While Braunstein and Maestro Ion Marin give us a grander Finale than we often hear, overall this is a relaxed, broadly
comfortable reading, full of charm and good will. It’s quite delightful,
actually.

Next up is the Concerto
No. 1 in G-minor for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 26, possibly Bruch’s most
well-known work. The composer premiered a revised version in 1867, and it’s
been one of the staples of the violin repertoire ever since. It has a curious
first movement, a Vorspiel (or
Prelude) leading directly to the second movement. This Vorspiel is like a slow march, with some ornamental flourishes
along the way. Braunstein seems perfectly at ease with the Romanticism of the
music, yet in an easygoing, if passionate, manner.

The Adagio is
famously melodious and forms the centerpiece of the work. In its broadly
sweeping themes we find one of the most soulful of Romantic slow movements.
Here, Braunstein plays wonderfully, capturing all of the music’s inner tensions
and heartrending beauty. In the Finale
Braunstein provides a necessary good cheer without overdoing things, without
wearing out his welcome. Instead, his playing is as light and lyrical as the
rest of his interpretation. This makes a most congenial, most welcome addition
to the catalogue.

Braunstein concludes the program with his own arrangement
for violin of Bruch’s 1911 Romance in F-major
for Viola and Orchestra, Op. 85. It’s beautifully lyrical, reflecting an
earlier age of high Romanticism in its gentle melodies and rich harmonies.
Braunstein gives it the same cordial treatment he afforded the previous works
on the program, integrating the music seamlessly into the proceedings. As in
the rest of the album, Braunstein’s rendering of the Romance sounds beguiling, and a little sadly pensive.

Tudor recorded the music at the Bamberg Concert Hall,
Joseph-Keilberth-Saal, Germany, in 2011. They created a hybrid
multichannel/stereo SACD of it, and I listened to the SACD two-channel stereo
layer. The first thing one notices is an excellent sense of depth, air, and
space to the sound. Very impressive. The solo violin is out front, of course,
but not too far and, thus, not bigger than life as sometimes happens in these
affairs. The midrange sounds clean and smooth and reasonably transparent, the
highs fairly well extended, the lows a tad lightweight but adequate. Transient
attack is fine, as is ambient bloom. In all, it’s one of the better SACD’s I’ve
heard recently.

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

JJP

Basically Bull (CD review)

Keyboard works of
John Bull and others. Alan Feinberg, piano. Steinway & Sons 30019.

Yes, as you can see, the album’s title is playfully
misleading. Instead of what you might expect at first glance, American
classical pianist Alan Feinberg plays mostly the music of Englishman John Bull.
Feinberg has won numerous awards and received four Grammy nominations, along
with touring internationally and building an extensive discography. His
interest lately appears to be in contrasting older music and new, with Basically Bull reaching all the way back
to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries with piano pieces by Elizabethan
composer, keyboardist, and organ builder John Bull (1562-1628) and several of
Bull’s contemporaries. Feinberg does it up in a vivacious, lighthearted manner,
providing a good deal (73:36) of lively fun, even if much of the music on the
disc appears a little dour in tone.

As Mr. Feinberg explains it, “While others provided
popular tunes and simple dances for the new instrument called the ‘virginal,’
John Bull offered up experimental, challenging works, pieces that exuberantly
overstepped conventional musical expectations. Fashioning a group of these
works to function in concert and translating them to the wildly different
timbre of the modern piano has been an exciting venture into the 16th and 17th
century avant-garde. Bull’s music is brimming with invention and inspiration,
power and passion.”

So, how famous was John Bull? He was among the
most-celebrated keyboard composers of his day, contributed to the first-ever
volume of keyboard music published in England, and may have even written the
British de facto national anthem “God Save the Queen.” That famous. He was probably
not, however, the inspiration for the character of the United Kingdom’s
personification, that stout country gentleman used in political cartoons much
as the U.S. uses Uncle Sam. That John Bull was the creation of Dr John
Arbuthnot almost a century later.

Anyway, Bull wrote largely for the newfangled musical
instrument called the virginal, a kind of early harpsichord and a precursor of
the present-day piano. And he didn’t just write what everyone else was writing;
he wrote new, daring, experimental tunes. Maybe it was partly because of his
avant-garde musical style and partly because of his libertine lifestyle that
Bull fled England in 1613. Certainly, though, his music doesn’t sound all that
unconventional to us today; times change.

