New Releases, No. 37

By Karl W. Nehring

Weather Systems I: A Hard Rain. (CD1) Cage: 27’10.554” for a percussionist; Stockhausen: Zyklus; Feldman: The King of Denmark; Wuorinen: Janissary Music; (CD2) Helmut Lachenmann: Intérieur I; William Hibbard: Parsons’ Piece; Kurt Schwitters: Ursonata. Steven Schick, percussion; Sharokh Yadegari, electronics composer and performer (on Ursonata). Islandia Music Records  IMR011.

Steven Schick (b.1954) is one of the world’s leading percussion virtuosos. He is also a composer and conductor as well as a professor of music (UC San Diego) who has been instrumental in commissioning new works by contemporary composers. Like many albums released over the past couple of years, A Hard Rain is an album that has been shaped in significant measure by the COVID-19 pandemic, as Schick explains in his revealing liner notes, wherein he explains how he came to choose these particular pieces and how some of them have particularly poignant meaning for him. As you night have noticed from the header above, the album is designated Weather Systems I, implying that that there may be more such releases to follow. According to Schick, “Weather Systems is a muti-part set of recordings of the percussion music that has been most meaningful to me, to be made as I age through my 60’s, 70’s, and perhaps 80’s. Though ‘Weather Systems I: A Hard Rain,” as the first installment, presents the foundationalist modernist works for solo percussion, the entire set of Weather Systems recordings will represent music composed over more than a hundred years and will feature a diverse set of com posers and points of view.” The end result is a fascinating album that highlights musical instruments that we tend to take for granted – instruments that are struck, shaken, rubbed, and which range in pitch from treble to bass and in volume from whisper-soft to thunderously loud. Moreover, the final composition, Kurt Schwitters’s Ursonata (1922-32) features the human voice as you have never heard it before. You might find it a bit strange or even offputting for the first few minutes, but just keep listening and there is a good chance y9u will find yourself utterly spellbound. Although A Hard Rain is admittedly out of the classical mainstream, there is plenty here on these two well-recorded discs to stimulate the musical imagination.

James M. Stephenson: Symphony No. 3 “Visions.” Vladimir Kulenovic, Lake Forest Symphony. Cedille 3014 (digital release).

Although Stephenson’s symphony is an excellent work, this review is a bittersweet one, for reasons I shall reveal presently. Let me first explain that although this release is available only digitally at the Cedille website ( https://www.cedillerecords.org ), because at the time I expressed interest in auditioning it I did not yet have an internet connection with bandwidth sufficient for streaming high-res audio, the good folks at Cedille were kind enough to send me a CD copy to use for review purposes. As John Puccio has pointed in the past, Cedille has a top-tier engineering team that knows how to capture realistic orchestral sound; I certainly had no complaints about the CD sound and would be confident that if you are able to stream it at CD quality or above, you will not be disappointed in the sound. More importantly, no matter what level of streaming quality you are able to access, you will hear a colorful, energetic, and attractive symphony. Indeed, Stephenson set out to write a symphony that would appeal to serious, musically informed listeners (the kind that read Classical Candor). In his program note for this symphony, he explained that the symphony’s subtitle, “Visions,” derives from images he kept in mind as he composed the work: “I would literally close my eyes and imagine myself sitting there, in the performance space. I would then only write music that I could envision getting colleagues, patrons, conductors, and young versions of myself at the edge of their seats, eager to play and experience.”

The music is tonal and tuneful right from the outset. The opening movement bustles with high spirits and is then followed by an adagio that calms things down somewhat while still retaining a feeling of energy and enthusiasm. The third movement, marked Vivo scherzando, at times has a jazz-like feeling. It is – unusually for a scherzo – the longest movement of the four. The finale starts off moodily but by the end builds up a full head of steam for a big finish with brass and percussion making a joyful noise. All in all, it is quite an enjoyable work, my only reservation being that at times I found myself wishing that Stephenson would have backed off a little on the scoring – not quite so many instruments playing all at once, perhaps some silence once in a while. As the late Colin Chapman of Lotus fame advised about automobile chassis engineering: “add lightness.” But my goodness, don’t let my petty quibble put you off – this is a colorful, enjoyable symphony. But now for the sad part. After more than 60 years of operation as a professional orchestra, the Lake Forest Symphony, based in Lake County, Illinois, just north of Chicago, ceased operations in 2020 because of funding shortfalls. Such a loss…

Christian Colberg: Talking to Myself. Rude; Six Rounds; 1977; Ibiza; That; Funk; Jump and Echo; The Balcony; Bach It Up; Hmmm; Sleep My Child. Available digitally at Amazon Music, Spotify, Apple Music/iTunes, and Tidal, or as CD or USB at https://www.christiancolberg.com).

Christian Colberg is a Puerto Rican violist, violinist, and composer who currently serves as the principal violist of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. As this album proves, he is also blessed with chops on percussion plus a vivid imagination and a fully-developed sense of fun. His backstory is fascinating, At age four, he auditioned on the violin for none other than the great Pablo Casals and was invited to be in the immortal cellist’s music for youth program. At 16, Colberg left Puerto Rico with no money and went to the Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore. After graduating, an audition for the Baltimore Symphony appeared - but, on viola - an instrument he really didn't know. After listening to all the other applicants practice, he figured out how to play it well enough to get through the audition, and in the end, won his first professional audition on an instrument h didn't play. He was so broke that he had to ask the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra for a loan to buy a viola, the same viola he plays today.

On Talking to Myself, Colberg composed all the music, plays all the instruments (his wife, Amy Taylor, plays the alto flute on one track), and did the engineering (which sounds just fine for a studio recording – also, the mixing and mastering was handled by an experienced pro, Matthew Lutthans). The music covers a wide range of styles and moods – jazz, blues, rock, but filtered through the strings of Colberg’s instruments, primarily his viola, violin, and occasional cello, plus the seasoning of acoustic and electronic percussion. Another influence shows up in the longest cut, titled That, in which Colberg’s love for the music of India reveals itself. On his website, he recounts a memory that explains both the feeling of the tune and the origin of its title: “My grandfather played records all day… His tastes in music spanned the globe. By the time I was five, I had heard the world. One sunny day (when is it not sunny in Puerto Rico?), when I was four, he put on a record that changed my life – "West meets East" by Yehudi Menuhin and Ravi Shankar. When I heard what was coming out of the record player, I said – “I have to play THAT.” From that moment, I knew I was a musician and nothing else would do. Truth be told, I meant I wanted to play the sitar ("that"), however, I’m not sure if there was even one single sitar in Puerto Rico at the time – so a violin had to do. I hit the ground running and dedicated myself to the instrument.” To my ears, That is six minutes of musical bliss that brings back memories of and pays tribute to both late musical masters, Ravi Shankar and Yehudi Menuhin. The final track is also quite moving, titled Sleep My Child, Sleep. Taylor’s flute plays a haunting melody while Colberg provides accompaniment on his viola. Christian Colberg’s Talking to Myself is quirky but fun, well worth an audition by those who value imagination and musical dexterity.

Sibelius: Symphonies Nos. 1-7; Tapiola Op. 112; Three Late Fragments. Klaus Mäkelä, Oslo Philharmonic. Decca 455 2256 (4 CDs).

