Series Finales.This spring marked the culmination of several important recording projects. We’ll pay tribute to them, then consider some special one-shot items. Bach: Complete Sacred Cantatas.Way back in 1995, Masaaki Suzuki began recording every single one of the Bach Cantatas with the Bach Collegium Japan. What seemed an inauspicious starting date (the 50th anniversary of V-J Day) with unlikely forces eventually became one of the great success stories of modern classical recording, similar in its own way to the Solti/Culshaw Ring Cycle. As Suzuki wrote in 1995,
It is my hope that in some way our venture may demonstrate that Bach’s music contains a message which can touch the human heart, regardless of nationality or cultural tradition, filling hungry spirits and spreading inner peace.
With the release of Volume 55 (BIS 2031) this spring, Suzuki’s venture came to a glorious conclusion. Not every disc was a winner—for one thing, Bach’s obligation to produce a new cantata for every Sunday of the church year virtually guaranteed uneven compositional results. But as the project moved into the middle-period cantatas, which demanded more—technically and expressively—of the performers, the Bach Collegium Japan rose to the task, overcoming a certain culturally-based reserve in the process. The series made a sonic leap forward with volume 28 in 2005, the first offered in high-res (SACD) format. Its engineers also gradually learned to cope with the dry, bass-shy acoustic of the Kobe Shoin Women’s University Chapel. It is impossible to illustrate the riches of these 55 volumes with a single excerpt, so here is a link to a complete cantata, one of many uploaded to YouTube. If you are thinking of collecting these, I suggest beginning with vols. 53 and 55, the best of the more recent issues.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WtUgOS8_OF8
Of course there are other ways to get Bach cantatas. Next month I’ll review a new Channel Classics release of three favorite works. And Suzuki’s highly regarded competitor John Eliot Gardiner has recorded a slew of them, grouped by liturgical function—so you get all the big pieces for, say, Pentecost on one or two discs. But for some reason I find it comforting to see all 55 volumes there on my shelf. (Hm. Would I feel the same way about “seeing” them on my hard drive?)
Corelli: Complete Published Works. Britain’s Avison Ensemble and its director Pavlo Beznosiuk have finished a more modest recording project, the six opera that comprise the published output of Arcangelo Corelli (1653–1713). By opera, we mean here not vocal works but the instrumental collections he designated as opus 1, opus 2, et al. and had printed between 1681 and 1714. These are extraordinarily pleasant works for stringed instruments, many of them highlighting the interplay between two violins or groups of violins and supported by cellos, basses, and keyboards.
With their piquant chains of suspensions and melodic sequences, these opera may seem familiar already. That should not disguise the importance they held for Corelli’s contemporaries, who seized upon his innovations and made them commonplaces of late-Baroque style. In his New Grove essay, Michael Talbot sums it up neatly: by combining Venetian extravagance with Bolognese academicism, Corelli produced irresistible music for his age that continues to delight a wide audience today.
The six opera break down into three categories: trio sonatas, solo violin concertos, and orchestral concerti grossi. Any of these make a perfectly good place to begin exploring Corelli, so let’s give the concerti grossi (Opus 6, Linn CKD 411) a whirl.
Some of these works can be realized either by a small group of soloists (the concertino) or by those soloists plus an accompanying body (the ripieno). The concertino never stops playing, whereas the ripieno leaps in to reinforce things from time to time. If no ripieno were present, you could still play, and hear, all the notes. (In other words, it’s a trio sonata—see below.)
But the ripieni add some welcome touches of light and shade—what might be called chiaroscuro—to the proceedings. There are also some Corelli concertos in which the two string bodies engage in antiphonal (call-and-response) phrasing that’s quite charming. Here’s a taste of that from Concerto No. 2 in F Major:
Concerto Grosso No. 2 in F major, Op. 6 -Vivace – Allegro – Adago – Vivace – Allegro – Largo Andante
The orchestral concertos are typically made up of four to six short movements. Sometimes one movement will contain as many as six episodes in contrasting tempos, each with its own distinctive character. This is not like Bach or Handel, who pretty much stuck to one tempo and musical motif per movement.