Bull’s keyboard music as represented on this disc runs
high to galliards, spirited dances for two persons often written in triple
rhythm, and various other slower, nimble, contrapuntal melodies, some serious,
some religious, some whimsical. Of the twenty tracks on the disc, Bull wrote
thirteen. The other numbers represent the work of Thomas Tomkins (1572-1656),
William Byrd (1543-1623), John Blitheman (c. 1525-1591), Orlando Gibbons
(1583-1625), and John Redford (d. 1547). The interesting thing to note is that
none of it sounds as though it comes from the sixteenth or seventeenth
centuries, at least not as Feinberg plays it. It sounds much later, much more
inventive, even Romantic. Bull was, indeed, ahead of his time.

Alan Feinberg’s piano playing is smooth, mellow, dexterous,
masterly, and although virtuosic at times, never ostentatious. You could say
it’s comfortably cozy and inviting. He allows Bull’s ornamentation to speak for
itself while maintaining a firm, flowing grasp of the music. There was no
reason for him to have turned this into the Feinberg show; it’s Bull who’s
clearly on display throughout. Of course, it might have been fun to hear Mr.
Feinberg perform these pieces on an actual, period virginal, but this is, after
all, a Steinway & Sons recording so he plays everything on a Steinway Model
D grand piano. As Feinberg says above, that was a challenge of adaptation, yet
it’s one he obviously overcame with little difficulty. The program and the
playing provide something different and something most engaging.

Producer Dan Mercurio and engineer Daniel Shores recorded Basically Bull for Steinway & Sons
at Sono Luminus Studios, Boyce, Virginia in January, 2013. They obtained an
excellent piano sound, rich and resonant, with a light hall reflection to
enhance the tone. The long decay time means a warmer, mellower, more realistic
presence, making the sonics a delight to the audiophile as well as to the
casual music lover.

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

JJP

Rossini: Complete Overtures, Volume 2 (CD review)

William Tell,
Silken Ladder, Il Signor Bruschino, and more. Christian Benda, Prague Sinfonia
Orchestra. Naxos 8.570934.

These days most people know Italian composer Gioacchino
Rossini (1792-1868) best for his overtures, of which he wrote a slew. Here, we
have the second of four discs from Christian Benda and his Prague Sinfonia
Orchestra, a set that encompasses all the overtures the man wrote.

There are any number of good recordings of Rossini
overtures, and Benda gives us yet another good choice. Still, as I’ve said
before, one needs to consider the competition before making any hasty
decisions, and we already have Neville Marriner’s complete, three-disc set from
Philips, a long-gone label but one still available new and used for a
reasonable (sometimes absurdly low) price. And if it’s only a single disc of
the most-popular overtures you’re interested in, you can find excellent
bargains from the likes of, again, Marriner (Philips, PentaTone, or EMI), the
Orpheus Chamber Orchestra (DG), Fritz Reiner (RCA), Piero Gamba (Decca or JVC),
Peter Maag (HDTT), Riccardo Muti (EMI), Claudio Abbado (DG), Riccardo Chailly
(Decca), Carlo Maria Giulini (EMI), Sir Roger Norrington (EMI), and
others.  Still, Benda’s performances
stand up to the best, and the Naxos sound and price are right.

Anyway, it is Benda’s apparent decision to include a few
of the most-popular Rossini overtures on each of his four discs, along with
several lesser-known overtures. Accordingly, Benda begins the program on Volume
2 with the biggest gun in the Rossini arsenal, Guillaume Tell, the “William Tell” overture (you can here a snippet
below). As you probably know, Rossini divided the overture into four separate
sections or movements: the Prelude or
Dawn; the Storm; the pastorale or
“Call to the Cows”; and the famous closing galop
or “March of the Swiss Soldiers.” In terms of Benda’s interpretation, I suppose
you could say that three out of four ain’t bad. Dawn arrives dramatically, with appropriate atmosphere; the Storm erupts with much sound and fury;
the pastorale is serenely blissful;
but the galop lacks the thrills
provided by any number of other conductors. The Prague Sinfonia play well
enough, and there’s no denying the music has elegance. Just not quite all the
excitement one may expect, closer to an analytical approach in the end. Benda’s
reading appears aimed more toward the pure music lover than the Lone Ranger fan, which is not
altogether a bad thing.

The other big guns on the program are the overtures to the
comic operas La scala di seta (“The
Silken Ladder”) and Il Signor Bruschino
(“Signor Bruschino, or The Son by Chance”), which Maestro Benda handles with
grace, wit, and refinement. La scala di
seta displays a good deal of zip and pizzazz; it’s truly an exhilarating
experience, with a light, easy step for so quick a tempo. In Signor Bruschino we find both elegance
and charm, yet Benda’s performance is not without a properly playful stress on
the tapping of the bows.