The young Finnish conductor Klaus Mäkelä (b. 1996) caused quite a stir earlier this year when Decca released this set of then complete Sibelius symphonies conducted by a relatively unknown young man in his mid-twenties. The sheer audacity! The cheek! As usual, there were mixed reactions, with some reviewers just not being able to get past Mäkelä’s age and perceived lack of credentials, others lavishing heady praise on an outstanding new release. In any event, given the musical importance of the Sibelius symphonies, it is certainly exciting to see a new release of a complete set on a major label, no matter the age of the conductor (perhaps Decca could have avoided some of the critical nitpicking by not featuring cover and liner photos that so effectively highlight Mäkelä’s youthful appearance). In the classical music world we take almost for granted that there have been prodigies who have shown incredible musical talent as performers and/or composers at a young age (e.g., Mozart, Mendelssohn, Brahms, Hilary Hahn), so why not be willing to accept the idea of a conducting prodigy, which Maestro Mäkelä certainly seems to be. He became interested in conducting at the age of 12 while singing in the choir, of the Finnish National Opera and later studied conducting at the Sibelius Academy. At the age of 21 he first conducted the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra and was shortly thereafter named its Principal Guest Conductor. In 2018, he guest-conducted the Oslo Philharmonic, and soon thereafter he was named as its Chief Conductor starting with the 2020-21 season. Since then, he has also been named Music Director of the Orchestre de Paris starting in 2021. On top of that, he haws been appointed as an artistic partner of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra from 2022 to 2027, when he will then become its next Chief Conductor. Clearly, he is either prodigiously talented or else his manager is a Jedi master.

Not that surprisingly, the (spoiler alert!) overall high musical quality of this release is in a significant sense yet another product of the coronavirus pandemic, which hit during Mäkelä’s inaugural year with the Oslo Philharmonic. They had planned to explore Sibelius’s symphonies during a nine-month period, but then the pandemic and its restrictions hit. Mäkelä and the orchestra wound up focusing solely on the music of Sibelius during the spring of 2021. The liner notes offer this explanation: “We played, played and then recorded,” says Mäkelä. “Sibelius’s music, like that of any composer, is a language you have to learn, and the circumstances under which we recorded actually played to our advantage.” Mäkelä goes on to explain that pandemic rules requiring the orchestra members to maintain social distancing during the recording sessions, which led to “deep listening” in his musicians.

The end result is a fine set of these wonderful works. Surely, most classical lovers will already own other recordings of many of Sibelius’s symphonies, perhaps even one or more complete sets such as this. Many will have favored recordings of individual symphonies or Tapiola that they will prefer over Mäkelä’s. I, for example, would never want to part with the Maazel/ Vienna recording of No. 4, and I prefer the Vanska/Lahti version of No. 6. Others would no doubt have other preferences. My “keeper” box set has been the Vanska/Lahti on BIS; however, as good as the engineering is on that set, the Decca team has surpassed it. The sound is smooth, clear, and natural. No, I’ve not heard every Sibelius set out there, but I’ve heard a number of them, and a whole bunch of individual releases – this set has the best overall sound I’ve yet encountered.

Finally, this set includes some music that will be new to even the most ardent Sibelius fans, Three Late Fragments. His last completed work was Tapiola, which is included in this set, but as Nordic music scholar Andrew Mellor explains in the liner notes, “but there was mo9re music in side Sibelius – just. Three fragments of orchestral music discovered am9ng the composer’s late manuscripts may or may not have been intended as part of an Eighth Symphony. But they do suggest Sibelius was attempting to pick up some of the sparse, frayed linguistic threads from Tapiola and struggling to knit them coherently together – aware, perhaps, that the piece had assumed the role of a creative farewell by default. Mäkelä’s take on these fragments is that “Sibelius was reading scores and listening to the radio a lot in his last decades. He realized how different the European avantgarde was starting to sound. Perhaps he couldn’t react on the level he would have liked. The fragments suggest a completely new language that he just couldn’t sustain – or maybe didn’t want to.” Not for nothing are these three compositions called fragments; they time out at 1:41, 0:17, and 1:43. Quite brief, but quite fascinating. With excellent performances, superb engineering, and some truly rare music, this is a set worthy of consideration by Sibelius fans.

KWN

One Movement Symphonies (CD review)

Barber: First Symphony; Sibelius: Symphony No. 7; Scriabin: Le poem de l’extase. Michael Stern, Kansas City Symphony. Reference Recordings RR-149.

By John J. Puccio

Sometimes you think you know something, and you don’t. In this case, I thought I knew pretty much what a symphony was all about. Apparently, I didn’t.

“Symphony: an extended piece in three or more movements for symphony orchestra.” --American Heritage Dictionary

“Symphony: a work usually consisting of multiple distinct sections, often four.” --Wikipedia

“Symphony: a lengthy form of musical composition for orchestra, normally consisting of several large sections, or movements, at least one of which usually employs sonata form.” --Encyclopedia Britannica

“Symphony: a usually long and complex sonata for symphony orchestra.” --Merriam-Webster Dictionary

But as the producers of this disc, One Movement Symphonies, point out, those definitions are not necessarily true. Each of the works on the album is a one-movement orchestral piece that their composers identified as “symphonies.” Yet these are not obscure works by obscure composers. They are major symphonic pieces by composers we all know: Samuel Barber’s First Symphony; Jean Sibelius’s Seventh Symphony; and Alexander Scriabin’s Le poeme de l’extase (“The Poem of Ecstasy”). OK. We all know the music. But have we really considered them “symphonies” in any strict sense of the term? Maybe. Maybe not.

Be that as it may, it’s the “one-movement” business that holds the program together, starting with the First Symphony (1936) by American composer, conductor, pianist, and singer Samuel Barber (1910-1981). Barber subtitled it “In One Movement” just to make clear what he was up to, and sometimes people refer to it simply as the “Symphony in One Movement.” Despite the title, however, the work really is divided into four brief sections: Allegro ma non troppo, Allegro molto, Andante tranquillo, and Con moto. Barber modeled it on Sibelius’s Seventh Symphony, which is also divided into traditional movements but played without breaks.

Maestro Michael Stern and the Kansas City Symphony play the piece in a fairly straightforward manner, without undue flourish yet with delicate nuance. They handle the mood swings in the music with subtlety and grace, producing if not the most striking account of the piece ever recorded certainly one of the most enjoyable.

Next, speaking of Sibelius, comes the famous Symphony No. 7 in C major, written 1924 by Finnish composer and violinist Jean Sibelius (1865-1957). When Sibelius premiered it, however, he called it Fantasia sinfonica No. 1, a "symphonic fantasy." It wasn’t until the next year and its publication that he decided to label it a true “symphony.” By whatever name he wanted to call it, the work is still divided into distinct sections, in this case more than ever, with no less than ten discrete divisions from an opening Adagio to a closing Affettuoso (with “feeling” or “warmth”) and Tempo 1 (a return to the work’s initial tempo). However, the uniting thread holding it all together is not a series of contrasting keys and themes as in most traditional symphonies but a single, unifying key, C, and a series of constantly changing tempos. Again we get an honest, forthright presentation from Maestro Stern, with the orchestra sounding rich and resonant. The music remains colorful, lyrical, almost magical throughout, and the performance provides much pleasure.

The final work is Le poeme de l’extase (1905-08) by the Russian composer and pianist Alexander Scriabin (1871-1915). This work I’ve always thought of a symphonic poem rather than a true symphony mainly because it avoids the usual symphonic movements and contents itself to communicate a set of more spiritual emotions. Scriabin described it as “the joy of liberated action,” and approved the following program notes: “The stronger the pulse beat of life and the more rapid the precipitation of rhythms, the more clearly the awareness comes to the Spirit that it is consubstantial with creativity itself. When the Spirit has attained the supreme culmination of its activity and has been torn away from the embraces of teleology and relativity, when it has exhausted completely its substance and its liberated active energy, the Time of Ecstasy shall arrive.”

