Charming and genial symphonies

Of all the once celebrated nineteenth century composers who have fallen into obscurity, lost in the dark behind the blinding light of Beethoven's fame and genius, I find Louis Spohr the most appealing. His Third Symphony, from 1828, is so genial, so positive, so cheerful. It has the same naiveté and innocence as Schubert's early symphonies, and leaves a similar nostalgic sadness when it's done. Here is a new recording from Naxos, due October 14, 2016, with Alfred Walter and the Slovak State Philharmonic Orchestra. This is by no means well-known music, so I'll play you the first movement of the symphony from an earlier recording, with Howard Griffiths conducting the NDR Radiophilharmonie, on a 2007 CPO disc.


There's a portentous strain - more pronounced in Griffiths' version than in Alfred Walter's new recording - that in spite of the C minor key sounds nothing like Beethoven. It looks at the same time back to Mozart and early Schubert, and ahead to Weber and early Mendelssohn. The new recording doesn't have the same verve and drive of the excellent CPO disc, but this is a more than competent reading, expressive and lyrical.

I got a bit worried when I read the programme of Spohr's Sixth Symphony, which he entitled a "Historical Symphony in the Style and Taste of Four Different Periods." It sounded like it might be didactic or satiric (or worse, broadly comical). But the first three movements at least, harkening back to Bach & Handel, to Haydn & Mozart, and to Beethoven, are charming and witty and really spot on. The final movement grinds a contemporary axe, and as so often happens, the point (in this case the skewering of the operas of Auber and Adam) is lost in the mists of time. But even this "musical joke", though it isn't really funny (are they ever?), doesn't seem ill-tempered. The whole pastiche comes off pretty well, and I like Louis Spohr more now than I did before.

A tale of two composers

It's great to see the second volume in Chandos' Ginastera Orchestral Works series so soon after the first (which came out early in 2016), in celebration of the Centennial Year, which continues in fine form on record. This disc, again featuring Juanjo Mena and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, will be released November 18, 2016.

The disc includes two works in such completely different styles it's hard to believe they're by the same composer. The suite from Panambi, Ginastera's opus 1, is one of the most accomplished first publications by any composer, partly because Ginastera destroyed or declined to publish pretty much all of his early music. Written in the mid-1930s, it has the same combination of New World folklore, sounds and rhythms, and European modernist music (especially Stravinsky, Ravel and Debussy), that is so familiar with Villa-Lobos's music from the 1920s and 30s. It's an orchestral showpiece with a small but significant contribution from the choir, and this completely plays into the strengths of the musicians of the BBC Philharmonic and the Manchester Chamber Choir.

The second work could hardly be more different. The Second Piano Concerto was written in 1972, during Ginastera's "neo-expressionist" phase, the last 12 years of his life after he moved from Argentina to Geneva. Based on a 12-tone row that emerges from the seven notes of the bass solo ‘O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!’ (Oh friends, not those sounds!) in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, this music is every bit as expressive as Panambi, though with different textures, and evoking different responses from the audience. The Concerto is a virtuoso showpiece for the pianist and, once again, for the orchestra, and pianist Xiayin Wang and the orchestral players come through with flying colours.

2016: let's keep the Ginastera Centennial rolling!

Clean and Stylish, but Static Beethoven

Last May I raved about the 3rd volume in the Resound Beethoven series, where Martin Haselbock and the Orchester Wiener Akademie performed the Egmont music and the Consecration of the House Overture in the hall in which the music had been premiered. With the latest volume the stakes have risen, though. I consider the Eroica Symphony the greatest symphony ever written, and there are a string of performances that I worship: Klemperer, Walter, Szell, Karajan, Giuilini in the big-band group, and Bruggen and Harnoncourt on the HIP side. How do Haselbock and his Vienna group compare, forgetting for a moment their completely apposite venue (the Eroica Saal at the Palais Lobkowitz)?

Listen to this great live performance with the Orchestra of the 18th Century conducted by Frans Bruggen:


It's clear that Haselbock doesn't bring anything close to that excitement from the beginning. Furthermore, Tom Service praises both Bruggen and Otto Klemperer for "the cumulative momentum that builds from the first bar to the last" in the ground-breaking 1st Movement. I don't feel the momentum, which I think really does explain why these Klemperer and Bruggen move me so much. Thanks for that explanation, Tom! Haselbock turns in a clean, stylish performance, but it's curiously static. I'm still impressed with the concept of hearing Beethoven's music in the space in which it was first heard, and the contrast between the Symphony and the Septet on the 2nd disc does help to define the acoustic space. But music of this greatness really requires something special when it comes to interpretation.

Music from the time of Rubens

I've been on a Rubens kick lately, and seeing some of his great pictures last month in London and Edinburgh really emphasized for me what a genius he was. Two recent books, Rubens and His Legacy and Master of Shadows: The Secret Diplomatic Career of the Painter Peter Paul Rubens, showed that Rubens was much more than just a painter. His political career was wide-ranging, his accomplishments as an entrepreneur were outstanding, and he consorted as an equal with all the top intellectuals and artists of the age. I was really interested to read about his diplomatic and artistic connections at the court of the Gonzagas at Mantua, where he connected with Claudio Monteverdi.

Jean Tubery and Ensemble La Fenice present this fascinating new project L'Atelier de Rubens: Musica Belgicae, which assembles music from Antwerp and other Belgian centres during the period when Rubens built his studio and an international reputation as Europe's greatest painter. I knew, and was very impressed with, the Tubery's similar project in 2015, Velazquez and the Music of His Times; the current disc meets those very high standards of scholarship and presentation.