Corelli tended to organize his sonatas and concertos into church (da chiesa) or chamber (da camera) collections. The church works generally began with a slow movement and then featured fugal sections or movements; the chamber works included more dance movements. By the time he published Opus 6, however, Corelli was mixing-and-matching these characteristics with abandon. Here’s a dance movement from his celebrated Christmas Concerto, Op. 6 No. 8, which was undoubtedly performed on Christmas Eve in the presence of Corelli’s wealthy patron Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni—i.e., in “church”:
Concerto Grosso No. 8 in G minor, Op. 6 “Fatto per la notte di Natale” – Vivace
Next, how about the trio sonatas? Trio texture became popular in the mid-Baroque because it allowed for a certain amount of contrapuntal interest without burying the listener in learned counterpoint, which 17th-century composers and theorists considered distasteful. Two violins and a bass instrument were all you needed, although typically a lutenist or keyboard player joined them to fill out the harmonies. Here is a sample from Opus 3:
Sonata Da Chiesa A Tre In A Minor, Op. 3, No. 10: III. Adagio
And the following movement:
Sonata Da Chiesa A Tre In A Minor, Op. 3, No. 10: IV. Allegro
The Avisons collect Corelli’s trio sonatas into two volumes, Opus 2 & 4 (Linn CKD 413) for the chamber sonatas and Opus 1 & 3 (Linn CKD 414) for the church sonatas. I’d start collecting with the latter, but that’s because I especially like the searching slow introductions and the vivid counterpoint of the fugal movements.
Which brings us to Opus 5, Corelli’s volume of solo sonatas (Linn CKD 412). He was renowned as a violin soloist himself, not least for his skill at improvising. The slow movements of Op. 5 offer lots of opportunities for embellishment. Below we see a page from an 18th-century publication that purported to show both the printed version of a Corelli sonata (lower staves) and the actual notes that he would have played in performance (upper staves). Few of today’s violinists are any good at this sort of thing, but Pavlo Beznosiuk is one. On the spot, he devised all the improvised runs, ornaments, and more that you will hear in this recording. Listen:
Violin Sonata in C Major, Op. 5, No. 3 – I. Adagio
Need we add that this collection, from the people at Linn, is gorgeously recorded?
Rossini: Complete Overtures. Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868) tended to recycle his overtures, borrowing themes and entire movements as needed, so there’s a bit of overlap, a little déjà vu that you may enjoy in this “complete” two-Blu-ray set from Christian Benda and the Prague Sinfonia Orchestra (Naxos NBD0028/35; also available on 4 CDs). Alongside old favorites like La scala di seta and Guillaume Tell (yes, the Lone Ranger theme), you’ll encounter the little-known curtain-raisers to Ricciardo e Zoraide or Bianca e Falliero. Crisply played with good solo efforts throughout, and very nicely recorded. Here’s the uncharacteristically Romantic opening of the Ricciardo overture:
Ricciardo e Zoraide – Ricciardo e Zoraide, Act I: Overture
And a little of Armida:
Armida – Armida, Act I: Sinfonia
Not just a bargain but also consistently entertaining. Best consumed one or two at a time, though.
Shostakovich Symphonies. Regarding matters of the heart: Vasily Petrenko and the Royal Liverpool PO have been hard at work on an exemplary Shostakovich cycle for several years, and they’re almost done. Latest in the series are Symphony No. 7 “Leningrad” (Naxos 8.573057) and Symphony No. 14 (Naxos 8.573132).
Completed in December 1941, the “Leningrad” Symphony has suffered some surprising reversals of fortune. As Shostakovich got on with composing it, first in the city of his birth and then in forced retreat some distance to the east, the German army initiated an 870-day siege of Leningrad. They meant to destroy the city and every inhabitant thereof. Score and parts were smuggled out of Russia on microfilm in 1942, by which time the work was already famous as an emblem of Russian resistance to the Nazis; conductors and orchestras worldwide leapt at the opportunity to perform it. In the U.S., Stokowski fought with Toscanini over the right to conduct the NBC Symphony in the first American performance, broadcast nationwide. Shostakovich, decked out in his Home Guard gear, made the cover of Time.
Some people were not swayed by all the hoopla. In England, Ernest Newman wrote, “To find [this symphony’s] place on the musical map, one should look along the seventieth degree of longitude and the last degree of platitude.” A year later, in the “Interrupted Intermezzo” of his Concerto for Orchestra, Béla Bartók skewered the notorious “invasion” theme that disrupts the first movement. Here is some of Shostakovich’s theme. It begins quietly, then grows to monstrous dimensions, becoming ever more grotesque and menacing:
Shostakovich: Symphony #7 In C, Op. 60, “Leningrad” – 1. Allegretto
And here is Bartók, bitterly thumbing his nose at it:
Bartók: Concerto For Orchestra, SZ 116 – 4. Intermezzo Interrotto
Well, the Seventh is long, not to mention banal (or accessible, to use more recent classical-speak). After the war, people apparently decided that Shostakovich’s Fifth was better at expressing the whole Struggle-to-Triumph thing. The Seventh vanished from concert programs, beginning a dry spell that lasted nearly sixty years. Now the “Leningrad” Symphony is again being programmed, and Petrenko’s performance is one of the very best around.