It’s a rather fanciful way of saying the music is sensual and provocative and should be played and enjoyed with passion. Stern’s way with it isn’t exactly in the heady realms of a Stokowski, Svetlanov, Gergiev, Muti, Abbado, or Mitropoulos, but it comes close enough. Stern appears to go for a beauty in the work beyond its mysticism, making it all the more enchanting, even beguiling for the listener.

Producer David Frost and engineer Keith O. Johnson recorded the symphonies at Helzberg Hall, Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts, Kansas City, Missouri in June 2016. This is a classic Reference Recordings production, meaning it sounds the way Reference Recordings discs have sounded since their founding back in 1976 and the way we’ve always loved them. The sound is dynamic, dimensional, wide ranging, and real. That last is particularly important. Reference Recordings have never tried to sound “audiophile,” just lifelike, and in the process the company has, perhaps ironically, established itself as a leader in the audiophile recording industry.

Anyway, this is all by way of saying that the current disc displays wide frequency and dynamic ranges, a solid impact, and a realistic orchestral depth and width. It comes about as close as one can get to sitting in a concert hall at a moderate distance from the ensemble. It’s quite impressive.

JJP

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

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2 (CD review)

Also, King Christian II (suite). Santtu-Matias Rouvali, Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. Alpha-Classics ALPHA 574.



Despite Santtu-Matias Rouvali's youthful appearance, he was born in 1985, has been the Chief Conductor of the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra since 2017, and with the 2021-22 season will be the Principal Conductor of London's Philharmonia Orchestra. He is a man of obvious talents.



Here, Maestro Rouvali leads his Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra in what is perhaps the most popular of the seven symphonies by Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957). As you know, he wrote his Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 43 between 1899 and 1901 and premiered it in 1902. Although the public quickly dubbed it his "Symphony of Independence" (from Russia), there was some debate as to whether the composer actually intended any symbolic significance in the piece. Be that as it may, it ends in a gloriously victorious finale that surely evokes a feeling of freedom and self-reliance.



The piece begins in a generally sunny style, then builds to a powerful a climax, with a flock of heroic fanfares thrown in for good measure. The composer wrote it in Italy, where he hoped to find sunshine and relaxation. The weather may have been unusually cold for that part of the country at the time, but he managed a fairly bright, sunny opening statement.



The second movement Sibelius marked as an Andante (moderately slow) and ma rubato (with a flexible tempo) to allow conductors more personal expression. The movement starts with a distant drumroll, followed by a pizzicato section for cellos and basses. Sibelius makes the third movement a scherzo, marking it Vivacissimo. It's a movement that provides a dazzling display of orchestral pyrotechnics, interrupted from time to time by a slower, more melancholy theme. The whole thing should bounce around from an admirable liveliness to a more pastoral theme, then a stormy midsection, and a tranquil conclusion. Then, the final movement bursts forth in explosive radiance--both thrilling and patriotic, the movement gliding directly from the third into the fourth without interruption.

Santtu-Matias Rouvali

So how does Maestro Rouvali handle all this? About the way he's pictured on the album's cover, giving it his best Mick Jagger impression. Although things seem a little quicker throughout than from most other conductors, he never appears too rushed. Everything unfolds with a smooth, flowing gait, rising to electrified climaxes in some places and remaining on solidly bucolic ground at others. From its sweet, folksy opening to its riveting conclusion, the symphony under Rouvali takes on a cohesive structure that binds all four movements together more so we usually hear.



Rouvali does especially well with that volatile third movement, which leaps about from fiery to rustic to tranquil. Instead of the usual starts and stops, Rouvali shapes it into a unified whole, one that moves along without much distraction yet still keeps the listener pinned to the spot. It's quite stirring, even if his transition into the final movement could have been more exhilarating. Here, Rouvali chooses to become more serious than overtly patriotic, showing us this is more than just an athletic workout but a thoughtful and substantial interpretation.



And how does Rouvali compare to other favored conductors of mine in the work: Barbirolli (Chesky, EMI, or HDTT), Monteux (HDTT), Szell (Philips), Karajan (EMI), Kletzki (Hi-Q), C. Davis (RCA), Sondergard (Linn), or Vanska (BIS)? Rouvali is right in there and must be added to the recommended list. Maybe he loses a little something in overall nuance next to Barbirolli, but it's close when you consider what Rouvali makes up for sheer color, spark, and adrenaline.



As a coupling, Rouvali gives us the suite from Sibelius's music for the stage play King Christian II. It may not be as familiar to most listeners as the symphony, yet Rouvali gives it a hefty zest that makes it near irresistible. As I said at the outset, Rouvali is a conductor of obvious talent and one we should be hearing from for many years to come.



Producer Jens Braun and engineer Lars Nisson recorded the music at Gothenburg Concert Hall, Sweden in June 2019. The sound is nicely balanced top to bottom, with a mild room resonance that provides a good sense of place. Detail and definition remain clear despite the gentle hall ambience present. Left-to-right stereo spread is not overdone and appears realistic, while front-to-back perspective is impressive. The bass reaches down acceptably, too, and the highs are fairly extended. Finally, we get a modest but not overly pronounced dynamic response throughout. It's good sound reproduction for a good performance.



JJP



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

Chesky Gold (CD reviews)

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2. Sir John Barbirolli, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Chesky Gold CG903.

Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto in D; Capriccio Italien; Andante Cantabile; Marche slav. Itzhak Perlman, violin; Alfred Wallenstein, London Symphony Orchestra; Alexander Gibson, New Symphony Orchestra of London; Massimo Freccia, London Philharmonic Orchestra. Chesky Gold CG9012.



Somewhere in the mid 1990's, Chesky Records decided to remaster several of their better-sounding classical albums on gold discs, the gold plating presumably offering a cleaner reading of digital pits. Be that what it may, the results were impressive, with first-rate performances in first-rate sound. Unfortunately, a quick check of Chesky's Web site indicates they no longer offer the product. Fortunately, both of the discs reviewed here are still available on-line, albeit at fairly high prices.



Anyway, Sir John Barbirolli's Sibelius Second Symphony, from 1962, has been a consensus choice of critics almost since its release, but more particularly since its CD debut on Chesky Records over a decade ago. The interpretation is beyond reproach, an ideal blend of Nordic chill and Romantic, Italianate warmth. Now, the sound has caught up with the performance as Chesky have completely remastered it in 128x over-sampling and stamped it out in gold. The result is a stunning issue, completely belying its thirty-odd years. Above all, the sound on Chesky's gold disc is smoother, more refined, slightly better delineated, and quieter than on their regular silver disc. In short, it is more listenable and takes its place alongside the better audiophile discs available.

Sir John Barbirolli

Perlman's 1967 version of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto is less well known. To my knowledge, only I have recommended it without reservation as one of the best interpretations of this much-loved favorite, and I have included it repeatedly in my "Basic Classical Collection on Compact Disc." To my mind, it is a better performance than any of Perlman's subsequent recordings, sweeter yet just as emotionally charged. Here, as with the Sibelius, gold remastering lends the sound an added polish, greater transparency, and smoother tone. The differences are not quite so noticeable as with the Sibelius, but they are improvements that anyone with a good hi-fi system will appreciate. 