The composers aren't very well-known: Nicolo à Kempis, Cornelis de Leeuw, Jan/John Bull, Jan-Jacob van Eyck. The only names I knew were Jacobus Clemens non Papa and that prolific artist Anonymous. But there are many felicitous moments here: many of the pieces are reminiscent of better known Italian music of the period, and there are some really special works included. The Symphoniae for cornetto and strings have an appealing Monteverdi/Gabrieli sound, with a Northern lilt. Philipp van Wichel's La Ciacogna has a real pan-European sound; I love to hear a Chaconne in whichever guise it's presented! I also loved the carol Een kindeken is ons gheboren (To us a little child is born), and the three pieces based upon it by different composers. I plan on including these in my Christmas playlists!

Robust, theatrical, beautiful Mozart

Back in October 2014 I praised pianist Jean-Efflam Bavouzet and conductor Gabor Takacs-Nagy for their delicate but spicy way with Haydn piano concertos. I obviously liked what I heard, because I compared Bavouzet's playing to Bill Evans, who is my piano god. These musicians were in a really special groove then, and two years later here we are with even greater music, and that special feeling is still going strong. Both of these works from 1784 are perfect jewels. You'd think that a private, intimate feeling would be the goal for music of such beauty, but Mozart is above all social, and there's a robust and often dramatic underlying strength that can't be missed. Mozart talks often about "good taste" in music, but there's a theatrical sweep that would be lost if the musicians play too prettily. No Dresden china here! Bavouzet's bravura playing and his cheeky, jazzy cadenzas are just what's required, and Takacs-Nagy is with him every step of the way. These are exactly what I want in Mozart piano concertos.

There are a couple of bonuses on the disc. Bavouzet plays, with aplomb of course, Mozart's original cadenzas from the first two movements of K. 453, which are familiar, clever and moving. I love Bavouzet's slightly twisted cadenzas, but the more traditional among you can imagine these in their place. And the piano is rolled away to allow the Manchester Camerata to take a solo turn, in the Divertimento K. 137 from 1772. This is lighter and frothier than the more mature concertos, but just as delicious. The new disc drops on October 28, 2016.


I just went to the Manchester Camerata website, and I see that Bavouzet will be playing more Mozart there next spring. Here's what's on the program for the Mozart Madness concert in March 2017:

Mozart   Divertimento in D Major K.136
Mozart   Piano Concerto No.14 in E Flat Major K.449
Mozart   Divertimento in F K.138
Mozart   Piano Concerto No.19 in F Major K.459

I hope at least some of these end up on a Chandos CD next year!

Sir Neville Marriner, RIP

I heard this morning that the great conductor Neville Marriner had died at 92, and immediately pictured myself in the middle of James Gibbs's St. Martin in the Fields, his lovely church in Trafalgar Square. We were just there last week, listening to an excellent chamber music concert.

Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0

This is the scene of Marriner's greatest accomplishments: building a world-class chamber orchestra in the Academy of SMF, creating a recording juggernaut (more than 500 discs), and expanding its repertoire from baroque and classical to a very broad range of standard orchestral works. This new re-issue by Capriccio (out October 14, 2016) of Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, originally released in 1990, is a good example of the outstanding playing Marriner coaxed from his players. Even the 1812 Overture gets the same full, serious, in-depth performance as the composer's more serious music. This is a very fine recording indeed, and a great tribute to the conductor on this sad morning.

It's no coincidence, I think, that Sir Neville's greatest triumphs came in this church. His best qualities, and those of his orchestra, are 18th century, Enlightenment ones. His music is social, both rational and sentimental (in the best sense), and most importantly, very beautiful.

An important British symphonist

There's a sad but instructive Wikipedia article entitled "Wiping" which talks about the regrettable practice, once common in the broadcasting industry in the 50s and 60s, of taping over audio and video content, resulting in permanent loss. This was unfortunately widespread in the BBC, and many important classical music broadcasts have been lost. However, thanks to the efforts of one man we can now hear many important BBC broadcasts from that period.

Humphrey Searle is one of the most important of 20th century British symphonists. His Second Symphony was included in the recent Lyrita British Symphonies set. All five symphonies were recorded in the mid-90s in a really excellent two-disc set from CPO, with Alun Francis conducting the BBC Scottish Symphony.

This new disc (out October 14, 2016) can't compare with that set in terms of sound, though the mono sound is surprisingly good considering the source: it's full and lively. The Third Symphony is put across by the BBC SO under John Pritchard with the requisite forcefulness and tension. This is the typical Searle style, an uncompromising serial work with no lack of expressive range. As to its "Venetian" title, I think the programme of the symphony runs out of steam before it adds any value to the listening experience. I prefer, as so often, to listen to music like this as if there were no programme.

The Fifth Symphony, written in 1964, is amazing. I find it, of all the music on the disc, the most interesting, and the one that most rewards re-listening. A large-scale tribute to Anton Webern, the work is a kind of palimpsest, with Webern's characteristically spare musical textures expanded and elaborated upon. There is deep sadness here, but also plenty of wit and whimsey. This is the broadcast premiere of the work, from 1966, and it's performed by the same forces who premiered the work in Manchester in 1964, the Hallé Orchestra under Lawrence Leonard (who I remember as the Edmonton Symphony's conductor in the late 1960s and early 70s.)

The final two orchestral works are perhaps both more clever than profound. In the Zodiac Variations of 1970 Searle takes advantage of musical puns in bringing the 12 astrological signs to 12-tone music. 1971's Labyrinth for orchestra similarly constructs a kind of musical maze. This is fun to listen to, though again I didn't take the trouble to follow any mythological programme other than the very basic maze construction.