Then, there are the less well-known works: the overtures
to  Eduardo
e Cristina (“Eduardo and Cristina”), L’inganno
felice (“The Happy Deception”), Demetrio
e Polibio (“Demetrius and Polybius”), and Sigismondo (“Sigismondo, King of Poland”), and the very early
non-overture Sinfonia di Bologna,
which Rossini wrote in his teens. These overtures are from largely serious, or
at least semi-serious, operas, with an emphasis on typically Italian melodrama.
Thus, you can expect Benda to be pretty earnest in all of it. Nevertheless,
there is a goodly portion of lyrical delight throughout the pieces. This is
especially true of Eduardo e Cristina,
which demonstrates Benda’s ability to convey romance and adventure effectively.

One can perhaps see why not all of Rossini’s operas and
overtures gained a full measure of popularity over the years. The fact is, not
all of them contain the particularly inventive touches or memorable melodies.
Even so, Maestro Benda makes a good case for all of them, infusing them with an
élan that tends to carry the day.

If there is any one drawback I could name, though, it
might be that there is less than an hour of material on the disc, including the
non-overture. I can’t help thinking that Naxos could probably have included all
of the overtures on three discs rather than four. Nevertheless, at so
affordable a price, I shouldn’t complain.

Naxos recorded the music at Kulturni dum Barikadniku,
Prague, Czech Republic, in 2011 and at Produkcni dum Vzlet, Prague, in 2012.
The sound they obtained is quite good, well balanced, with no undue forwardness
or dullness, a well-extended treble, fine low-end definition, solid midrange
clarity and definition, reasonably sharp transient response, and overall taut
impact. There is also a wide stereo spread and a modest amount of orchestral
depth. A small degree of soft warmth tends to make the sound easier on the ear
than it would otherwise. In all, this is one of Naxos’s better-sounding discs.

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

JJP

Sousa: Marches (CD review)

Lt. Col G.A.C. Hoskins, Band of HM Royal Marines. EMI 7243 5 85535-2
(2-disc set).

The remarkable thing
about this two-disc set is that it contains forty-three Sousa marches. That’s
about one-third of the March King’s total output and includes all the marches
that Lt. Col. Hoskins recorded for three separate CDs between 1983 and 1985.

The main reason that
EMI can accommodate so many of the marches on the two discs would appear to be
the brisk pace with which Hoskins and his players dispatch the works. You can
call them bracing or exciting or stimulating, but there’s no doubt some listeners
will find them speedy. These are marches, after all; just how fast would a
column of soldiers have to be stepping to keep up with the music? Of course,
they’re concert marches, so the practicality of their tempo is beside the
point. Still, they lose a little of their charm when Hoskins takes all of them
at so fast a clip.

Nevertheless, they
sound nicely recorded, EMI offers them at a low price (under $10.00 many
places), and the two discs provide all of Sousa’s most popular pieces plus a
number of less well-known ones, covering the entire time span of his march
output. Yes, you’ll find “King Cotton” here, and “Semper fidelis,” “Manhattan
Beach,” “The Liberty Bell,” “El Capitan,” “The Washington Post,” “The
Thunderer,” and “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” But you’ll also find
“Powhatan’s Daughter,” “Kansas Wildcats,” “The Royal Welch Fusiliers,”
“Marquette University,” “The Northern Pines,” “The Lambs,” “Jack Tar,” and many
more.

Truly, a little goes
a long way, though, especially when Hoskins and his Royal Marine Band hardly
vary their pace. I made the mistake of trying to listen through both discs at
once and found myself tiring less than midway though. However, I entertained
myself further by getting up and comparing the sound of these EMI remasterings
to the sound of the first disc of Hoskins’ original CDs I had on hand. The
difference was striking. The new discs sound a bit thin in the bass and
somewhat top heavy in the treble, but they absolutely sparkle compared to EMI’s
first disc, which appeared to have placed a thick blanket across the front of
my speakers, it sounded that muffled. So, kudos to the new edition.

It was interesting,
too, that the remasterings of the earliest, 1983 recordings, the first fourteen
on disc one, seemed to favor slightly the left side of the sound stage, but the
‘84 and ’85 recordings brought the stereo balance back in line. Hey, these may
not be the absolute best Sousa performances on record or in the best sound, but
for the money they represent a terrific value. And, who knows, taken a few at a
time, they may just get your blood pumping, as they should.

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

JJP