In addition to the amended sonics, Chesky have also clarified their box labeling to the point where one no longer needs an interpreter to decipher who is playing what with which orchestra and conductor; and on the Tchaikovsky album, the works themselves are better laid out, with the Violin Concerto sensibly placed first.



I know that some people will question the value of buying expensive gold discs for a limited amount of music, especially for the Sibelius, which lasts only forty-four minutes. For them, excellent alternatives abound. For instance, Sir Colin Davis's Sibelius Second is coupled with No. 6 on an RCA digital release, and Jascha Heifetz's Tchaikovsky comes with either the Brahms or Mendelssohn violin concertos on RCA reissues. But if you're willing to pay for the very best, you won't be disappointed seeking out the Chesky gold series.



JJP



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

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2 (CD review)

Also, The Tempest, Suite No. 1. Petri Sakari, Iceland Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.554266.



What, you say you don't want to lay out thirty bucks for the Barbirolli gold disc of the Sibelius Second on Chesky? OK, how about considerably less money for this pleasant little Naxos release? It isn't the ultimate in refinement or interpretive flair, but it is a good, solid performer.



The Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 43 by Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) is perhaps the man's most popular work, outside of the ubiquitous "Finlandia," and there are many fine recordings of the symphony available. If you already own a favorite (the aforementioned Barbirolli disc for me), you may stop reading now and continue on with the next review. If, on the other hand, you are new to Sibelius or you are exploring alternative readings, this medium-priced issue seems a good investment.

Petri Sakari

Maestro Petri Sakari and the Iceland Symphony Orchestra handle the first movement especially well, conveying a proper, shivery introduction leading up to a probing major subject. If there is any minor disappointment, it is in the heroic final theme, which sounds a bit too homogenized for my taste. For an unfair comparison here, try Herbert von Karajan, the master of the grand gesture, on EMI, and Sakari will seem positively staid. But it isn't so bad in context and should not distract one from a possible purchase.



In sum, Sakari and his forces provide an ardent and colorful journey through Sibelius's characteristic landscape. Plus, the inclusion of the first suite of tunes from Sibelius's incidental music to Shakespeare's The Tempest makes a good companion piece. Sakari's interpretation brings out much of the music's imagination and color.



The sound likewise is pretty good, although not in the absolute top class. There is a pleasing concert hall ambience present that enriches verisimilitude while doing relatively little harm to detail clarity. It's rich, smooth, and resonant. And the music for The Tempest sounds equally fine.



This disc may not carry the mark of authority manifest by conductors like Sir John Barbirolli, Herbert von Karajan, Sir Colin Davis, or Vladimir Ashkenazy, but it is fair value for the dollar.



JJP



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

Sibelius: Karelia Suite (CD review)

Also, The Oceanides; Finlandia; Valse triste; Tapiola; Nightride & Sunrise. Sir Colin Davis, London Symphony Orchestra. RCA 09026-68770-2. 



To cap his complete Sibelius symphony cycle, the late Sir Colin Davis gave us big, sweeping interpretations of some of the composer's most-famous tone poems. And RCA provided audio to match. The warmhearted readings are born of years of experience and maturity, and while they may not provide the utmost in excitement, they do conjure up fairly appropriate images and feelings. 



Frankly, however, none of the interpretations individually would be among my absolute first-choice recommendations, though collectively they make a decent-enough package. The Karelia Suite is more regal and more stately than one usually hears it, but I prefer Sir John Barbirolli's more incisive rendering (EMI). The Oceanides is flavorsome, but it's hard when listening to it not to think of Sir Thomas Beecham's celebrated recording (EMI), and Davis again ends up second best.

Sir Colin Davis

Finlandia comes off grandly, filled with imposing gestures, yet it, too, lags one step behind Vladimir Ashkenazy's more overtly dramatic realization (Decca). And so it goes. Probably the best performance on the disc is the concluding one, Nightride & Sunrise, which Davis fills with all the moody contrasts this dark, woodsy, naturalistic piece demands.



Producer Michael Bremner and engineer Tony Faulkner recorded the music between 1992 and 1998. The resultant sonics are of the warm, weighty variety, sometimes billowy yet overall subdued. The sound nicely complements Davis's broadly relaxed style in the poems, but comparisons to the aforementioned Barbirolli or Ashkenazy make the new disc sound distinctly soft and bland. Turning up the volume doesn't hurt. I also found myself wishing for greater orchestral depth, although the sound is not unlike the ambiance of many large concert halls.



Interestingly, RCA recorded the six pieces on the program in three different locations, yet they sound remarkably alike. Let me just say that if your stereo system tends even slightly toward the hard or strident, the compensating factors of this new collection will suit your needs pretty well.



JJP



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

Sibelius: Symphonies Nos. 6 and 7 (CD review)

Also, The Tempest, Suite No. 2. Petri Sakari, Iceland Symphony Orchestra. Naxos 8.554387.



In order for any performance of a work by Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) to reach a level of excellence, it must display equal measures of boreal iciness and dreamy northern vistas. It helps, I suppose, that a Finnish conductor, Petri Sakari, and an Icelandic orchestra play the music on the present Naxos disc.



The cold is probably in their bones, and it's especially evident in the opening movement of the Sixth Symphony, the star of the set. There is an air of chill in the soft winds, leading to a gentle but coolly illuminated second movement, a fairly active scherzo, and a strong finale, wanting only in a touch of mystery.

Petri Sakari

The Seventh Symphony is somewhat different from the Sixth. It is quite brief at little over twenty minutes in length, and while demonstrating the traditional four-movement layout, we usually hear it as a single, uninterrupted unit. Still, the Seventh appears more massive and more substantial than the Sixth, a kind of synthesis, perhaps, of all that the composer had done before it. Sibelius seems to have condensed the essence of his bucolic wintry spirit into the work, and Maestro Sakari understands the importance of keeping the piece together and not letting it flake off into separate icy splinters. He maintains the work's cohesion and conveys its solemnity and triumph quite well.



Three of my comparison discs in these works were from Sir Colin Davis (RCA and Philips) and Sir John Barbirolli (EMI), the latter of whom has long been a favorite of mine. Unfortunately, making comparisons with well-established favorites may come out unfairly biased, so it's maybe no wonder I preferred them. Nevertheless, it is a measure of Sakari's skill that he more than holds his own with the other conductors, if never with quite the same characterful personality to his music-making.



Sound is another matter, and the Naxos engineers have served up a distinctive recording. It is a bit more rounded and more natural than the much older EMI recording, while not so transparent or robust as the RCA (or even the Philips). Still, this 2000 Naxos release has good range, good breadth, and good imaging, although I felt the cellos and first violins sounded a bit too close.



Overall, for its modest price, to get both the Sixth and Seventh Symphonies and a fascinating filler in Sibelius's incidental music to Shakespeare's The Tempest seems a pretty good deal.



JJP



To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click on the forward arrow:

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2 (CD review)

Sir John Barbirolli, The Halle Orchestra. HDTT remastered.



Two of my favorite recordings of Sibelius's Second Symphony come from Sir John Barbirolli: His 1962 version with the Royal Philharmonic at Walthhamstow Town Hall, London (reissued on a Chesky Gold edition that is especially good), and this 1966 rendering with the Halle Orchestra at Kingsway Hall, London. Of the two, I really have a hard time deciding which I prefer; I know I enjoy the stately gravitas of the 1966 interpretation, and it's particularly nice to hear it remastered by HDTT (High Definition Tape Transfers).



The Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) wrote his Symphony No. 2 in D, Op. 43 in 1902, and over the past hundred-plus years it has become one of his most-popular works. The listening public dubbed it his "Symphony of Independence," even though musical scholars are unsure whether Sibelius meant to attribute any symbolic significance to the piece. Whatever the case, the work ends in a splendidly victorious finale that certainly draws out a feeling of nationalistic pride and self-reliance.



The music begins in a generally sunny mood, building to a powerful a climax, with a flock of heroic fanfares thrown in for good measure. One of the first things to notice is Barbirolli's generally relaxed tempo at the beginning. It's a promise of good things to come. This is no rush job, no excuse to show the listener how much excitement the conductor can drum up. Nor is it a lax or lackadaisical performance. In fact, the more you hear it, the more "right" it sounds. Even those heroic fanfares sound flawlessly integrated into the first movement's structure rather than flamboyant add-ons.



Sibelius marked the second movement Andante (moderately slow) and ma rubato (with a flexible tempo) to allow a conductor some measure of personal expression. It begins with a distant drum roll, followed by a pizzicato section for cellos and basses. Barbirolli handles it wonderfully, never allowing it to descend into gloom or sentimentality at the extremes. Again, Barbirolli permits the music to unfold at its own pace, without ever forcing the issue. It's quite beautiful, actually, with a sweetly Mediterranean flavor throughout and the Halle Orchestra providing warmly polished playing.

Sir John Barbirolli

The third-movement scherzo displays a fair amount of orchestral pyrotechnics, interrupted from time to time by a slower, more melancholy theme before seamlessly making a transition into the Finale. Sibelius labeled it Vivacissimo, obviously a tempo taken in a lively and vivacious manner, which Barbirolli observes without undue attention to himself.



Then, the Finale bursts forth radiantly, in an explosive, thrilling, patriotic manner. In all, Barbirolli conducts a luminous interpretation of the symphony, full of vigor and sparkle and life, yet above all communicating an infectious air of joy.



Producer Ronald Kinloch Anderson and engineer Neville Boyling recorded the music for EMI at Kingsway Hall, London, in July 1966; and HDTT transferred it to CD in 2016 from a 15-ips 2-track tape in pure DSD with no PCM used.



The remastered sound appears perfectly balanced, with a fine sense of air, depth, transparency, and ambient bloom around the instruments. Strings sound particularly realistic, with a good shimmer and shine. Note, however, that I have always had a slight misgiving about the EMI sonics (now Warners) on their Halle discs; the orchestra seems a little too thin and the upper registers a bit too forward and almost edgy. But in this HDTT remaster, almost everything sounds right. (In a direct comparison of the EMI-Japan and HDTT products, the EMI disc sounded brighter, clearer, and rougher at the high end, the HDTT disc smoother, fuller, and as a result more lifelike.) A small degree of softness in the upper treble of the HDTT product is about the only other perceptible difference. Whatever, the HDTT remastering is one of the more natural recordings I've heard in a while, and it fully complements Barbirolli's affectionate reading.



For further information on HDTT products, prices, discs, and downloads in a variety of formats, you can visit their Web site at http://www.highdeftapetransfers.com/.



JJP



To listen to a brief excerpt from this album, click on the forward arrow:

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2 (CD review)

Eugene Ormandy, Philadelphia Orchestra. HDTT remaster.



Eugene Ormandy (1899-1985) was the conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra for about as long as any conductor has ever been the conductor of any one orchestra: He was at the helm for forty-four years. He took over the orchestra from Leopold Stokowski in the mid 1930's and recorded for several labels thereafter: primarily Columbia/CBS, RCA, and EMI until the late 70's. It was 1972 that Ormandy made the RCA recording under review, using the short-lived technology known at the time as Quadraphonic. HDTT (High Definition Tape Transfers) translated the Quadraphonic tape to various newer formats in 2015.



When I started acquiring recordings at the beginning of the stereo age (mid 1950's), Ormandy had already well established himself as one of the world's leading conductors. But I didn't really take much notice of him and bought very little of his work because he always seemed a rather foursquare conductor to me. That is, while I never found anything wrong or deficient about his conducting, I usually never found much spark to it, either. He appeared to give the public exactly what they wanted, which wasn't bad: that is, reliable, straightforward interpretations of popular classical music from a world-class orchestra. Unfortunately, too, in the vinyl days his record companies weren't always good to him, producing LP's that sounded thin, noisy, compressed, sometimes harsh, and bass-shy. By the time EMI started recording him, things got a little better; and then when the CD era arrived in the early 1980's, it surprised me to hear how good some of his early stereo work sounded when properly transferred to the new medium. Apparently, Columbia and RCA had not always been kind to the sound when translating the original master tapes to LP. While Ormandy's performances still didn't impress me too much, at least I could hear them in improved sonics. This HDTT transfer gives us some idea of what Ormandy and his Philadelphians really sounded like back then.



Anyway, the Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) wrote his Symphony No. 2 in D, Op. 43 in 1902, and over the past hundred-odd years it has become probably his most-popular work. The listening public dubbed it his "Symphony of Independence," although musical scholars are as yet unsure whether Sibelius meant to attribute any symbolic significance to the piece. Whatever, it ends in a splendidly victorious finale that certainly draws out a feeling of freedom and self-reliance.



The work begins in a generally sunny mood, building to a powerful a climax, with a flock of heroic fanfares thrown in for good measure. Ormandy had recorded the symphony once before in stereo (for Columbia in the late 1950's, if memory serves), and this '72 performance is much as I remember the first one. Ormandy takes a fairly relaxed view of the opening movement, building the excitement in smoothly articulated stages with no jarring transitions. It's popular music made even more palatable in Ormandy's essentially idiocyncratic-free approach.

Eugene Ormandy

Sibelius marked the second movement an Andante (moderately slow) and ma rubato (with a flexible tempo) to allow a conductor more personal expression. This second movement begins with a distant drumroll, followed by a pizzicato section for cellos and basses. Again Ormandy handles the music with his customary, gentle evenhandedness, with the insistent staccato rhythms made more comfortable in the process.



The third-movement scherzo displays a fair degree of orchestral pyrotechnics, interrupted from time to time by a slower, more melancholy theme before seamlessly making its transition into the Finale. Sibelius labeled the movement "Vivacissimo," meaning a tempo taken in a lively and vivacious manner. Under Ormandy, the music moves along at a reasonably quick gait without seeming in any way hurried, rushed, or hectic. He judges his rubato well, too, so again we get no incongruous shocks to the senses as the music moves from one contrasting element to the next.



Then, the Finale should burst forth in an explosive radiance--thrilling and patriotic. Ormandy maneuvers his way into this big fourth-movement victory celebration with a kind of polished cushiness that doesn't quite inspire a listener the way, say, Karajan does. Yet it suffices, and one could hardly call it dull. And he does build up to the score's several rousing climaxes with an appropriate amount of success. So, if Ormandy's interpretation is hardly pulse-pounding, it's also hard to fault.



As I say, Ormandy is good at what he does, and there is nothing about the recording that anyone can point to as inadequate or lacking, especially with an orchestra that plays so wonderfully and with such precision at the Philadelphia. It's just that there are already any number of fine recordings I find more rewarding from people like John Barbirolli and the Royal Philharmonic (Chesky Gold), Barbirolli and the Halle Orchestra (EMI), Pierre Monteux and the London Symphony (HDTT),

George Szell and the Concertgebouw Orchestra (Philips), Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic (EMI), Colin Davis and the Boston or London Symphony Orchestras (Philips or RCA),

Thomas Sondergard and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales (Linn), Osmo Vanska and the Lahti Symphony (BIS), among others. Nevertheless, I doubt that Ormandy would disappoint too many people.