I found Symphony No. 14 much more rewarding. Its theme is Death—cruel, implacable, inevitable—concerning which the musical message is delivered at least as fervently as that of No. 7. However, No. 14 brings more raw honesty, laden with ironic subtexts, to the shoot-out. That matters enormously. (With Shostakovich, you can’t get honest to show up unless ironic tags along as well.) It is so brave, so vividly presented, that in spite of its nihilism, you may feel cleansed and lifted up by it. (And isn’t that the most ironically honest thing—puzzling but undeniable—that great art gives us?)
Shostakovich called it a symphony but he could as easily have classified it as a song cycle. Soprano and baritone vocalists alternate in verse by Lorca, Apollinaire, Rilke, and one Wilhelm Kuchelbecker, all of whom died young, and tragically. Accompaniment is limited to four percussionists and 19 string players (5/5/4/3/2). But what a sound that little group makes! The composer was at his most creative, texture- and timbre-wise. Here’s some of the first movement:
Shostakovich: Symphony #14, Op. 135 – De Profundis
Those one hundred lovers
are sleeping forever
beneath the dry earth.
Andalusia has
long red roads . . .
And the second:
Shostakovich: Symphony #14, Op. 135 – Malagueña
Death walks in and out of the tavern.
Death walks in and out of the tavern.
Black horses and sinister people
wander the deep paths of the guitar.
And there’s a smell of salt and women’s blood . . .
We heard bass-baritone Alexander Vinogradov and soprano Gal James in those excerpts. I guarantee that the rest of the piece is just as shattering, heartfelt and artistically brazen. What skill, what courage. (Another word comes to mind, but some readers might consider it coarse and cancel their subscriptions.)
Personal aside: this June I spent a little time in New York City and a little more time upstate, visiting relatives who live in the countryside, off the grid. My cousin Peter built the house himself. It’s got a big living room with cathedral ceilings and 16-foot windows open to the surrounding forest. His sound system—computer-based, unremarkable—is installed there. It sounded wonderful one morning, though, as we rediscovered a lot of music together including Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 15, also a work of rare honesty and courage. The morning stretched into afternoon and early evening before we realized it. I learned a lot about music, about the hazards of audiophilia nervosa, and about the rewards of friendship that day.
Last night, back in Georgia, we had a composer friend over for dinner. He said he was looking forward to spending time in my audio sanctuary after the meal, which flattered me. On our way downstairs, he asked me if I knew Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 14. My heart leapt halfway back up the stairs. Of course, I said. As a matter of fact…
We spent the rest of the evening listening to Petrenko, Vinogradov, James, and company. My composer friend—who owns a score of No. 14, naturally—told me how each piece of poetry came to be chosen by the composer, how the exquisite orchestral effects were produced, and much more. Once again, I found myself feeling lucky to be alive and to share such phenomenal music with someone who understood.
Petrenko has just one more Shostakovich symphony left to record: No 13, “Babi Yar.” It’s bound to be excellent. You should get it when it comes out. In the meantime, why not get all the other Shostakovich he’s done?
Short Takes. It’s time to move on to a handful of other outstanding records, starting with
Berg: Lyrische Suite. Ensemble Resonanz, Jean-Guihen Queyras, director (Harmonia Mundi HMC 902150). Last month we discussed crotchety old Leoš Janáček and his passion for the much younger Kamila Stösslová. This month it’s crotchety 40-something Alban Berg and his passion for Hanna Fuchs: she was Franz Werfel’s sister and, like la Stösslová, a respectable married woman. Berg poured out his love for Hanna in a string quartet, the Lyric Suite. That love is expressed not only in various numerical codes embedded in the 12-tone score, but also in its audible, outward sounds. You don’t have to be a musicologist to understand the jumble of anguish and desire that fuels passages like this:
Alban Berg: Lyrische Suite – Allegretto giovale
Berg transcribed only the second, third, and fourth movements for string orchestra, but recently Theo Verbey arranged movements 1, 5, and 6 in similar fashion. Queyras and his group gave the French première of the newly completed enlargement in 2010; this is the first recording. It’s a triumph; Berg’s big feelings really cry out for orchestral expression. This release pairs it with Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht, an ultra-Romantic ode to love that also concerns itself with adultery, emphasizing forgiveness and redemption in its case. There are other good recordings of the Schoenberg—I like Karajan’s—but Ensemble Resonanz’s complete Lyric Suite is indeed special.
Sivan Magen: Fantasien. Magen, harpist and arranger (Linn CKD 441). This is the most gorgeously recorded album of harp music I’ve ever heard. (I like a nice arpeggio now and then; who doesn’t? But I don’t get to hear many solo harp albums.) One redeeming factor here is the wide-ranging repertoire: it begins with a C.P.E. Bach Fantasie, continues with character pieces by Brahms, and then music by Mozart, Bach, and two great harp composers, Ekaterina Walter-Kühne and Henriette Renié. Her contribution is the epic Fantasy Ballade on “The Telltale Heart” by Edgar Poe. It’s a killer. Mr. Magen plays with impeccable technique and envious musicianship. He makes the transcriptions sound as if their music had been intended all along for solo harp. The recording is flawless as well. If this were a just world, every living audiophile, and not a few of the recently deceased, would be lining up to buy this record.
Fantasien, Op. 116 – No. 2 Intermezzo in A minor
Bruckner: Symphony No. 7. Budapest Festival Orchestra, Iván Fischer (Channel Classics CCS SA 33714). At last, a Bruckner symphony I can sit through, enjoy even. It’s not the recording, although that’s ideal, beautifully capturing the acoustic of the Palace of Arts. It’s the orchestra’s subtle yet electrifying performance under Fischer. He helps clarify the overall structure with well-chosen tempi, generally eschewing the “Bruckner tradition,” all those pompously indulgent ritardandos, allargandos, and grand pauses. As a result we become more aware of this music’s linkage to Schubert and Mendelssohn. Nothing wrong with that! (See slightly longer reviews of the recording here.)
Scarlatti: Cage: Sonatas. David Greilsammer, piano and prepared piano (Sony Classical 88883762402). Sounds like a gimmick but isn’t. What happens when you juxtapose carefully chosen sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti (1685–1757) with the strange, percussive sounds that John Cage (1912–1922) created in his Sonatas & Interludes for Prepared Piano? If you’re Greilsammer, who obviously knows his Scarlatti (not to mention his Cage), what happens is a whole new album-length “composition.” It works best if you start at the beginning and stick with it to the last “note.” Scarlatti and Cage purists may object. (Hm. How can there be any Cage purists?) The rest of us will sit back, listen, and come away with new ears. It’s recorded about as well as RBCD gets.
Sonata in D Minor, K. 213: Andante; Sonatas & Interludes “Gemini”
Bernstein: West Side Story. Alexandra Silber, Cheyenne Jackson, San Francisco Symphony, Michael Tilson Thomas (SFS Media 0059). Yes, it’s good. No, it won’t make you forget the OBC or movie soundtrack, which are probably imprinted on your brain. (Some of Thomas’s tempos will seem stodgy at first.) But this concert condensation of the show—more than a cast album, less than a full-out performance—is dramatically satisfying and musically more labile than anything that preceded it. Plus it’s a thrill to hear a large, expert orchestra play this music. A nice mini-book, with lyrics, historic photos, interviews, etc., comes with the two-disc set. Excellent recording from live performances.
Really Short Takes. Just my two cents’ worth:
Leclair: The Complete Sonatas for Two Violins. Greg Ewer and Adam Lamotte, violins (Sono Luminus DSL-92176; Blu-ray & CD). Nice pieces, nicely played. But the recording is hampered by a dry studio acoustic that doesn’t do the closely miked instruments any favors. The repertoire itself is less engaging than anything by Corelli (see above) or Vivaldi. Or Handel. Or Boccherini.
Symphonies of Wind Instruments.Royal Norwegian Navy Band, Bergby (2L 102-SABD; SACD & Blu-ray). 20th-century masterworks for band by Hindemith, Schoenberg, Stravinsky, and local hero Rolf Wallin. Stunningly recorded: you can almost smell the spit in the trombone slides. This album made a stronger impression on me than 2L’s previous wind-ensemble release, perhaps because these composers knew better how to show off the players’ technique. Tight ensemble work, befitting a certain economy of emotion in the music. Stravinsky’s Symphonies and Hindemith’s Konzertmusik highlight the album, but even Schoenberg’s 1943 Theme and Variations sounds good. It was written for high-school bands, incidentally, although few have probably played it.
Magellan’s Playlist: On Tour in China, vol. 1. Athens Guitar Duo (Claudio CR6019-6). The disc says “Blu-ray/DVD-Audio.” But what I got was a 2-disc DVD-A, 70 minutes’ worth of music in stereo only. In any case, the music (by Fazil Say, John Duarte, Lowell Liebermann, Jean Francaix, Ren Guang, and others) is pleasant, well performed, and very well recorded. Here’s a shout-out to Dusty Woodruff and Matthew Anderson, two guys from Athens, Georgia — seeing the world and living their dream (at least I hope it’s their dream).
Hope your summer’s going well. See you in August. (PS: Think Greg and Adam borrowed those leather jackets?)