Producer Max Wilcox and engineer Paul Goodman recorded the music for RCA in 1972. In 2015 HDTT transferred it to various formats including two-channel CD, DVD and DVD-A Audio physical disc, DSD or PCM FLAC download, or four-channel surround Blu-ray from an RCA discrete Quadraphonic tape. I listened to the two-channel CD.



The sound is a little closer than I like and a trifle too rounded and soft for me. Still, it beats by a long shot the old sound I remember from Philadelphia, which was often hard, bright, and brittle. Here, we get a most-listenable sound, with strong, wide dynamics and a decent if not wholly satisfying sense of orchestral depth. It seems a good sound for most of the music here--sunny, open, big, and bold, with a warm hall bloom to the instrumental setting. Although midrange transparency suffers a bit, it's a good trade-off for the added ambient glow.



Moreover, for those of you interested in what the original four-channel Quadraphonic sounds like, HDTT also make the recording available in Blu-ray 4.0 surround.



For further information on HDTT products, prices, discs, and downloads in a variety of formats, you can visit their Web site at http://www.highdeftapetransfers.com/.



JJP



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

Sibelius: Popular Tone Poems (CD review)

Finlandia and others. Herbert von Karajan, Berlin Philharmonic. Warner Classics 0724347684623.



One of the nice things to come out of Warner Classics taking over the EMI catalogue is that Warner has started reissuing some of the classic titles from the EMI ranks. This rerelease of Sibelius tone poems from Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic is a good example: The performances are first-rate; the disc includes two more selections than found on the LP; the sound is quite good; and the mid price is welcome.



Unfortunately, it doesn't appear the folks at Warner knew what to call the collection once they put it together. The old LP simply listed on the front cover the tone poems it contained. This reissue uses the original LP artwork, so it's a little misleading by not having all the CD's titles on it. Additionally confusing, the CD spine calls the album "Famous Tone Poems," while the disc itself says "Popular Tone Poems." Growing pains, I suppose, as Warner Classics finds its way; eventually, I'm sure the left hand will know what the right hand is doing.



In any case, the slight confusion in labeling doesn't diminish the quality of the music or the music making. Karajan and his Berlin players are in top form as they offer up six short Sibelius works, pieces they would record two or three times for DG and EMI before Karajan's passing.



Herbert von Karajan was among the most-popular conductors of the twentieth century, particularly leading the Berlin and Vienna Philharmonic Orchestras. However, that didn't mean that everybody loved him, and his critics often complained that he often glamorized the music he was playing with his flowing tempos and luxuriant orchestral sound. Anyway, love him or leave him, Karajan had a special affinity for the music of Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957), as this disc demonstrates.



First up on the program is En Saga, from 1892 Sibelius's first purely orchestral work. It doesn't appear to have any specific story behind but, rather as Sibelius explained, "En Saga is the expression of a state of mind. I had undergone a number of painful experiences at the time and in no other work have I revealed myself so completely. It is for this reason that I find all literary explanations quite alien." Under Karajan the music conveys a strong harmonic structure. While maybe it doesn't project as much atmosphere as some other recordings or as much excitement, it has a taut yet resilient integrity and a somewhat brisk pace that make for a powerful narrative, and Karajan's handling of the slower parts is really quite fetching.

Herbert von Karajan

Next is the lovely Swan of Tuonela, made even more appealing under Karajan's loving guidance. Sibelius wrote it in 1895 as a section of the Lemminkäinen Suite, four legends from Finnish mythology. Like his earlier DG account, the performance is fluid and serene in almost majestic terms. With Karajan's fondness for poetry and the orchestra's opulent, luxurious effect, the piece sounds quite lovely.



After that is a selection not included on the original LP: the Karelia Suite from 1893. Its three movements are a jaunty, marchlike Intermezzo; a medieval Ballade; and a rousing Alla Marcia. Here, the grandeur of the Berlin orchestra really comes to fore. Even if the music itself may be a little bombastic, Karajan and his players infuse it with an impressive richness, and again the conductor handles the slow movement with a deft hand.



Then, we get probably Sibelius's single most famous piece of music, Finlandia, a patriotic piece written in 1899 as a protest against increasing Russian censorship in Finland (the country was at the time under the rule of the Russian Empire). Karajan's way with this familiar music is almost overwhelming. It's not the most subtle approach, but it is undoubtedly just what such vigorous music demands: strong, uplifting, and magnificently performed.



Valse triste is another track not found on the original LP. Sibelius composed it in 1903 as a part of the incidental music for a play by his brother-in-law. Today, though, we mostly know it for itself. Karajan takes it at a rather slow, almost gloomy pace, bringing out the melancholy element of the music more so than many other conductors. Given the nature of what the music represents in the play (a dying woman mistaking death for her husband), the conductor's approach seems entirely appropriate.



The album concludes with Tapiola, Sibelius's last major work, premiered in 1926. The music depicts Tapio, a spirit or god of the forest in Finnish legend, and the tone poem describes the forest in which Tapio lives. This is the most atmospheric of Karajan's Sibelius. The conductor's tempos are broad and the rhythms sweeping. He builds a most-evocative picture of the god and his misty, snowy, desolate northern woods. The storm section is especially thrilling as it arises from the quiet that precedes it.



Producer Michel Glotz and engineer Wolfgang Gulich recorded the music at the Philharmonie, Berlin in 1976, 1980, and 1981. According to the Warner booklet notes, this disc uses the Abbey Road remasterings from 2002 and 2005, so if you already have EMI's issues from back then, these should sound the same. There's a fairly balanced frequency response involved; good, though seldom extreme, dynamics; some small degree of warmth but with decent detail; and moderately good lows and highs. These are relatively clean, clear recordings, in fact, although perhaps a trifle hard in the upper midrange, hardly noticeable.



JJP



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

Sibelius: Symphonies 2 & 7 (SACD review)

Thomas Sondergard, BBC National Orchestra of Wales. Linn Records CKD 462.




If the number of releases in the CD catalogue is any indication, Sibelius's first two symphonies remain his most popular, with No. 2 taking a slight edge. This is no doubt why most conductors begin their Sibelius symphony recording cycles with one of the first two works, which is what Maestro Thomas Sondergard and his BBC National Orchestra of Wales do here, giving the Second a fairly lively, and welcome, reading. With room left over, the little Seventh Symphony is also a welcome delight.





Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) wrote his Symphony No. 2 in D, Op. 43 in 1902, and the listening public quickly dubbed it his "Symphony of Independence," although no one is sure whether Sibelius really intended any symbolic significance in the piece. Even so, it ends in a gloriously victorious finale that surely draws out a feeling of freedom and self-reliance from the music. The piece begins in a generally sunny style, though, then builds to a powerful a climax, with a flock of heroic fanfares thrown in for good measure.





Sondergard takes all four movements more quickly than do the conductors on any of the half dozen recordings I had on hand for comparison, yet his tempi are not at all breathless. Indeed, his handling of the faster sections of the first movement is fleet and agile, the change-ups smooth and entirely natural. When he pauses momentarily, when he increases the volume, when he goes into a hushed whisper, or whatever, it is with purpose; and that purpose always seems to be in the service of the music. With evenly tuned transitions from warm to cool and back, Sondergard's interpretation places the first movement among the best you will find.





The second movement Sibelius marked as an Andante (moderately slow) and ma rubato (with a flexible tempo) to allow conductors more personal expression. The movement begins with a distant drumroll, followed by a pizzicato section for cellos and basses. Under Sondergard this slow movement is appropriately somber, yet he imbues the music with a degree of comfortable affection, too, so it's not entirely melancholy. And again, Sondergard ensures that when he reaches the intense middle section, it doesn't appear to be coming out of nowhere but is intrinsic to the rest of the music.





Sibelius makes the third movement a scherzo, one that provides a dazzling display of orchestral pyrotechnics, interrupted from time to time by a slower, more melancholy theme. The whole thing should bounce around from an admirable liveliness to a more pastoral theme, then a stormy midsection, and a tranquil conclusion. This fast movement is sort of the opposite in structure of the preceding movement: instead of two slow sections enclosing a fast one, we get two fast sections surrounding a slow one. Sondergard generates a good deal of enthusiasm throughout this segment, keeping both the orchestra and the audience on their toes.





In closing, the final movement bursts forth in explosive radiance--both thrilling and patriotic. When the third movement glides directly into the fourth, Sondergard might have increased the horsepower just a bit more, highlighting the heroics. Instead, he is content to let the music speak effortlessly for itself, and perhaps he was right in doing so. He makes a rather eloquent statement by eschewing a certain degree of exaggeration. In the final analysis, Sondergard's treatment of Sibelius's Second Symphony is one of the best (and best sounding) you'll find.





Completed in 1924 the Symphony No. 7 in C major, Op. 105, was Sibelius's final published symphony. It is notable for being in a single, relatively brief movement. For its first performance, he called it Fantasia sinfonica No. 1, a "symphonic fantasy." It was only a year later, when he actually published it, that he decided he would simply call it his Symphony No. 7. Whatever, the composer said he wanted to express in it a "joy of life and vitality with appassionato sections." To that extent, Sondergard takes him at his word.





One movement or not, the music flows structurally as a symphony might, just with more seamless continuity and cogency. Sondergard's rendering of it is, frankly, gorgeous, one of the most brilliant, moving performances I've heard. As with the previous work, the conductor fashions it all of a piece, with nothing that doesn't perfectly belong. And throughout all of this music, the orchestra adds a rich, polished luster to the proceedings. It's quite becoming.





Producer and engineer Philip Hobbs recorded the symphonies in stereo and multichannel at BBC Hoddinot Hall, Ckardiff, UK in March 2014. Linn Records released the hybrid SACD for both SACD stereo and multichannel and regular CD stereo playback. I listened to the SACD two-channel stereo layer.





The sound has a nice airy quality, with a lifelike dimensionality about it. You can hear the orchestra not only from side to side in a realistic spread but front to back as though actually sitting in the audience in a concert hall. This is typical, though, of Linn Records, who usually do their utmost to make listeners feel as though the event were live and the ensemble were actually there in front of you. Dynamics, frequency response, impact, and overall clarity are also quite good, with the hall itself lending a modest resonance to the occasion.





JJP





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

Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 (HDCD review)

Also, The Swan of Tuonela. Herbert von Karajan, Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. HDTT HDCD362.



Even though Herbert von Karajan was enormously popular, not everyone loved him. For me, he always sounded as though he wanted to glamorize the music he conducted more than necessary with long, flowing tempos and a luxuriant orchestral sound. While Karajan's approach pleases me in grand opera, I never entirely cared for it in orchestral music. That's probably why I never bothered to listen to his 1965 DG recording of the Sibelius Fourth Symphony. I figured that if any piece of music cried out for a simpler and more-rugged style than Karajan's, it was the Fourth, even though I rather liked conductor's later, 1976 EMI recording. Now, with this HDTT (High Definition Tape Transfer) remastering of the DG recording, I can see what Karajan might have been on to all along.



Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) wrote his Symphony No. 4 in 1911, and it has always reminded me of a vast, flat, icy plain, maybe in Lapland, brooding in silence. It's certainly one of the Sibelius's bleaker yet more-characterful works. Karajan's somewhat measured interpretation and the magnificent playing of the Berlin Philharmonic make the music sound as bleak and melancholy as ever, the desolation of the landscape all the more complete with the conductor's slow pace. Yes, Karajan still tends to make the music sound a little too outright pretty for my taste, but it's a legitimate reading, and one can hardly deny the virtuosity and sheer beauty of his Berlin ensemble.



Sibelius felt he was near death when he wrote the piece; however, he would live for another forty-six years, so I suppose you could say it was a false alarm. Later, Sibelius said of the symphony, quoting the Swedish author Strindberg, "Being human is misery." Therefore, don't expect much joy here. Nevertheless, Karajan's extraordinarily broad tempos keep one involved, making the work seem more lofty and more emotional than some competing versions. I would place this Karajan performance along with his later EMI recording and those of Ashkenazy (Decca), Barbirolli (EMI), Berglund (EMI), and Vanska (BIS) at the head of my list of recommendations.

Herbert von Karajan

The symphony opens with a theme "as harsh as Fate," as the composer described it, and that's the way Karajan sees it: desolate, cold, and powerful. The succeeding Allegro molto vivace brings a note of serenity to the otherwise dark proceedings, but it also turns slightly sinister (though never threatening).

Originally Sibelius labeled the slow Largo section "The Thoughts of a Wayfarer." It continues the sullen atmosphere of the piece, with Karajan emphasizing its mysterious mood shifts and establishing a truly lonely place. Then, while the final Allegro opens brightly, even cheerfully, promising a sudden change of temperament, it soon reverts to the desolation of the opening movement. Here, too, Karajan skillfully outlines the bleak, expansive landscapes.



Although the performance may be a tad too cushy and comfortable for this music, Karajan nevertheless leads us through a powerful reading of the score, thanks, too, no doubt, to the excellence of the orchestra and to the impressive remastering HDTT provide us.



Karajan succeeds in the coupling, too. The Swan of Tuonela moves as gracefully as any you'll hear. With Karajan's fondness for poetic renditions and the orchestra's rich, luxurious effect, the piece sounds quite lovely.



Deutsche Grammophon originally recorded the music at Christ Church, West Berlin, Germany in 1965, and HDTT transferred it from a DGG 4-track tape in 2015. I never much cared for the sound DG afforded Karajan and his Berlin players. Early on, in the analogue age, it seemed a bit too vague to me, with little or no deep bass. Later, with the introduction of digital, the Berlin Philharmonic sounded too glassy, edgy, and still bass-shy to me, despite an enormous dynamic range. But maybe it was all in DG's masterings of Karajan's recordings for vinyl and CD because here the HDTT remastering is excellent.



The HDTT remastered sound has great power, as much to match the performance. Moreover, there is good clarity in the midrange, although not so much as to sound artificial. The plush sound of the Berlin Philharmonic comes through splendidly, without any unnatural wispiness or, conversely, glassiness. The miking is just distant enough to provide a decent perspective, the orchestra nicely centered between the speakers and not extending too far beyond them. Additionally, we hear a modicum of depth in the ensemble as well, so we get some dimensionality in the sonics. Most important, though, is the disc's dynamic range, which impresses one with its strength and impact (especially in the mid and upper bass). Here is a recording to match the lofty darkness of the music.



For further information on HDTT's various configurations, formats (CD, HQCD, FLAC, DSD, DVD-24, DVD-24, etc.), and prices, you can visit their Web site at http://www.highdeftapetransfers.com.



JJP



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

Masterpieces in Miniature (SACD review)

Michael Tilson Thomas, San Francisco Symphony; Yuja Wang, piano. SFS Media 821936-0060-2.



First off, I have to admit a bias: I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, and the San Francisco Symphony has always been my hometown orchestra, so to speak. I remember first hearing them while I was kid back in the early Fifties, a school (or Sunday school) outing to one of the symphony's annual Nutcracker specials, if memory serves me right. In any case, even though the Bay Area has a multitude of fine orchestras, I have always considered the San Francisco Symphony the king of the hill, one of the greatest orchestras ever. Maybe that's why I felt my opinion vindicated when a few years ago Gramophone magazine listed the San Francisco Symphony among the ten best orchestras in the world. Yeah, well, I could have told them that.



In Masterpieces in Miniature Maestro Michael Tilson Thomas and his orchestra present twelve short favorite pieces by twelve familiar composers, each of the pieces a polished little gem under the conductor and ensemble. Tilson Thomas imbues them with energy, subtlety, refinement, and grace as the occasion demands, and the orchestra plays them with vigor, nuance, culture, and élan always. Together, the conductor and orchestra provide a polish and sparkle to make even the most timeworn of these warhorses sound fresh again.



Since I haven't the time or the energy to comment on every piece of music on the program, I'll just mention what they are and point out a few favorites. The disc includes Henry Litolff's Scherzo from Concerto symphonique No. 4, with Yuja Wang, piano; Gustav Mahler's Blumine; Gabriel Fauré's Pavane; Claude Debussy's La Plus que lente; Franz Schubert's Entr' acte No.3 from Rosamunde; Charles Ives and Henry Brant's The Alcotts from A Concord Symphony; Sergei Rachmaninov's Vocalise; Antonin Dvorák's Legend No. 6; Jean Sibelius's Valse triste; Frederick Delius's On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring; Edvard Grieg's The Last Spring; and Leo Delibes's Cortége de Bacchus from his ballet Sylvia.



Pianist Yuja Wang gets things off to a rollicking good start in Litolff's Scherzo, taken at a pace that might have left some ensembles behind. Not here. The music comes off in a sprightly, witty fashion, and the only thing that disappointed me was that Wang doesn't appear on any more of the program's selections.



Tilson Thomas shows his skills as a seasoned Mahler interpreter in Blumine, which the composer probably wrote originally as a stand-alone piece, then later incorporated into his First Symphony, only later cut. It works best as we hear it here, vaguely melancholic and atmospheric, with a wonderful trumpet solo.



Under Tilson Thomas, Faure's Pavane flows gracefully and stylishly along; Schubert's Entr'acte is as beautiful and lyrical as one could want; Rachmaninov's Vocalise for orchestra sounds expectedly enchanting; Sibelius's Valse triste comes across appropriately sad and wistful; and Delibes's Cortege de Bacchus seems almost Elgarian, even though it predates Elgar by some years.



Anybody's recording of Delius's On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring has stiff competition from its original advocate, Sir Thomas Beecham, yet Tilson Thomas manages pretty well to convey its sensitive changes of color, expression, and inflection. Otherwise, the music can merely come off as repetitious and meandering. Despite the pleasing character and vitality of some of the other pieces on the disc, this one touched me the most with its delicate beauty.



Producer Jack Vad and engineers Roni Jiles, Gus Pollek, Dann Thompson, and Jonathon Stevens recorded all the works live at Davies Symphony Hall, San Francisco, California. They recorded "The Alcotts" in 96 kHz/24-bit audio in February 2010 and the rest in PCM 192 kHz/24-bit audio in September 2013 and May 2014. What's more, they recorded the music for hybrid two-channel (regular CD and SACD) and multichannel (SACD) playback from an SACD. I listened in two-channel SACD.



It's all a rather elaborate recording considering the engineers captured the resultant sound before a live audience. Fortunately, the audience is pretty quiet throughout the performances; the only offset is that the engineers had to record the orchestra somewhat closely, so we don't get quite as much sense of place, environment, or dimensionality as we might like. There is, however, just enough hall resonance to make everything sound fairly natural, with no jagged edges, forwardness, or brightness. Stereo spread is understandably wide, the dynamics and impact appear strong. The frequency response covers most of the spectrum nicely (although the top and bottom ends seem slightly rolled off), and the overall clarity is fine despite some softness in the presentation. An inevitable eruption of unnecessary applause occurs only after the final number.



JJP



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

Grieg and Sibelius: Orchestral Works (CD review)

Herbert von Karajan, Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. DG 474 269-2 (2-disc set).



For a long while it seemed as though Herbert von Karajan would always be around. I mean, when I was a kid growing up in the Fifties, Karajan was already an established superstar. He was the leading conductor of the day when I began seriously collecting classical music in the Sixties; he was among the first to jump aboard when digital recording began in the Seventies; and he was there when Sony and Philips introduced CD's to the world in the Eighties. Now that he's gone, DG, for whom he made the bulk of his later recordings, have been reissuing everything he ever did, this collection of Grieg and Sibelius orchestral works just one in a series of two-disc compilations of his hits that DG began releasing in the early 2000's.



The album begins on disc one with music of Edvard Grieg: Peer Gynt Suites Nos. 1 and 2; Holberg Suite; and Sigurd Jorsalfar: Three Orchestral Pieces. Disc two contains music of Jean Sibelius: Finlandia; Valse triste; The Swan of Tuonela; Pelléas et Mélisande; and Tapiola.



Listening to the first tracks on disc one, the Peer Gynt Suites Nos. 1 and 2, reminds one of his magic. The music is letter-perfect, luxurious, and alluring as only Karajan could make it. Every note is polished to a luster, the great Berlin orchestra sounding fabulously plush and precise. The orchestral sound alone would make Karajan the most famous conductor since Toscanini or Stokowski, but it would also create for him a few detractors as well, people who considered him a glamor boy over-embellishing the music he performed. Maybe, but it sure sounded nice.



As I say, the two discs in this collection are each devoted to one of two famous Scandinavian composers, Grieg on disc one and Sibelius on disc two. Of the two discs, I preferred the Sibelius because Karajan's way of music making seems best suited to Sibelius's larger-scale works. Grieg, on the other hand, would seem to benefit from a little more intimacy, something Karajan had trouble producing, at least here. Sibelius's Finlandia, Valse triste, and Pelleas et Melisande come off best, with great crescendos and soft whispers of sound piling forth and fairly smothering the listener with riches.



The sonics, though, are typical of DG from the late Sixties to early Eighties. There is plenty of midrange presence, good detail, strong dynamics, and wide stereo imaging; but there is little top end, little bottom end, and little sparkle. It's perfect sound for mid-fi audio systems and car radios, where it was probably most-often heard when DG first produced it.



But even digitally remastered at 96 kHz/24 bits can't improve what may not have been there in the first place. Karajan's fans won't mind, nor did I mind until I compared it to similar material on other labels. Note, for instance, the enormous difference in frequency range between Karajan's 1972 recording of the Peer Gynt music and Beecham's much earlier recording on EMI's "Great Recording of the Century," the Beecham sounding better than a lot of stuff made today. Still, it's the music that counts, and Karajan's set contains some of the man's most likable and characteristic work.



JJP



To listen to a couple of brief excerpts from this album, click here: