Collated book, CD and DVD reviews 2006

Collected Book, CD and DVD recording reviews for Musicweb International 2006

Evan Dickerson

Alphabetical by composer Johann Sebastian BACH (1685-1750) Mass in B minor, BWV 232 [132.03]; St. Matthew Passion BWV 244 – Have mercy, Lord, on me a [7.38]; Cantata No. 11(Praise Our God) BWV 11 – Ah, Tarry Yet b [8.17] Suzanne Danco (soprano); Kathleen Ferrier (contralto); Peter Pears (tenor); Bruce Boyce (baritone); Norman Walker (bass); George Malcolm (harpsichord); Charles Spinks (organ); Douglas Moore (horn) BBC Chorus; Boyd Neel Orchestra/George Enescu. a Kathleen Ferrier; New Symphony Orchestra/Sir Malcolm Sargent. b Kathleen Ferrier; The Jacques Orchestra/Dr Reginald Jacques. rec. Concert Hall, Broadcasting House, London, 17 July 1951; a Kingsway Hall, London, 6 February 1946; b Kingsway Hall, London, 1 November 1949. ADD mono ARIADNE 5000 [68.21 + 79.38] Alternative release of Enescu’s recording of the Mass in B minor: BBC Legends BBCL 4008-7 (2 CDs) If ever there was a recording of Bach’s great mass that moved more through vision and absolute commitment than sound quality, this is it. The performance has Enescu’s benign guiding presence within every bar and the sense of a constant heartbeat guiding the tempi is uniquely apparent. This heartbeat regularity was essential to Enescu’s vision of Bach. Although some may find it a bit four-square at times, it does give constancy to a work that in no small part delivers the feeling of something eternal. There are those I know that think this recording the nearest they will ever come to something spiritual in music.

Of the BBC release listed above, I said last year (in my overview of Enescu’s recordings as a performer): "The recorded sound is muddy and, particularly in choral passages, textures can cloy and distort somewhat. All of this is strange given this comes [from] a BBC studio source at a time when recording technology was reasonably advanced."

This new release on the Ariadne label, a subsidiary of SOMM Recordings, is quite different. The re-mastering by Roger Beardsley based on a set of original BBC transcription tapes has significantly opened out the sound range, even though one must admit that the recording itself still shows signs of age. On Ariadne the orchestra appears slightly more forward than on BBC Legends. The "Christe eleison" also shows a marked improvement by distinguishing the string tone from that of the organ obbligato, with the organ taking on a definite character, rather than being an indistinct presence.

It is in the work’s many choral passages that one appreciates most the improvements on offer. I liken the BBC Legends release to having cotton wool in ones ears as one hears it, whilst Ariadne presents the same performance with the cotton wool removed. Sopranos are brighter, mezzos are richer-toned, tenors are more distinct, and basses carry slightly more resonance. Enescu built his sonorities from the bass line upwards, so improvements in the lower vocal and orchestral areas have a particularly appreciable impact on the performance as a whole.

The soloists all contribute keenly to the performance. Ferrier is moving with almost every word and Suzanne Danco is almost her equal in this respect. The Ariadne release gives Danco’s voice more varied colours and presence and this helps greatly to bring her contributions alive. But many will purchase this recording for Ferrier’s contributions, and this is a perfectly acceptable reason.

Of the male soloists, Peter Pears shows the qualities of word-pointing that made him so great in Schubert and Britten. There might be some that find his individual vocal production somewhat out of place with the spirit of Bach’s music – personally I am not one of them. It is good that the Ariadne documentation credits Norman Walker as the bass soloist (BBC Legends fail to do so). His contribution contrasts well with that of Bruce Boyce’s baritone.

Together they come across creditably.

Of the two additional Bach arias - sung by Ferrier - Have mercy, Lord, on me is a valuable rarity in her discography, although Ah, Tarry Yet significantly formed part of Decca’s first issue of long-playing records in the UK. Both recordings carry the unique Ferrier stamp of saying so much with simplicity and absolute sureness of tone. The sound quality of both recordings is acceptable. Bonuses indeed after the feast that is the B minor mass.

Ariadne’s accompanying notes are brief and factually accurate, although Bach did not live from 1865-1957 as the rear case liner claims! BBC Legends offers a recollection of Enescu penned by Yehudi Menuhin that takes effusion to its furthest-most point. There is a price difference too between the two releases – in Ariadne’s favour. The Ariadne release is obviously the preferable choice.

Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827) Violin concerto in D, op.61 (1806) [41:01]; Romance no.1 in G, op. 40 (1803) [6:20]; Romance no.2 in F, op.50 (1805) [8:18] Christian Tetzlaff (violin) Tonhalle Orchestra Zurich/David Zinman. rec. Tonhalle Zurich, 30-31 May 2005. DDD BMG ARTE NOVA 82876 76994 2 [55:46]

Comparisons: Menuhin/Philharmonia/Furtwängler (EMI) Hahn/Baltimore Symphony Orchestra/Zinman (Sony) http://www.musicweb-international.com/classrev/2002/Oct02/beethahn.htm Vengerov/London Symphony Orchestra/Rostropovich (EMI) David Zinman’s series of Beethoven recordings with the Tonhalle Orchestra Zurich on Arte Nova has consistently attracted critical praise, of which more later. With a piano concerto cycle in progress, it’s good to see that Zinman and co are turning their attention to other works too. The triple concerto is already available on the continent, but so far as I know has yet to make a splash in the USA or UK. This present recording of the violin concerto and two romances sticks very much to the interpretative path forged by previous recordings. If you are familiar with them you will have a good idea of what to expect. Blown away is the Romantic ‘dust’ that has gathered on these scores over the years, having become ingrained in the notes – as it were – through the traditions of performance. Zinman’s view, as captured in this recording, is worlds away from that of Furtwängler who encourages the Philharmonia at every turn to give the orchestral body weight, sonority and inevitability. It’s not as if Zinman takes a view that’s just at odds with those recorded several decades ago either. Vengerov and Rostropovich turn in a performance that in some respects is almost as indulgent in terms of tempo choices, yet does not quite convey the monumentality of the music to the same degree. As with Menuhin, I find Vengerov’s tone beyond criticism and his approach makes sense of the music’s architecture too.

So what of this Tetzlaff/Zinman recording? Gone is any sense of inevitability or predictability in the music-making.

Instead, the orchestra are en masse on the edge of their seats, and one feels that they might be playing the music for the first time, even though you know they are not. Alertness to rhythm and litheness of orchestral line are key to this recording for the orchestra, and the soloist too, although this is not a performance that shies away from the dramatic extremities of the writing either. Timpani and brass are forwardly placed and the dryness of their impact readily brings to mind the sound achieved in many period instrument performances. Indeed this is not the only place where ‘period’ performances leave their mark on this reading.

It’s instructive as well to contrast it with Zinman’s earlier Baltimore recording with Hilary Hahn, which is a more wholly traditional view of the work. Some critics - in printed journals - I recall found her playing somewhat aloof [but not here]. One I read even went as far as to say ‘non-committal’, which I translate as ‘Hahn had no definite statements of her own to make about the work’. Whilst I would not go that far, I would agree that when placed alongside Menuhin, Vengerov and indeed Tetzlaff, Hahn maybe does not delve as deeply into the notes. But her playing never fails to be musical, and having been recorded at a tender age it is possible she approached it too early on disc; how I would like to hear a reading from her now! Zinman opts for broader tempi almost without exception and greater body to the orchestral tone too.

An artist of reputation in the concert hall and on record, I have in live performances of Beethoven occasionally found Tetzlaff a bit rough-toned to be ideal. Here he leaves the feeling of having lived with the music for a while before deciding to react against certain performance traditions, most prominently in the choice of cadenzas he plays. Gone are the traditionally performed ones by Fritz Kreisler. In their place are Tetzlaff’s violin transcriptions of Beethoven cadenzas written for the piano arrangement of the concerto. For many they may take some getting used to within the overall context of the work, but Tetzlaff’s advocacy of them is spirited and thematically they are well suited. On the whole there is little rough tone here, except at the beginning of the first movement cadenza, where one feels it is intended. Aside from these points his reading is notable for the joyfulness he brings to the recording – an aim that his contribution to the brief but useful booklet note underlines.

There can be no doubting that Tetzlaff’s vision to ‘review the Beethoven we know’ is shared by Zinman. I find that the outer movements have a notable degree of spring in the rhythms, whilst the middle adagio amply captures a sense of intimacy in the confidences shared not only between soloist and orchestra, but players and listener too.

This aspect was not quite so notable in the Hahn/Zinman recording, even taking account of its slightly broader tempi.

Of the Romances, the only comparable version already mentioned is that presented by Vengerov, and I find his performances to be perfectly genial – indeed, I wish he brought more often a touch of the tautness of vision he finds in them to his reading of the concerto. Tetzlaff sees the Romances as cut from the same cloth as the concerto, and plays them in the same spirit, although the readings they receive are not as likely to change your view of Beethoven to the extent that the rendition of the concerto might.

Having previously mentioned period instrument performances, it was not so long ago that Norrington et al supposedly ‘revolutionised’ the way we heard Beethoven on disc. Whilst then I did not find the musical manner of authenticists always tasteful, now I find that many of their recordings have aged rather badly. A glance at previous reviews of Zinman’s Beethoven recordings reveals a tendency amongst critics to overstatement along the lines lavished on the authentic movement. One even goes so far as to state, "Zinman is Beethoven" (not my italics). Well, Beethoven and Zinman are their own selves – and one has been around for a lot longer than the other. How long Zinman’s currently in vogue view of Beethoven remains in common circulation has still yet to be seen, but whilst it does, it provides an alternative to more traditional interpretations and is worthy of more than one audition. That said, it’s to Furtwängler and Menuhin that I will continue to return most often.

Gaetano DONIZETTI (1797-1848) Songs: Amore e morte [2.28]; Ah, rammenta, o bella Irene [4.34]; Una lagrima [3.52]; La mere et l’enfant [5.14]; Amor marinaro [2.03]; È morta [5.26]; Su l’onda tremolo [2.58]; L’amor funesto [4.56]; Giuro d’amore [2.44]; Il sospiro [3.14]; La ninna-nanna [7.34]; Le crepuscule [2.57]; La lontananza [2.00]; L’amor mio [2.37]; La sultana [5.54]; Il pescatore [8.33] Dennis O’Neill (tenor), Ingrid Surgenor (piano) rec. St Silas’s Church, St Silas’s Place, London, 24-26 February 1997 in association with BBC Radio 3.

Previously released on Collins Classics.

NAXOS 8.557780 [67.04]

It is amusing perhaps to think of Donizetti putting pen to paper and turning out ten or twelve songs or canzonette ‘whilst the rice was cooking’, as he claimed, for a collection aimed at the wealthy amateur or aspiring professional artist. But outward humour is only one of the moods employed, as is shown in this selection of sixteen items from the much larger number that the composer completed. Indeed, it is a pity that Donizetti’s operas have drawn public attention away from the merits of his songs: they are under-represented on disc and definitely underperformed, even by those who would appear well equipped to do so. Why singers versed in the bel canto style do not take them into their repertoire is a mystery to me. Even if one thinks of these songs as chippings from a master’s bench then it must be admitted that they are chippings of the highest order, particularly when one takes into account Donizetti’s unerring ability to draw out the nuances of the texts he sets – by writers as varied as Schiller, Hugo and Metastasio – alongside more popular Neapolitan verses.

Dennis O’Neill’s lengthy involvement with Italian repertoire in general is in his favour as an interpreter of this material, and he is fortunate in having Ingrid Surgenor, a long time collaborator, as his accompanist. Whilst the recital starts pleasantly enough with Amore e morte, sung with even mezzo forte tone and clear diction by O’Neill, all too quickly it becomes apparent that he cannot avoid employing a forced voice in forte when forte is asked for.

The second track, Ah, rammenta, o bella Irene, is a case in point. The next, Una lagrima, emphasises the divide within O’Neill’s voice with hushed passages that are most sensitively phrased, but these are countered by outbursts that destroy the vocal line by being more ‘can belto’ than ‘bel canto’. Others may take a different view, but to my ears O’Neill’s vocal production all too often sounds effortful. It takes greater willingness to shade and shape such forthright enthusiasm to hold interest over a sequence of tracks than is really on display here. This is a disc to take a few tracks at a time unless full-throated tenors are your thing.

The recording itself places O’Neill forwardly and centrally across both stereo channels along with Surgenor, whose piano is perhaps a little recessed to be ideal. As the recital proceeded I wished for a touch more individuality from her – the accompaniment to track 8, L’amor funesto, shows Surgenor at her best and even O’Neill expresses much in urgency without recourse to crude tone. Julian Budden’s accompanying notes provide little more than a thumbnail sketch and the roughest of indications of what to expect within each song. The delight is in the simplicity, the drama or the operatic nature Donizetti brings forth as prompted by the text – perhaps with a more pliant, or dare I suggest, younger sounding voice we might approach what these songs really ask for in interpretive terms. Texts and translations are downloadable from the Naxos website.

George ENESCU (1881-1955) Oedipe, Op. 23 - Tragédie lyrique en 4 actes et 6 tableaux (1936) Libretto in French by Edmond Fleg.

Monte Pederson (bass-baritone) – Oedipe Egils Silins (bass) – Tirésias Davide Damiani (baritone) – Créon Michael Roider (tenor) - Le berger (The Shepherd) Goran Simić (bass) - Le grand prêtre (The High Priest) Peter Köves (bass) – Phorbas Walter Fink (bass) - Le veilleur (The Watchman) Yu Chen (baritone) – Thésée Josef Hopferwieser (tenor) – Laïos Marjana Lipovšek (mezzo) - Jocaste/La Sphinge (The Sphinx) Ruxandra Donose (soprano) – Antigone Mihaela Ungureanu (mezzo) - Mérope Chorus of the Vienna State Opera, Vienna Boys Choir, Orchestra of the Vienna State Opera, Stage Orchestra of the Austrian Federal Theatres/Michael Gielen rec. live, Vienna State Opera, 29 May 1997. DDD NAXOS 8.660163-64 [63:53 + 64:33] I have recently been following parallel paths within Enescu’s music to those travelled by my colleague Göran Forsling: firstly in reviewing the piano sonatas played by Luiza Borac Avie), and now with Oedipe. It was interesting for me as someone who has lived with Oedipe for a few years to read Göran’s perceptive comments when coming to the work for the first time. I recommend them to you (see review).

This review is, in essence, an extension of my previous comments on recordings of this great opera (see article on Enescu), but perhaps a little should be mentioned about my terms of reference when it comes to Oedipe. Although I previously knew the Electrecord recording, I first properly heard the work on 18 August 2002 in a concert performance at the Edinburgh International Festival. That night will forever remain with me, and it is impossible to describe to those who were not there the impression made by the music, the conductor (Cristian Mandeal) or several of the singers. In April/May 2004 I travelled to Berlin for two staged performances (the same production as used in Vienna from which the Naxos recording derives), Mandeal again conducted.

Mandeal also conducted for a run of seven performances in Cagliari during January 2005, and I attended the final performance of that run. To these must be added information gleaned from Enescu’s own conversations with Bernard Gavoty (pub. Flammarion, Paris 1955), Noel Malcolm’s book on Enescu (Toccata Press) and John Gritten’s book on Constantin Silvestri (Kitzinger).

The Naxos release listed above faces only one viable commercial rival, featuring forces from Monte-Carlo under the baton of Lawrence Foster (EMI CDS 7 54011 2, or CDCB 54011 in the USA). There is a Romanian language version on Electrecord and a number of off-air broadcasts that the motivated reader may discover through unofficial channels. I will discuss these at the end of my review of the Naxos set.

Naxos and EMI Three years ago Klaus Heymann (CEO, Naxos) revealed to me via email his desire to release a recording of Enescu’s Oedipe, describing it very much as a “pet project” of his, and he is a man of his word. Given the prohibitive cost of a new studio recording, it is perhaps understandable therefore that Naxos have opted to issue one from the archives of the Vienna State Opera, where the work has received several outings in recent years.

This recording is a monument also to the art to Monte Pederson, the American bass-baritone who notably assumed the title role a few times - in Vienna and Bucharest - prior to his death from cancer in 2001. He is an artist too little represented on disc, considering his innate musicality and dramatic sensibilities.

This performance in general terms is very different from that conducted by Foster on EMI. Foster’s view is to an extent a labour of love and it manages to communicate much of the beauty within Enescu’s score, but following the experience of live performances I find it short on dramatic punch. However Gielen’s view concentrates on the extremities within the writing both in sonic terms and also in tempo. The latter contributes in part to the shorter

playing time of his version when compared to Foster’s. Although the Viennese forces play and sing with commitment one can sense that perhaps the music was not yet totally coming naturally to them, and, as ever with live recordings, stage movements obscure details of orchestration that one sorely misses when one is aware of their presence from the score or Foster’s reading. I should add that I consulted my facsimile of Enescu’s original manuscript whilst listening and found key textures that Enescu was at pains to emphasise wanting.

Comparing the renditions of the title role given by Pederson and van Dam one finds that if anything Pederson undersings the part. However, given the considerable demands of the role to produce singing at every conceivable dynamic marking, with quarter and three-quarter tones required at moments of absolute stress alongside vocalisations it is not surprising that Pederson is not alone in often husbanding his resources when it comes to a complete performance. Certainly Esa Ruuttunen did this during the first performance I saw in Berlin – he gave more freely to the drama in the second. Even in the studio, where retakes were possible, van Dam on occasion holds back more than I would like, but this perhaps was caused by Foster’s direction to an extent.

Incidentally, Van Dam replaced the previously engaged Samuel Ramey, and only agreed to the recording after a two year period of study with the score.

The Naxos recording is notable for some other roles too. Marjana Lipovšek reprises the role of the Sphinx, which she took for Foster, and here doubles it with that of Jocaste. That her voice has aged since Foster’s recording was made is audible, but so too is the appreciable depth of the performance she turns in. The freedom of the live performance allows enough room for her to invest the Sphinx’s ‘icy white’ shrieks with truly spine-chilling tone.

Romanians Mihaela Ungureanu and Ruxandra Donose acquit themselves with honour, Donose especially handling her telling contribution to the final act magnificently. Many of the other roles are allotted to basses, and Walter Fink’s Watchman takes the laurels amongst the several present. Throughout the French diction of the cast is adequate, although at times indistinct when it compared with the clarity of EMI’s studio recording.

So as far as commercial releases are concerned it’s a choice that might well be made on any number of grounds: according to budget; supporting material, completeness or sound quality. Naxos comes in at half EMI’s price but their synopsis cannot compete with EMI’s full notes and libretto – which will be needed if you come to the work for the first time. EMI includes the whole score whereas the Naxos version suffers several cuts and EMI wins hands down on sound quality. If it’s immediacy in drama you’re after rather than a kind of pseudo-Debussian orchestral gloss, Naxos is the choice. When all’s said and done Naxos provides a decent starting point. Given that both sets reward musically in their own ways, I would urge the interested to investigate the other over time also.

Electrecord and off-air broadcasts Electrecord’s version is in Romanian, as opposed to the original French, and in translation certain textual changes were made - apparently at the request of Communist Party officials - that not only alter the nature of what is sung but the direction of the action itself. That said, anyone unaware of this is unlikely to be overly troubled. The Bucharest Opera forces are conducted by Brediceanu, with David Ohanesian in the title role. Why Brediceanu conducted the recording at all is still something of a mystery, given that Constantin Silvestri was originally to do so, and conducted painstaking rehearsals for some time prior to his replacement. Dedicated though Brediceanu is, there can be little doubt that the recording owes a fair measure of its glory to Silvestri’s input. I regret the fact that politics seemingly has cruelly robbed us of what would have almost certainly been a magnificent reading. The one we have though displays the quality of the Bucharest National Opera at that time (1964), with each role taken by a star soloist: Dan Iordachescu’s Creon stands out as worthy of particular note, as does Elena Cernai’s Jocaste.

But vocally it is David Ohanesian in the title role that carries all before him here: a great bass-baritone caught in his absolute prime.

Although I have not heard it, I have heard reports of a recording existing of a seemingly excellent live performance from the Lucerne Festival given in August 1981. Romanian forces were once again conducted by Brediceanu, with Ohanesian still in the title role, this time singing in French. The major drawback of the performance, I gather, was the cutting of Act 2, Scene 1. Nonetheless I hope to make the acquaintance of this recording some day, and would welcome information from any readers who know any more about it.

Orchestre Radio-Symphonique de France/Charles Bruck – Radio France 1955 This may be in some respects the best recording of Oedipe to date. Conducted by Romanian born Charles Bruck – a much under-rated conductor - the reading is as secure technically as that achieved by Foster, but Bruck phrases with greater urgency at every turn.

Bruck’s Oedipe is Xavier Depraz who is resplendent in the role. I prefer him to Foster’s van Dam, although Depraz

does not have van Dam's tonal allure – and there are times in the opera I wish van Dam had less beauty and more punch in his voice. Other performances for Bruck worth mention include the blood-curdling Sphinx of Rita Gorr who also sang Jocaste at the Monnaie in Brussels. Bruck's performance features some singers from the 1936 premiere of the work, one in the role he created: Henri Medus as the Watchman. Others are in different roles: Louis Noguera was a Theban at the premiere but sings Phorbas for Bruck, Pierre Froumenty was Créon at the premiere but under Bruck sings the High Priest. Bruck's performance carries the advantage of an all-native French cast featuring principals from the Paris Opera at that time: Jean Giraudeau (the Shepherd), André Vessières (Tiresias), to name but two. Alas, Bruck’s recording allows serious cuts and the playing of the Orchestre RadioSymphonique is less than ideal, though it is committed. The sound is also a factor, but given the fact it emanates from radio sources, for its age it is remarkably full and clear.

BBC Scottish SO / Mandeal – Edinburgh 2002 – broadcast by the BBC I mentioned above the indelible effect that this performance had on me, and being my first true encounter with the work it is in some ways the one that all others measure up against for me. Aside from the magnificent Mandeal, the chief protagonists to note are John Relyea’s assumption of the title role. There could hardly have been a vocal facet he left unexploited in bringing the music to life, and in his effort seemed to push himself to the very edge of his abilities, but was it ever worth it. Marius Brenciu’s telling rendition of the shepherd’s role was given with piquancy of tone in impeccable French, whilst Anna Burford and Janice Watson were memorable as Mérope and Antigone respectively.

Teatro Lirico di Cagliari / Mandeal – Cagliari 2005 – broadcast by RAI Tre Listening to off-air broadcasts of the Edinburgh and Cagliari performances, what is most striking is precisely the quality I find most lacking in Foster’s studio recording: immediacy of impact. Mandeal draws this from orchestra, chorus and soloists and views all four acts as an arch of inevitability for Oedipe from birth to death. Within this he does not neglect detail, and is unafraid to move from the slightest subtlety of line to the unleashing of the tremendous power inherent in the score. Stefan Ignat shows that he is a bass-baritone growing into the title role, though lapses in linguistic fluency let him down at times. Another Romanian, Alexandru Agache, proves a rich and menacing Créon.

When writing last year I commented that: “There could be no greater mark of respect for Enescu than to capture Mandeal’s view of this score”. Apparently a video DVD was made from the production in Cagliari – perhaps a sufficiently far-sighted company will seek to licence this from the opera house for public release. Given that Naxos have released the Vienna archive audio recording, this DVD seems the only way that Mandeal’s vision of this great work might at last become officially publicly available. Until then, do not resist any further live performances he may conduct.

George ENESCU (1881-1955) Cello Sonata in C major, op. 26 N° 2 (1935) [34.20] Nocturne and Saltarello for cello and piano (c.1897) [6.42] Cello Sonata in F minor, op. 26 N° 1 (1898) [28.45] Viviane Spanoghe (cello) André de Groote (piano) Recording dates and locations not supplied. DDD. TALENT DOM 2910 79 [70.05]

This CD has been in my collection for some time. The accounts it offers of Enescu’s two cello sonatas show commitment to and much enthusiasm for the music. If one were to go by opus numbers alone one might think the two sonatas had been composed in close proximity – not so. Enescu more than once paired works of the

same type under the same opus number, even if their composition was separated by many years. Unusually, this disc presents the second sonata as the first to be heard.

This release is notable for offering the world premiere recording of the Nocturne and Saltarello, a short work, known to have been performed during the first recital of Enescu’s compositions in Paris during 1897. The score was long thought lost, but it came to light again in 1994. Such was the energy of Enescu’s creative mind that his many shorter chamber compositions carry as much to engage both performer and listener alike that they are worthy of wider attention than they often receive. This Nocturne and Saltarello definitely belongs in that category, along with a clutch of other works featuring solo violin, a Concert Allegro for harp and Cantabile e Presto for flute and piano (both 1904), Légende for trumpet and piano (1905) and the Concert Piece for viola and piano (1906).

Listening to the Nocturne you can hear some of Enescu’s mature musical approaches in the early stages of their development. Richly lyrical, this is music that has distinct influences left by the French compositional school – he studied under Massenet and knew Fauré, Ravel amongst others – yet a youthful love of Brahms also seems not too distant from his mind. The Saltarello is made to contrast well in the playing of de Groote and Spanoghe: they pick up the tempo and invest it with much bite and attack. Although folk elements may be evident in the writing, they are of Enescu’s making rather than from authentic sources, and he utilizes them with a deftly cultured touch.

The first sonata’s opening movement – marked allegro molto moderato – is a mixture of unison playing and closely argued chorale and fugal writing that betray yet again a combination of French and Brahmsian influences.

The players bring out the drive behind the music - derived from a repeated three-note sequence (F-G-A flat) - to good effect, and further succeed in contrasting this with more introspective passages that also are founded on the same material. The allegretto scherzando second movement is full of inner musical flow between the instruments. Memories of a Viennese scherzo from Enescu’s years at the Conservatoire obviously pervade the music, and the major-minor harmonics are most delicately handled. Likewise Brahmsian in character, the feeling continues into the third movement. The ruminative quality of the music is evident in Spanoghe’s deep, rich cello tone; for the most part de Groote holds the piano part under a veil of restraint. The work’s presto finale is largely classical in form, with the instruments playing against each other in a manner that appropriately draws upon elements from the preceding movements and builds to a formidably energetic conclusion. A strength of this performance is that the music is performed at a genuine presto tempo whilst finding inner space for reflective elements as a seamless part of the whole.

The second sonata, written 37 years after the first, works along a very different basis of structure and enquiry, as its concerns are less to do with form than with variation of tonal colour. Indeed, the structure only begins to come clear some way in, such is the inventiveness with which Enescu treats mood as a thematic device. The first movement’s internal contrasts are broadly painted with boldness of line and feeling for nuance; Spanoghe often observing the minute differences in tonal shading that Enescu requires. De Groote is hardly less subtle in his handling of the piano part. The second movement is suitably agitato, following the marked indication, but it evolves through long lines with emotion held in restraint to balance passages of more effusive character.

The third and fourth movements come as close as Enescu’s third violin sonata to expressing his feeling for Romanian folk music, even though the melodies he employs are his own. The third movement clearly carries the atmosphere of a doina in it; a doina being a melancholic melody with roots in both speech and song. Enescu transforms this into a passage of high art. The final movement, marked à la roumaine – allegro sciolto, relies on both Lydian and pentatonic melodies. It incorporates glissandi and quarter-tones in the cello part, whilst the piano is asked to play ‘rustico’ to imitate the sound of a Romanian ţambal. As was noted with the earlier works Enescu’s romantic leanings are also on display, but here they are firmly within his own musical language.

Spanoghe and de Groote might not approach the music with as much instinct as some – Ilea and Licareţ on Olympia/Electrecord or Aneculaesei (see review below) – but they are respectful of Enescu’s many demands and seek to get inside his idiom with some success.

The sound is full and forward, though not too much so. The liner notes are generally informative, but Fauré is called a "younger musician", which is clearly inaccurate.

This is a disc that contains persuasive accounts of all three works and shows much dedication to Enescu’s music.

Were I after a single recording of the sonatas for my library any already mentioned would give pleasure. Cello sonatas these might be, but it is unwise to neglect the piano’s contribution to the whole. The sheer variety of

tone that Donald Sulzen’s instrument brings to Arte Nova’s budget price release would make it my first choice, despite de Groote’s highly nuanced sense of touch on this Talent disc.

George ENESCU (1881-1955) Cello Sonata in F minor, op. 26 N° 1 (1898) [40.43] Cello Sonata in C major, op. 26 N° 2 (1935) [35.27] Maria Aneculaesei (cello) Jan Michiels (piano) rec. November 2004,at Studio Steurbaut, Belgium.

QUALUNQUE 5411499 09022 [76.11]

For a composer whose worldly fame during his lifetime was as a violinist, Enescu’s two cello sonatas have proved popular on disc, this being the fourth pairing I know of – and it came to my attention via the MusicWeb Bulletin Board.

The first factor that stands out is the relative playing time of the disc – it comes at anywhere between three and nine minutes longer than alternative versions. Ilea/Licereţ on Olympia/Electrecord and Zank/Sulzen on Arte Nova, I would class as the front-runners. I do not see much wrong with a more expansive and lyrical view of Enescu’s writing, which is what you get here, but in overall terms the drama of the works is not so much negated as painted on a smaller scale. For some, particularly if used to the more punchy interpretations listed above, this may take a little getting used to.

However, this does not mean the works are entirely without dramatic contrast as played here. Take the opening of the first sonata, punchy piano chords announce a strong opening to which the cello responds, later proceeding to moments of inner repose before joining the piano again in an extended lyrical song of simplicity (in the cello line) accompanied by the piano with great feeling. The connecting passages are perhaps a little more tentative than with other performers, but Enescu’s writing can take it. The lighter of foot section that follows is given with tenderness, although here as before the piano tone seems prominently placed within the recording. When things pick up tempo and dynamic again a greater presence to the cello line would have been welcome, though this is not for lack of trying on the part of Maria Aneculaesei.

Of the version on Arte Nova (74321 54461 2) featuring Gerhard Zank and Donald Sulzen, I wrote in June 2005: “Were it not for the music, and the lively interpretations and singing line of Zank’s cello, this recording would still find its way on to my list of treasured items. This must be one of the most perfectly voiced piano recordings ever made, making for a genuine partnership in response to the music: listen for example to the interaction in the last two movements of the second sonata. Gloriously uplifting music-making all round.”

Since then I have become better acquainted with the Ilea/Licereţ on Olympia/Electrecord, and although I find the pianism of Nicolae Licereţ more moving, I must confess Sulzen still has the finer instrument. All of which shows what Jan Michiels is up against here, but he copes gainfully, producing power and restraint,as the music demands, with ease. Restraint – the starting point of all crescendi – is felt and thrillingly delivered in the first sonata’s third movement.

The second sonata stands out even amongst the works of Enescu as something of sophistication and individuality. It starts with extended soulful simplicity (at least on the outside) before proceeding to an allegro agitato that the composer spoke if in terms expressing “liberation, sincerity and courage”. As a bearer of these values for the Romanian people nowhere are these more felt in his cello writing than the powerfully evocative Final à la Roumaine, which holds a path parallel to that of his third violin sonata in inspiration. Following as it does the Andantino, scored to begin with for solo cello, the effect is truly one of emotional release, and many Romanians I know say how these passages touch on something almost indefinable in the national psyche.

Befitting this moving music the performance it receives here shows honesty in tone, and a certain apt fragility too.

That leads to growing confidence and feeling that underlines the powerful sentiments Enescu sought to capture in sound.

Engelbert HUMPERDINCK (1854-1921) Hänsel und Gretel - A fairy opera in three acts (189093) libretto by Adelheide Wette Hänsel: Frederica von Stade (mezzo) Gretel: Ileana Cotrubaş (soprano) Mother: Christa Ludwig (mezzo) Father: Siegmund Nimsgern (baritone) The Sandman: Kiri Te Kanawa (soprano) The Dew Fairy: Ruth Welting (soprano) The Witch: Elisabeth Söderström (soprano) Children’s chorus of the Cologne Opera Gürzenich Orchestra/John Pritchard rec. 1978, Erholungshaus, Leverkusen, Germany. ADD. CD 2 contains a PDF file with the libretto in German, English, French and Italian.

SONY CLASSICAL S2K 96455 [61.22 + 46.20] This classic set wears its age with amazing grace and dignity. Although there have been subsequent recordings of Humperdinck’s evergreen opera few have captured the work as successfully as Pritchard and company do here.

From the first Pritchard paces the work with care and obvious affection for the music. His efforts are responded to with charmingly unforced playing from the Gürzenich Orchestra, though they also bring a knowing incisiveness to interpreting the musical idiom. In the overture, perhaps more than elsewhere, one becomes aware of the close influence of Wagner’s orchestral idiom upon Humperdinck, though the Witch also carries some inference of this.

The significance of the Wagner influence does not escape Pritchard’s keen ear, and through incorporating it he adds depth to this Feenoper - no Wagnerian pun intended. The recorded sound has a slight bloom to it in the brass and strings particularly and this heightens the Wagnerian sensation, whilst Humperdinck is also his own man too.

The undoubted strengths of the set continue when it comes to the voices too. Were I to think of two singers active in the late 1970s to assume the title roles, the pairing of von Stade and Cotrubaş would be hard to beat.

Individually and in their extensive passages together they succeed in bringing a sense of wide-eyed wonder to their roles. In terms of vocal size and timbre they fit each other ideally, with von Stade sounding convincingly boyish too. In contrast, the opera’s other pair, Mother and Father, make their presence felt through more mature - and conventionally operatic sounding - use of their voices. Christa Ludwig one can imagine in the role of mother, and Siegmund Nimsgern provides an apt foil to her slightly blowsy assumption of the role.

The four singers so far considered bring style and intelligence to their roles, but were one to look for sheer beauty of singing - whilst not foregoing any of the aforementioned style and intelligence - then the contributions of Kiri Te Kanawa and Ruth Welting would surely be prime for your attention. For me Ruth Welting’s well nigh matchless Dew Fairy would almost be enough reason in itself to consider the set.

But then there’s the wicked witch. Elisabeth Söderström, ever one to assume a character role with gusto in her own inimitable style, doesn’t hold back and really goes for it. I’d steer clear of gingerbread houses if I were you, children.

It’s a shame to be even slightly curmudgeonly when there’s such fun to be had, but I found the documentation (track listing and synopsis) to be serviceable, though I almost missed the thin booklet tucked in between the card of the case’s front flap. The biggest drawback for some might be the PDF file of the libretto on CD 2, which can be accessed via your PC or Mac’s CD-ROM drive. The presentation means that one can only view and print off the original text and the three full translations simultaneously, all of which run to 52 printed pages. Surely giving users a choice of available translations from a menu to begin with would be more user-friendly and economical with paper too. In an age when record companies make the consumer shoulder the printing of support material such concerns have to be considered.

When it comes to the music however, this is a set without a weak link and it provides continual pleasure.

Edvard LIEBER (20th century) Music to Paintings Twenty-four De Kooning Preludes, based on paintings

by Willem de Kooning (1978) [21.22] Small Decoy, based on the painting Small Decoy by Marcelo Bonevardi (1979) [3.24] * Prelude to Jackson Pollock’s "Autumn Rhythm" (1977) [1.00] Homage to Franz Kline, based on the late paintings of Franz Kline (1977) [3.10] Sea Wall, based on the painting Sea Wall by Edvins Strautmanis (1979) [2.20] Bacchus, based on the 1976-79 Bacchus paintings by Elaine de Kooning (1979) [3.07] Tomb of Hasegawa, based on the late paintings by Saburo Hasegawa (1979) [9.53] + Edvard Lieber (piano, * prepared piano, + electronically altered piano) + Unnamed chorus and Shoko Tanaka (speaker) rec. 24 August 1983, Recital Hall, State University of New York, Purchase, NY. ADD. LABOR LAB 7020-2 [44.33] Over a period of three years in the late 1970s Edvard Lieber created an intense set of piano works inspired by the painted media. He performs his complete output in this discipline here with a forthrightness and dedication that shows something of the strength he drew from the original imagery.

The works’ form is pared down to essentials, both in terms of content and length, with the brevity of the De Kooning Preludes making one think of each as a kind of musical haiku – the shortest is 31", the longest a comparatively substantial 1’28". Yet for all their individual brevity the pieces themselves form a challenging set.

The disc’s title deliberately uses the word ‘music’, though much of the content would be just as aptly described as ‘sound art’, as its effect seems to be to create aural atmospheres in response to the various visual stimuli selected

by Lieber.

As composer and pianist Lieber has an impressive pedigree – he studied the former with Xenakis, the latter with Horowitz, among others. Also active as a painter and film-maker (with a series of films on artists such as Bernstein, Cage, Rauschenberg, Warhol and de Kooning), this has led to him being called "An American Renaissance man [of] fearless individuality". His work is individual, though he is hardly alone in being a composerartist: Schoenberg and Cage particularly come to mind – and one can sense Cage’s ghost most notably in Small Decoy and Tomb of Hasegawa. Indeed, all the works more generally reflect concerns in visual and music thought prevalent at the time in the United States.

Should anyone be unused to such aural challenges as are presented by this disc, the best starting point is the booklet. In his text David Giese takes the reader on a swift tour of composers through musical history whose work has been imbued with visual associations, painters that have contributed notable works on musical themes and composers who have responded to visual art. This is followed by notes on all the artists that concern us here, together with their relevant works, which are reproduced as monochrome illustrations. It’s a slight pity perhaps that the illustrations are not in colour, as one cannot see exactly how much correlation their might be between visual colours and subtleties of aural tones and textures. (Also note that some 24 endnotes are given to the main booklet text – making the whole appear more a miniature academic essay).

All of this is not entirely out of place with Lieber’s music, for there is much evidence that his response to the works is as much intellectually stimulated as springing from momentary reaction. In 1979 he claimed that he was "not aiming at a literal translation. I look at time as the canvas and sound as the paint". Any intellectually induced difficulty in this statement was probably only to his liking.

Each of the De Kooning Preludes addresses a different aspect of painterly technique – line (Ruth’s Zowie, #9), colour of pinks and yellows (Pastorale, #24) or their visual lyricism (Untitled, #6 and 15). Some also were coloured by a personal response to the subject themselves (Marilyn Monroe, #20). Musically the technique is an interconnection of tonality, atonality and serialism that is united by a wide variety of elaborate means (pedalling being the most obvious on first listening). The opening barrage of dense chords leads to suspended clouds and tranquil spaces that allow, I suspect, for reflection as well as purely technical playability.

Small Decoy employs both pre-recorded sounds played back into the prepared piano during performance to lend the overall timbre wooden and metallic facets that correspond to the materials found in Bonevardi’s work. Prelude to Jackson Pollock’s "Autumn Rhythm" responds to a visual spontaneity in the work. It also encapsulates intellectually the nine individual letters of Jackson Pollock’s name within a framework that appears innocently as a perpetuum mobile. Homage to Franz Kline is notably different in that the response appears purely architectural to Kline’s strongly figured blocks of pigment on the canvas. The apparently random use of fists on the keyboard to create great bursts of immutable sound – almost noise – results, however improbably, from careful mathematics and illustrative graphs in the score – perhaps the closest that Lieber comes to a total fusing of both the visual and the musical.

Edvins Strautmanis’ Sea Wall has at least some loose connection in terms of painterly technique with the work of Jackson Pollock. Both painted on the floor of their studio, but whereas Pollock preferred the liberal fluidity of action painting, Strautmanis stressed a finer textural quality, here achieved by using brooms to manipulate the paint – and it is the roughness of the bristle strokes that Lieber strives to capture, in addition to some impression of the visual composition.

De Kooning appears again, but this time Elaine’s work is the subject, and Bacchus himself looms large in the composition as Lieber employs a technique similar to the one he employed a year earlier in capturing Willem’s Preludes.

In terms of aural effect produced, the most haunting belongs to the longest single work contained here: Tomb of Hasegawa. Tumults of black sound, metamorphosed out of all recognition from those produced by a piano, the work seems more percussive in quality - and, as Bartók observed, the piano is essentially a percussive instrument.

The beat predominates over conventional pianistic tone, which only makes sparing appearances. The choir too is changed, dehumanised almost. The speaker recites the Japanese text in a hushed, clipped voice before a general fading from sound to silence.

As music Lieber’s output is something that (depending on individual tastes) instantly appeals and demands an immediate replay or not. However, what he sets out to achieve cannot be instantly dismissed and merits investigation by those with a serious and dedicated interest in visual and/or musical thought.

Aita MADINA (Francisco de Madina Igarzabal) (19071972) Basque Music Volume IX CD 1 Concierto Vasco para 4 guitarras y orquesta (for four guitars and orchestra) (1969) [28:49] Basque Rhapsody (1945?) [21:31] Concertino Vasco para arpa y orquesta de cuerdas (for harp and string orchestra) (orch. Tomás Aragüés Bernad) [11:28] CD 2 Aita Gurea * (1964) [4:37] Basque Christmas Suite * ** [7:16] La Cadena de Oro ** [10:59] Agur Maria [4:32] Basque Children’s Overture [4:23] Christmas Triptych [10:00] Danza (Dance) (1969) [4:07] Orreaga (Basque Suite) [10:02] Los Romeros, (guitars) Xavier de Maistre, (harp) * Ana Salaberria, ** Elena Barbé, (sopranos) Andoni Alemán, (narrator) Orfeón Donostiarra/José Antonio Sainz Alfaro *** Euskadiko Orkestra Sinfonikoa (Basque National Orchestra)/Cristian Mandeal rec. San Sebastian, 6-18 June, 13-23 Sept 2005. DDD CLAVES CD 50-2517/18 [64:58 + 55:56]

Rob Barnett’s review (see below) of this, the ninth volume in Claves’ ongoing Basque Music Collection, gave some emphasis to the background of the works. Such background is undoubtedly needed if one is new to this repertoire, and I suspect that most will be. The fact that this is the first 2 CD set in this enterprising series gives some indication of the support Claves gives to the undertaking. There must be few record companies that would devote 22 days of studio time to recording such little known repertoire. The recorded sound is full and faithful, for the most part maintaining a slight sense of spaciousness around the performers.

That the Basque National Orchestra play this music with absolute commitment can well be understood – one can think of few other orchestras in a position to promote it as directly and consistently as they do, although like any repertoire it could be played with success by any orchestra, which begs the question: why isn’t it? Cristian Mandeal, a conductor I have long admired for the sense of drama and structure he brings to music, leads with confidence and individuality. This is his fifth recording with the BNO as part of the Claves series, and to my ears at least, his readings have become more persuasive as the series has progressed.

The fact that this set features star soloists – Los Romeros guitar quartet and Xavier de Maistre, solo harpist of the Vienna Philharmonic – illustrates that few corners are cut in that regard too.

There are some definite highlights in terms of the music and performances contained within this set. The two featured concertos head the list for me. Both expand the repertoire for their solo instruments to good advantage for adventurous soloists. Indeed any repertoire for guitar quartet at all might not exist without the pioneering efforts of Los Romeros, and this work is no exception, as they document in the booklet. The guitar concerto is rather strong in character from the start. Solo guitar lines are minimal, as the quartet weave textures amongst themselves throughout almost all of the four movements. Against this some forceful orchestral lines are contrasted; the quality of brass playing being impressive in fullness. The harp concerto shows a clear sense of the idyll – movement 1 - and nostalgia – movement 2 - in Madina’s writing. Xavier de Maistre’s playing occupies a subtle place within the whole, slightly recessed into the orchestral acoustic. The string playing, although often relying on violins in Bernad’s orchestration, is nuanced and flexible.

Distinct yet refined use of elements drawn from Basque music infuses much else of what is recorded here also.

Throughout Madina’s concern for rich harmonics and orchestral texture is evident; that he deploys these elements with a sense of fun makes for an enjoyable listening experience. The Basque Rhapsody contains its fair share of punchily scored rhythms, which Mandeal seizes upon to bring out with flair in the performance. Some aspect of Madina’s fun-making imbues his works for children as well: the Children’s Overture rips along infectiously. The Christmas works take much of their basis from seasonal tunes orchestrated and elaborated beyond their humble origins. The Suite offers a briefer picture than the Triptych, which is wider in scope and greater in compositional ambition. Not that Madina’s smaller-scale works should be overlooked: Agur Maria carries a great sense of intimacy in the choral writing that is notable in the Orfeón Donostiarra’s atmospheric performance.

There are a few minor regrets regarding the accompanying booklet: proofreading is not ideal; the notes in English, French and German are but précis versions of those given in Euskadi and Spanish, though it should not be hard to get the gist from the Spanish should one wish to do so; more serious though is the lack of texts and translations to accompany vocal items. These things aside though this set can easily be recommended to anyone in search of new repertoire heard in winning performances.

Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Werther (1892) Marcelo Álvarez (tenor) - Werther Elina Garanča (soprano) - Charlotte Adrian Eröd (baritone) - Albert Ileana Tonca (soprano) - Sophie Peter Jelosits (tenor) - Schmidt Alfred Šramek (baritone) - Le Bailli Clemens Unterreiner (tenor) - Bühlmann Markus Pelz (bass) - Johann Maria Gusenleitner (soprano) - Käthchen Chor und Orchester der Wiener Staatsoper / Philippe Jordan Recorded at Vienna State Opera, 25 and 28 February 2005. DVD Region 0.

Bonus: Prior to Opening Night - Marcelo Álvarez and Elina Garanča, Vienna Opera Ball TDK DVD DVWW-OPWER [132’00" + 12’00" bonus] Back in May 2005, I reviewed the CD release of this opera featuring Andrea Bocelli. My colleague Göran Forsling was rather more positive about it than me [review], and urged potential purchasers to give it a chance. In that review I outlined the five areas that it seems to me any production of Werther should seek to address musically, and I still stick to those. In making these comments I refer back to Pappano’s conducting of the score at Covent Garden last season. This production measures up as follows.

1. Scaling and balance within the orchestral playing: the beauty of Massenet’s orchestration is to be found in the winds set against the strings: The orchestra is recorded with full enough tone, and in such a way as to favour the strings over the winds – much to the detriment of the work as a whole in my view, as in the winds lies much of Massenet’s compositional inventiveness. This is not to suggest that the woodwind are absent from things, just that they do not quite have the presence that they might. Pappano’s reading placed much greater interest on the winds as a whole. Regarding the scaling of the orchestral performance, this is an important factor with this work as it should reflect the domestic nature of the setting. This is perhaps captured being slightly on the large side of intimate, but given that the Wiener Staatsoper – the house where the work was premiered – is hardly of compact proportions such projection and scaling of playing is acceptable.

2. Allied to this is the sympathy of the conductor to the true French idiom – a generic sound or approach will not do, nor will a lack of dynamism in the production as a whole: Philippe Jordan’s reading I would say is not wholly in the French idiom – though this brought to mind an interesting fact about Massenet and the composition of Werther. Just prior to the composition of the opera, Massenet – like so many other French composers – visited Bayreuth to take in the Wagner experience. And, as with so many others – even Debussy who most staunchly resisted Wagner’s influence – Massenet’s music was from then on coloured with the reflective timbre of the Bayreuth master. This Jordan brings out most obviously through the strength and relative rigidity of his interpretation in contrast to Pappano’s more openly lyrical reading, though also the tone Jordan obtains from the orchestra suggests a German influence. At times I find Jordan’s orchestral sound just a touch bland – but in this regard it is better by far than the bland-beyond-belief reading achieved by Yves Abel on Decca’s Bocelli set. Jordan keeps the tempi and action moving reasonably well, although inevitably at the end of big numbers the audience intrude somewhat to dispel the atmosphere and disrupt the flow.

3. The long, taxing tenor part requires a complete palette of mood and expression throughout the range: Marcelo Álvarez also took the title role in the production conducted by Pappano at Covent Garden. Whilst he may not be the most natural stage actor (he favours the old technique of ‘stand and deliver’) or perhaps the most obvious presence as Werther, he sings at all times most persuasively to put across the inner tumult, frustration and torment of the character. In big moments – indeed one could say, throughout – his delivery tends towards the declamation side of things, though in quieter moments he shades down to good effect. Vocally he is in superb shape, and his feeling for the words is most readily reflected in his facial expressions, that draw you into his death scene rather powerfully.

4. The balancing of the female leads (do you balance Sophie, a soprano role, with a mezzo Charlotte or another soprano – and if so of what vocal size and timbre, so they are distinct?): Elina Garanča as Charlotte possesses, like Álvarez, a strong, rich voice that is not without its steely aspect. She sings the role forcefully and characterises with certainty. I can imagine that her portrayal might have come across slightly better in the house than it does under the close scrutiny of cameras, but there is little if anything to cause much displeasure short of an occasional hardness of tone that creeps in when in extremis. Sophie too is cast as a soprano role, but Ileana Tonca’s voice is appropriately somewhat lighter than Garanča’s giving the roles their much needed balance against one another.

Tonca’s acting, whilst restrained, also shows sensitivity to character.

5. Subsidiary roles should draw out sufficient character beyond their vocally limited parts: I found the lesser parts as uninvolving here as I have found them elsewhere. This, I am afraid, rests largely at the feet of Massenet, given that he gave the characters relatively little to work with. None of the singers here though stands out for the wrong reasons, with Alfred Šramek making a brave fist of Le Bailli. The children’s chorus are adequate but not what one would expect were this a studio performance.

This is a version with much to recommend it, even though it is not the last word on Massenet’s score. In overall terms, comparing Decca’s audio recording and this DVD musically I find much in favour of the DVD. The stage production presented here, however, might be an area for slight concern. Not that director Andrei Serban’s conception of the drama is terribly strange: his vision of Sophie as a lesser Charlotte can carry credence with the right protagonists, as largely he has here. The domestic setting, simultaneously indoors and out, is a dramatic device that has to be accepted, but in the end it does afford many opportunities for atmosphere – Werther’s emergence from the shadows, snowfall, etc. – that capture something inherent in the score, though the mixing of furniture from different periods throughout the production never quite sits easy on the eye if one is sensitive to these things.

The ‘bonus’ of Marcelo Álvarez and Elina Garanča at the Vienna Opera Ball singing a zarzuela duet is pleasing enough, but I would suggest that and no more.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) The secret Mozart: works for clavichord On a Hass clavichord: Allegro in G minor, K. 312 [8.21] Andante and 5 Variations in G, K. 501 [8.55] * Minuetto in D, K. 355/Trio da M. Stadler [7.12] On Mozart’s clavichord: Marche funèbre, K. 453a [2.14] Andantino, K. 236 [1.41] Klavierstück in F, K. 33b (after Gluck) [0.57] Adagio for Glass Harmonica, K. 356 [2.51] Laßt uns mit geschlungen Händen K. 623 [1.32] Rondo in F, K. 494 [6.29] On a Schiedmayer clavichord: Theme and 2 Variations in A, K. 460 [3.55] Fantasia in D minor, K. 397 [5.18] Sonata in D, K. 381 [17.29] * Fantasia in D minor, K.397 (with coda) [5.43] Christopher Hogwood with *Derek Adlam (clavichord) Instruments: Unfretted clavichord by JA Hass, 1761.

Pitch: a1=392 Hz; Anonymous unfretted clavichord owned by Mozart from mid to late 1700s. Pitch: a1=415 Hz; Unfretted clavichord by JCG Scheidmayer, 1791. Pitch: a1=430 Hz rec. October 2004, Church of St Lawrence, West Wycombe (Hass and Schiedmayer); Mozart Geburtshaus, Salzburg (Mozart’s clavichord).

DEUTSCHE HARMONIA MUNDI 82876 832882 [73.46] This is the third disc in Christopher Hogwood’s ‘Secret’ series, following releases focused on Bach and Handel.

There hardly seems to be a recording by Hogwood that does not set out to challenge our perceptions of the music he conducts or plays, and this release will certainly challenge. I suppose it’s feasible to make the point that the extent of the challenge it makes will depend on how fixed each listener’s individual views are regarding “how Mozart should sound”.

Hogwood’s own lucid introductions to both the series and this disc state that the aim is to present a “private view” of the composers’ keyboard music “in their home setting”. He continues by usefully quoting Constanze Mozart in regard to Wolfgang’s use of the clavichord for composition, in preference to a fortepiano, additionally stating that “the only instrument that was with him at the start and end of his life was the clavichord.” Yes, Mozart used a forte-piano in public, but in his private music-making the clavichord was his instrument of choice. If you’ve heard period instrument recordings of Mozart sonatas before, then they were approximations at what his public might have heard, and different still from what you’ll hear on this disc. The notes conclude with useful remarks on both the works that form this programme and points of stylistic interest they raise, together with notes on the instruments used for this recording.

Listening to this disc straight through, the first really noticeable thing is the difference in sound that the three instruments make. The Hass clavichord is recorded slightly distantly, but you can still hear much of the internal mechanism at work. Not that this is unduly distracting, it is part of the experience in listening to such an instrument. The sound produced is subtle in terms of its colourings and discrete rather than being too imposing.

That said, at forte a full sound is produced. Mozart’s clavichord is more forward and taut in its tone – to the point of almost sounding like a guitar at times. There is no doubt that this is still a domestic instrument, given the volume of sound it produces. The Schiedmayer clavichord is the brightest in terms of tone out of the three instruments, the one most capable of sustaining a body of sound at a consistently reasonable volume, and the one most similar to a harpsichord - to my ears at least.

For anyone used to Mozart on a modern grand piano some adjustment will be needed before one feels fully at

home with this disc. For me though, Hogwood proves a most sensitive advocate in helping one to adjust ones ears to accept Mozart at his most intimate. That the disc is filled mostly with miniatures is an undoubted benefit, as their brevity somehow works hand in hand with the instruments’ intimacy of scale. There are moments when perhaps Hogwood’s playing does not seem ideally fluent – the Marche funèbre, K. 453a played on Mozart’s clavichord, for me, is one – but one can feel in Hogwood’s playing Mozart striving for a musical result that was stretching his instrument to its limits. For the most part though, the music is well chosen to show the instruments in a positive light. Having admired last year Misha and Cipa Dichter’s reading of the Sonata for two pianos in D, K. 381 (see review), I find the reading Hogwood gives with David Adlam highly exciting. They bring real brio to the opening Allegro. The middle Andante bounces along playfully and the closing Allegro molto has real punch, but contains tenderness and plentiful tonal variation too.

A disc that offers a refreshing view of Mozart. Enthusiastically recommended.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) La Clemenza di Tito - opera in two acts K. 621 (1791) Tito, Emperor of Rome, Charles Castronovo (ten); Sesto, a Roman patrician, friend of Tito, in love with Vitellia, Vesselina Kasarova (mezzo); Vitellia, daughter of the emperor Vitellius, Véronique Gens (sop); Servillia, sister of Sesto, in love with Annio, Alexia Voulgaridou (sop); Annio, a Roman patrician, friend of Sesto, in love with Servillia, Michelle Breedt (mezzo); Publio, Paolo Battaglia (bass) Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks Münchner Rundfunkorkester/Pinchas Steinberg rec. live 26 February 2006, Philharmonie im Gasteig, Munich. DDD BMG RCA 82876 83990 2 [53.15 + 60.29]

It has been a good year for recordings of La clemenza di Tito with the reappearance of a classic 1960s account and a brand new one in the past few months. With the field of alternative versions gradually massing it is good news if one wants several options to choose from, but not so good for the record company concerned should their new contender not fully make the grade.

Before considering this version, perhaps it is as well to be acquainted with the main alternatives: • Kertész leading the Vienna State Opera on Decca with Werner Krenn, Berganza, Lucia Popp and Brigitte Fassbaender at mid-price (see review) • Böhm on DG with Peter Schreier, Berganza (again) and Julia Varady • Mackerras with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and Rainer Trost, Magdalena Kožená, Hillevi Martinpelto, Lisa Milne, Christine Rice and John Relyea (see review) My colleague Göran Forsling - in his review of the Mackerras set - was right to draw attention to versions conducted by Hogwood, Harnoncourt, Gardiner and Colin Davis amongst others, but in each case their sets are flawed by serious cases of mis-casting or less than ideal recorded sound. Were I asked for a recommendation before the appearance of this latest set, I would have suggested Kertész for an old-style, but idiomatic account, and Mackerras the best of the recent bunch. He maintains the use of modern instruments but adds informed awareness of the freshness often found in period instrument performances through brisk tempi, a keen ear for sonority and slight use of vibrato in the playing.

The present set comes courtesy of a live Bavarian radio recording, made on 26 February 2006. With no editing to be done one can understand why RCA have entered the Tito fray so soon after the event. The sound itself is fine, with orchestral balance seemingly well handled. The overture displays full string tone with weight to the bass which is nice, the brass and timpani all make themselves heard, as do the winds. But… - oh dear, the ‘buts’ start already - Steinberg’s pacing is a touch prosaic when heard against Mackerras’. The recitatives also can fall into routine just a bit too often for my liking – and on repeat hearings I appreciated the fact that the recitatives are

separately tracked from the arias that follow them. But that should not be the case. Mozart’s inventiveness is just as much in the recitatives as in the arias, and the two belong together in the listening experience, not separately.

To back up my inventiveness argument I could ask for now finer evidence than Mackerras or Kertész provide and if one wants arias only, one buys a highlights disc in preference to a complete recording.

It is clear then that the singing on this set is going to play a crucial role in securing any recommendation. Bulgarian mezzo Vesselina Kasarova, cast as Sesto, is the soloist this set is built around. Her image adorns the sets cover and none of the other singers get a look in, though they deserve to as there are some reasonable artists among them.

At least a decade ago I heard Kasarova in Munich and noted then the vocal freshness and agility that first launched her into an international career. Having heard her last year in London, much of these qualities seemed absent. Voices age and develop with time like no other instrument; some fare well, others less so. Part of the skill in singing, it could be said, is how the artist acknowledges and works with the aging process to produce music that’s still acceptable before the public. Many might be tempted to call the state of her voice as heard on this recording ‘mannered’ (indeed, I have done so myself – see review), but I am having increased reservations about the use of the word in music criticism and what exactly its use is intended to imply. Yes, Kasarova has a voice that projects well and produces adequate tone even if done with a little effort at the extremes of her range. As I commented in that review of that live performance, the chest voice remains in good shape and she can float the voice, though she does so with care. She conveys a sense of drama in her singing and, notwithstanding the factors just mentioned, has a good sense of Mozartian line. Whether that is sufficiently to one’s taste is something that only an individual can judge, though her reading of big moments such a Parto, parto, ma tub en mio are certainly individual. She does command, though with an ever present slight vibrato in the voice. Alright does not impress as readily here as Berganza does, but few singers have made the aria as completely their property as Berganza did.

Listen to Kasarova in the recitativo accompagnato that follows soon after, however, and you become aware that in the heat of the moment can cause her to forego vocal security, where a studio recording would maintain it.

Véronique Gens’ Vitellia is flexible of voice and clear of tone. She sings naturally and catches a nice medium between control and impetus for real warmth of conviction in her reading. Much of the text though seems skated over in faster passages in her haste to propel notes into the air. Castronovo’s tenor is a substantial instrument, though he employs it with intelligence, scaling down where he can. This is of considerable benefit as recitative passages constitute the bulk of the role.

If only the same could be consistently said for Michelle Breedt’s Annio. A firm mezzo, she displays a tendency to make her recitatives into more than they should be. If they are large-scale, what chance is there for arias to make their full impact? Much better by far is Alexia Voulgaridou’s reading of Servilia. Having welcomed her aria recital on Arte Nova (see review) it’s good to hear her in some Mozart. Much sensitivity towards the music is in evidence. Paolo Battaglia makes what he can of the opera’s only bass role and proves imposing in the process.

Good though it is in parts, overall this release does not displace either Mackerras or Kertész as my recommendation for a complete recording. Mackerras keeps me constantly surprised with the amount of nuance he finds in the score, and his cast is consistently finer, displaying inventive originality in their singing too. Kertész is his own recommendation and presents no less valid a view of the work. The fact that this RCA set only comes with libretto in PDF format (on CD1) is perhaps a final factor against it – it seems parsimonious at full price to ask the listener to additionally cover the printing cost for some 25 A4 pages when Mackerras’s set comes with full printed libretto and good notes to boot.

Lorenzo PALOMO (b.1938) Andalusian Nocturnes (1995) [40.53] * Spanish Songs (1986) [33.26] ** * Pepe Romero (guitar); ** María Bayo (soprano) Seville Royal Symphony Orchestra/Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos rec. Sala Apolo, Seville, 29 August-2 September 2000.

DDD. NAXOS 8.557135 [74.19]

The Naxos Spanish Classics series continues to grow apace. The inclusion of contemporary composers, as here, raises the question of how such recent works as these acquire ‘classic’ status. General popularity and number of performances are two indicators, though they are not necessarily linked; however in respect of Lorenzo Palomo’s music there is some correlation.

From first phrase to last there is no mistaking the overtly Spanish flavour of Palomo’s music, though more specifically it owes much to the characteristics of Andalusian composition with its Jewish and Moorish elements. Palomo’s idiom is rooted in an easily grasped tonality that displays a great interest in exploring the textures and rhythmic configurations that can be achieved by the instrumental groups at his disposal.

This lends the outward appearance of an extended series of tone poems to the six movements that comprise the Andalusian Nocturnes. Given that each movement is titled (A Toast to the Night, Gust of Wind and The Flamenco Stage, for example) it is not hard to guess at the music’s approximate mood. In actuality this is a largescale concertante work for guitar and orchestra, during which the soloist weaves a line into and against the wider textures employed. The solo part bears obvious references to the Spanish classical guitar school, both in terms of material and exhibition of technique. However Palomo also seeks to explore the impressionistic nuances of shade, shadow and darkness that the instrument possesses. Pepe Romero, for whom the work was written, gives an assured reading and Frühbeck de Burgos conducted the work’s world premiere in 1996, here drawing playing of some sensitivity.

The second work, Spanish Songs, is the one that first turned my attention towards Palomo’s music. Recently I found myself discussing the topic of repertoire with an up-and-coming Spanish soprano. Her response to the question of which recent Spanish works for voice and orchestra merit attention was that I should investigate Palomo’s Spanish Songs. Composed originally as two sets of songs for Montserrat Caballé the work exploits most of the qualities that were to be found in her voice during its prime years: a need for strong legato line, rich tone and a keen intelligence in handling words. That Caballé never recorded the work may be a minor regret for some, but for me María Bayo proves a persuasive advocate in her own right. That she seeks to exploit the drama in miniature aspect of each song helps in delivering involved and involving performances. At times there are clear elements of theatricality on display (La niña de blanco) but these are countered by evocations of atmospheres (Llueve, llueve) and a sense of intimacy between poet, composer and performer.

The clear and detailed recording is supported by a succinct biography of Palomo and useful notes on the works.

Song texts are downloadable as a PDF file from the Naxos website, as is the company’s usual practice. Warmly recommended if tuneful Spanish infused textures are your thing.

Giovanni Battista PERGOLESI (1710-1736) Stabat Mater 1,2 [40.51]; Salve Regina in C minor 1 [16.13] Jörg Waschinski (soprano) 1 Michael Chance (counter-tenor) 2 Cologne Chamber Orchestra/Helmut Müller-Brühl rec. Deutschland Radio, Sendesaal des Funkhauses, Köln, Germany, November 2003. DDD Latin texts with English translations provided.

NAXOS 8.557447 [57.05]

Any new recording of these works will need to be something special to set it apart from the many others that are available. Recent rivals have unsurprisingly tended to come from period instrument ensembles but the Cologne Chamber Orchestra adopt “the principles of historical performance practice on modern instruments and so can meet the needs of modern concert halls”, according to the disc’s liner information. Depending on your taste in such matters this is likely either to be an attractive or off-putting factor. Should you like Norrington’s recent approach to conducting modern instruments, for example, then the results achieved here may well be acceptable.

To my ears however this approach misses something fundamental: period instruments and modern ones have distinct differences in the timbres they produce and this is largely to do with the strengths and weaknesses of each when played. Period string instruments respond better when less vibrato is employed whereas modern string instruments rely more on the use of vibrato in playing to bring textures to life. Vibratoless playing on modern instruments – by and large what we have here – sounds for the most part rather dull compared to what might be achieved, even though one has to admit that the standard of orchestral playing produced by the Cologne Chamber Orchestra is perfectly respectable.

On the whole the tempi adopted by Helmut Müller-Brühl are reasonably predictable, which when taken into overall account does not help either reading stand out against those led by Christopher Hogwood (The Academy of Ancient Music with Emma Kirkby and James Bowman) or Christophe Rousset (Talens Lyriques with Barbara Bonney and Andreas Scholl). Both rivals imbue the works with a greater sense of feeling for instrumental line and Hogwood in particular enjoys drawing more adventurous tempi for his players to not only follow but delight in also.

So it is also with the singers. Jörg Waschinski I found somewhat hard to get used to. Whilst there is no denying technical ability and clarity of enunciation his tone is often produced with an edgy attack that can pall after a while. The Stabat Mater, by far the longer of the two works presented here, is rendered more listenable by Michael Chance’s contributions, which are given with greater subtlety on the whole. If only greater care had been taken to choose two voices that blended better than Waschinski’s and Chance’s, things might have been better still. By way of comparison, Kirkby and Bowman sound fresh-voiced and ever youthful blending well in tone, and their readings carry an intelligent response to text that never fails to delight. Andreas Scholl acquits himself favourably also with delivery that is never anything other than incisive. After Kirkby’s crystal clear tones Bonney for Rousset, normally an incisive singer, can seem just a little off the mark in achieving “the rapt adulations of spontaneous faith”, to quote Cris Posslac’s useful liner notes, set down so movingly by the dying 26 year old composer. But there is little to choose between either soprano and the choice will be one of personal taste.

The Salve Regina fares better with Jörg Waschinski as soloist than the Stabat Mater, but only slightly. What shines through however is the powerful yet simple vision encapsulated in the music, not to mention the originality of much of the writing itself. Its chromaticism and exploration of dissonance recall Pergolesi’s operatic output and bring the two very different worlds of stage and private devotion almost to the point of meeting. That ultimately private devotion remains the dominant characteristic is wholly appropriate, and with it also a much needed sense of intimacy in performance. This Hogwood, the Academy of Ancient Music and Emma Kirkby deliver with

unassuming naturalness. Naxos’s readings are serviceable but ultimately undistinguished when placed alongside such rival recordings.

Roumi PETROVA (b. 1970) Passacaglia on a traditional Bulgarian melody for violoncello and piano (2004) [12:02] Sonata 1 for cello and piano (2003) [21:02] Sonata 2 in G minor for cello and piano (2005) [19:41] Five Ancient Bulgarian Portraits for solo cello (1996) [12:02] Kalin Ivanov (cello) Elena Antimova (piano) rec. October 2005, February 2006, Sam Levinson Recital Hall, Brooklyn College, New York. DDD MSR CLASSICS MS 1156 [64.50]

In April 2005 I reviewed another CD of Roumi Petrova’s music entitled “Project Bacillus Bulgaricus”. In that review I commented on Petrova’s style by saying that the works presented there did not challenge the boundaries of tonality and for the most part used their thematic material efficiently. I concluded, “Rhythmically catchy and tuneful, this release proves that contemporary composition can provide undemanding pleasure.”

Is my overall opinion of this latest disc any different? The short answer is no. All four of the works presented here were written for, and dedicated to, the cellist Kalin Ivanov. In the accompanying notes each work is the focus of barely two sentences, as concentration is given to the soloists and the composer. Roumi Petrova has been acclaimed as “the Bulgarian Mozart”, one learns. Surely this was more in recognition of her abilities as performer (violist) and composer than as a composer alone.

The Passacaglia that opens this disc is constructed in five connected sections to present variations on the main melody. Even if the variations are restricted to drawing out individual colours and moods in the playing for the Andante and Poco più mosso sections, the middle Allegro section does present some variation of material that usefully draws upon the full range of the cello. The succeeding Adagio possesses a soulful legato line, played with singing tone by Ivanov. The link into the final Allegro maestoso is well handled to bring the work to a climax.

Having said that, Petrova’s style does make a climax inevitable, even if its compositional material is not totally predictable.

The first sonata starts with an opening movement – titled Journey – that has a palpable sense of flow about it, the thematic material affording richly sonorous playing from Ivanov. The slow movement, the most expansive on the disc, is an Elegy to Ivanov’s father, who died whilst the sonata was being written. Petrova affords many opportunities for introspection to both instrumental parts: the cello contrasts nobility and pride with enigmatic pianissimo playing; the piano underlines the movement’s character by intoning repeated chords akin to a peal of bells. The closing Rondo is, by contrast, rather playful in character, but makes skilful use of contrasting moods in the piano part especially. Although there is much to recommend the incisive playing of Elena Antimova on a few occasions I did wish that her instrument had been recorded with just a bit more presence.

The second sonata can seem in some respects rather like the first. Petrova’s liking for exploring the range of her instruments is well established by now, as is her interweaving of Bulgarian-esque touches to give her writing at least an approximation of authentic character. The opening movement sees the instruments playing cat-andmouse at a sprightly tempo, before settling into the appropriately elegiac Lullaby slow movement, that was originally planned for the first sonata. The sense of fun returns for the final movement, titled Table Dance, which comes from a joke shared between composer and cellist that the final movement should see him dance on a table. It does have an upbeat tempo that one might indeed dance to if one was so inclined. Ivanov, however,

restricts his involvement to providing some bouncy and fleetingly inflected playing, spurred on by Antimova.

The Five ancient Bulgarian portraits for solo cello that conclude the disc prove tuneful. I can imagine them being performed as a set or selected individual movements given as encores. The first portrait possesses a strange Bach-like quality in its repetition and predilection for the mid-lower range for much of its duration. The second portrait - Gypsy Man with a Dancing Bear - is much more upbeat and has a rather cultured roughness about it.

The third portrait, Women at Harvest, is an image of stillness with overtones given over a ground at the beginning and end. The fourth portrait, The Monk and his Servant, possesses similar characteristics though played with greater dynamic range. The final portrait – Rebeck player – is somewhat hurried but gives opportunities to bring out contrasts of dynamic, tone and tempo.

This well played music is momentarily diverting.

Henry PURCELL (1659-1695) Dido and Aeneas (c.1680s?)

Opera in three acts, libretto by Nahum Tate Dido - Catherine Bott (soprano) Belinda - Emma Kirkby (soprano) Aeneas - John Mark Ainsley (tenor) Sorceress - David Thomas (bass) First Witch - Elisabeth Priday (soprano) Second Witch - Sara Stowe (soprano) Second Woman - Julianne Baird (soprano) First Sailor - Daniel Lochmann (tenor) Spirit - Michael Chance (counter-tenor) The Academy of Ancient Music Chorus and Orchestra/Christopher Hogwood rec. Walthamstow Assembly Hall, September 1992 DECCA CLASSIC OPERA 475 7195 [52:35] The pleasure of poetry is in the reading of it or, when set to music, in the singing of it. Nahum Tate’s excellent libretto, formed mainly of rhyming couplets, contains expressive touches within such a compact frame as to provide a composer with dramatic sensibilities ample matter to assist the drawing an inspired work from his pen.

With that statement must go acknowledgement that Purcell was such a man – dramatic in mind, inspired in composition – and also a man aware of his continental precursors and contemporaries in terms of musical style, yet he remained resolutely English. His music thrived then and still speaks to us now because of this mix of ingredients. Dido and Aeneas remains for many the pinnacle of English operatic achievement – Benjamin Britten, no less, often acknowledged it thus.

This present recording is not without its element of controversy, even among recent historically-informed performances, but more of that later.

Christopher Hogwood paces the work sensitively throughout, favouring tempi on the sprightly side, yet the work never appears overly rushed. Indeed it benefits from internal variations of pacing that enable ‘the pastoral, the heroic, the comic-grotesque and ultimately the tragic [to be] encompassed in a brief hour’, as Richard Luckett puts it in his excellently comprehensive introductory notes. The AAM’s playing is remarkable for its overall refinement and attention to detail, showing just how much of one mind they are with Hogwood with regard to performance realisation. Throughout there is a sense of airiness that pervades the playing – all to the good in allowing one to enjoy the playful spirit at work in Purcell’s musical conception.

Such aspects are carried through into the singing. As befits a work possibly written for and definitely performed (in 1684) at Josiah Priest’s Chelsea School for Girls, the female parts dominate the work. Catherine Bott and Emma Kirkby contrast with each other in terms of tone – Bott being slightly ‘creamier’ than Kirkby, who brings her famed brilliance to proceedings. The justly final famous lament is suffused by Bott with meaning missed by other heavier-voiced exponents of the role. In doing so she makes one realise just how much Purcell achieves by hinting at the consequences of the foregone plot.

The male roles however should not be overlooked. John Mark Ainsley takes the small, though crucial, role of Aeneas ably in his stride and with understanding both of style and dramatic importance. And so to the main controversy of this set – the assignment of the Sorceress’s part to a bass, David Thomas. In his note on performance of the work Hogwood justifies the move by citing historical precedents in the casting of stage witches. He clearly believes that in Thomas he has a bass that realises the high tessitura of the role with confidence. One may carry modern preconceptions about the casting of such roles – other recordings (conducted

by Haim, Leppard, etc.) still assign it to a mezzo – but listening in comparison reveals that Hogwood’s bold decision does pay off. I would strongly urge any doubters to give this a fair hearing. Thomas’s performance is a delight. It brings added atmosphere at a crucial stage in proceedings. His entry immediately catches the ear, making one sit up and take note.

Atmosphere, I might add, is further heightened by the spacious and imposing use of thunder and lightning effects at Sweden’s Drottningholm Court Theatre – the dubbing is expertly handled, as is the capture of the malevolent asides by the witches’ chorus. Smaller roles are well taken. The diction of all - including chamber sized chorus - is beautifully clear, rendering the enclosed libretto redundant, although it will be useful if one is getting to know the work.

A very welcome return for this hugely enjoyable recording that makes one listen with fresh ears to Purcell’s music and admire it anew. What a glorious composer Purcell is, and this is one recording that I would not want to be without.

Gioachino ROSSINI (1792-1868) La Cenerentola (1816-1817) Clorinda: Raquela Sheeran (soprano) Tisbe: Lucia Cirillo (soprano) Angelina (Cenerentola): Ruxandra Donose (mezzo) Don Magnifico: Luciano di Pasquale (baritone) Alidoro: Nathan Berg (baritone) Don Ramiro: Maxim Mironov (tenor) Dandini: Simone Alberghini (baritone) The Glyndebourne Chorus London Philharmonic Orchestra/Vladimir Jurowski Stage Director: Sir Peter Hall Extras include an illustrated synopsis, cast gallery and insights feature with Sir Peter Hall and Vladimir Jurowski Filmed in June 2005 and recorded in stereo and multitrack 5.1 surround sound. DVD Region 0. Subtitles: EN/FR/DE/ES/IT OPUS ARTE OA 0944 D

[2 DVDs: 187:00]

The critics were divided over this production when it first hit the Glyndebourne stage last summer (2005). Not for a long time do I recall a production that caused such a spilt of opinion amongst the scribblers - both paid and unpaid - and this in itself was enough for me to want to see – long after the event – what all the fuss was about.

The work itself was not immune from comment. One normally erudite scribe quipped that “it’s not much of a Cinderella story when all’s said and done”. What I think was being alluded to was the slight reserve that can enter into Rossini’s writing, thus allowing him to stand back from the stage action and comment upon it. Yet there are also times when he seeks to get into the action by using buffo characterisation, which the master musical confectioner captures effortlessly in the score. It is these two elements of the work that can sit uneasily against one another.

And there perhaps is the nub of critical divide – which side does your personal taste lie on when it comes to the

performance of Rossini opera? This is a question that Sir Peter Hall develops for contemplation through his staging of the work. His own opinion is that Rossinian farce is all the funnier when given deadpan without playing to the usual routines and stereotypes of the operatic stage. From his resulting production I can say that he only partially succeeds in convincing me. Indeed, where he saw seriousness in the production this can itself be funny, though not in the way he might have anticipated. Take the ravishing beauties Clorinda and Tisbe: they appear caricature comic from the start, with overacted facial expressions and gestures – very far from actual beauty. It is for me Don Magnifico who pushes the envelope too far, lunging all too often into stereotypical buffo stage acting.

The fact that Hall let this remain in the production is the greatest indication that he himself might not have been fully convinced that Rossini can stand being played straight. As a consequence this production can be frustrating because despite paying lip service to an idea it fails to see it through.

The singing also attracted critical plaudits and derision. On the whole as far as vocal production goes I find it generally excellent, though again personal taste will enter into it where individual voices are concerned. Raquela Sheeran and Lucia Cirillo are well paired as the ‘delightful’ sisters, and their interaction has a real sense of spontaneity.

Luciano di Pasquale brings vocal agility, insight and - as I said - a touch of buffoonery to the role of Don Magnifico.

I am particularly glad about the last quality being there. Without it the soufflé would fall rather flat. Simone Alberghini as Dandini, the nobility impersonating servant, is di Pasquale’s only comic rival here, but his humour succeeds because of the strength he gives to his straight-laced assumption – that is, until the truth is revealed with a masterstroke of Rossinian wit.

Nathan Berg’s Alidoro, who sees good where no-one else acknowledges it, remains a somewhat shady figure, though superbly sung; but just why does he engineer things so, apart from to find his master a loving wife? Maxim Mironov may not be everyone’s Don Ramiro with his high and slightly tight nasal tenor, though I did not find him displeasing. He acts effectively, observing before speaking, which one feels is how it should be with men of real breeding – just look at the alternative as embodied by Don Magnifico!

Ruxandra Donose as Angelina/Cenerentola attracted a good deal of negative criticism for her singing and her portrayal of the role, but in my view this was not wholly justified. Vocally, the voice is solidly produced even though it’s not a mezzo of barnstorming proportions. This means that the asides and introspection that Angelina has to put across contrast well with the more confident radiance of Cenerentola. If there is a slight coolness in her assumption I can ascribe it only to Hall’s non-committal direction. Greater direction in one viewpoint or another of the work - or even the freedom allowed to follow her interpretational gut instincts - may have resulted in greater emotional involvement throughout.

Underpinning it all is the conducting of Vladimir Jurowski: intelligent, well phrased, good dynamic sensitivity too, and all achieved by knowing what he wanted and how to get it.

This is highly recommendable for many reasons, but I stop short of an unqualified recommendation because Peter Hall’s production will either seem appropriate or it won’t. For my money I wish he’d taken a less sober approach to it all. Rossini needs fizz, and this is champagne left uncorked for a touch too long before pouring.

Pyotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893) Eugene Onegin, op.24 Lyrical scenes in three acts (seven scenes). (1877-1878) Libretto by the composer and K. Shilovsky, after Pushkin.

Tatyana - Elena Prokina (soprano); Eugene Onegin - Wojciech Drabowicz (baritone); Lensky - Martin Thompson (tenor); Olga - Louise Winter (contralto); Madame Larina - Yvonne Minton (soprano); Filippyevna - Ludmilla Filatova (mezzo); Monsieur Triquet – John Fryatt (tenor); Gremin - Frode Olsen (baritone); Zaretsky - Christopher Thornton-Holmes (baritone); Glyndeboune Festival Chorus London Philharmonic Orchestra/Andrew Davis Director: Graham Vick; Designer: Richard Hudson; Lighting Designer: Thomas Webster; Choreographer: Ron Howell Filmed by NVC ARTS for Channel Four Television Corporation at the Glyndebourne Festival, July 1994.

Directed for video by Humphrey Burton Picture format NTSC 4:3. Colour. Dolby Digital 2.0 stereo. DVD Regions 2,3,4,5.

Subtitles in English, German, Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese, Japanese.

WARNER MUSIC VISION DVD VIDEO 0630-140142

[154.00]

For all the brilliance with which Tchaikovsky establishes the inevitability of the action it is his ability to expose the inner thoughts and torments of the central characters that, in the right hands, makes Onegin such strong stuff.

In this production for Glyndebourne Festival Opera, director Graham Vick gives the work some much needed space for the action to unfold. This takes place in an organic manner established from the moment the curtain rises. The first refrain – a phrase that seemingly has no beginning and no end – sets out the repeating cycle of the action. As Madame Larina’s marriage turned from love to habit, so her daughter Tatyana moves from impetuous love for Onegin to acceptance of a lesser feeling for Gremin. In sticking fast to that feeling she ultimately shapes her fate along with that of Onegin. The seeds of the doom in Tchaikovsky’s lyrical scenes must be present from the start, with characters fully formed.

Yvonne Minton’s Madame Larina and Ludmilla Filatova’s nurse Filippyevna are women of a certain age. Despite their country roots they have experienced the world; albeit a small part of it. They sing with the air of knowledge gained at the price of happiness – that same air with which Tatyana sings at the work’s close.

Perhaps unwittingly, Lensky articulates the key difference between Onegin and himself – “like prose and poetry”.

It is such difference in character that ultimately leads to Lensky’s fate. His music is at first of rural type, showing a charming though not uneducated aspect to his character. However, depth of feeling enters with his despair at Onegin’s actions during the Larin’s ball and – most tellingly – in his reflections on love and death just prior to the fateful duel. Martin Thompson articulates the role with ease and command of voice, whilst realising with affecting subtlety the sadness of Lensky’s situation. Wojciech Drabowicz as Onegin is not exactly dashing in appearance. Even on our first encounter with him there is the air of superiority that clouds his judgement with Tatyana, Olga and Lensky at various points in the action and that eventually seals his fate. This haughtiness of tone carries through in some small way to his singing, making for convincing characterisation. It serves to accentuate Onegin’s despair in the closing scene when all reserve is thrown aside as he finally gives in to the feelings of his heart.

The creation of Tatyana is the single greatest achievement in all of Tchaikovsky’s operas. The role requires a singing actress who can move with ease from the naivety of a girl to the maturity of a woman bearing the emotional scars of her feelings and of her encounters with Onegin. At the time of this production Elena Prokina was greatly praised for her assumption, and I find it a powerful one still. With impetuous feeling fuelled by reading, she gives her heart willingly, only to have the gift rebuked with a sermon at the first opportunity. The great ‘letter scene’ (Act I, scene ii) is searingly delivered, fully capturing the force of emotions that must out in her missive to Onegin. Yet his rebuke is but a counter-balance: the highs and lows of human emotion. It is in their scenes together that the real heart of the work lies. Neither Prokina, Drabowicz nor Vick disappoint. The action is all the more effective because it is given with simplicity of staging – the ball scenes come into their own here.

Such is the strength of characterisation amongst ‘lesser roles’ that Tchaikovsky clearly was at pains to make sure they were not overlooked in production. If he though Olga ‘very insipid’, we see this view taken up by Onegin in thinking her ‘blank-faced’. True, the part may not have a downfall comparable to Tatyana’s but Olga too is left to unhappiness. Louise Winter believably charts the course from frivolity to sorrow though she never seems insipid.

John Fryatt as Monsieur Triquet makes the most of his character part: the stereotypical elderly French fop. Of greater gravitas is Frode Olsen’s Gremin. This is a man who we might believe has seen battle, yet in the autumn of his years is genuinely moved by the love he finds in Tatyana. His portrayal, delivered with sureness of vocal tone, makes Tatyana’s decision to remain faithful to him all the more believable.

In terms of dramatic pacing Eugene Onegin can be a difficult work to judge – it has simultaneously to maintain a stillness in the inevitability of its course, yet there are key moments when the action must be propelled forward.

Andrew Davis, by and large, judges things well. He draws characterful playing from the London Philharmonic too.

Though his reading might lack psychological insight through the orchestral accompaniment, he does at least allow Tchaikovsky’s thoughtful use of brass and woodwind textures to come through naturally. The patina of these instrumental colours adds immeasurably to any traversal of the score. The recording throughout is beyond reproach in terms of clarity, and the video direction, for the most part, shows what you’d want to see.

I can only agree with my colleague Robert Farr in his comments on another Warner DVD release: My only criticism relates to the rather sparse Chapter Divisions and the lack of a booklet with some background to the opera and this memorable production. All that is provided is a brief resumé of the plot, with no cross-reference to the listed Chapters. This is printed on the inside face of the DVD cover.

Vick’s absorbing production combines with movingly sung and acted characterisations to produce a reading that demands serious attention.

Pyotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893) Romeo and Juliet, fantasy overture for large orchestra (1869, rev. 1870 and 1880) [19:54] Symphony No. 1 in G minor, Op. 13, Winter Daydreams (1866, rev. 1874) [41:01] Prague Symphony Orchestra/Václav Smetáček (conductor) rec. Dvořák Hall, Rudolfinum, Prague, 29 April 1963 (overture), 22-24 June 1961 (symphony). ADD. SUPRAPHON SU 3895-2 [61:07]

This Supraphon release marks the centenary of Czech conductor Václav Smetáček’s birth, but also the twentieth anniversary of his death. His position in Czech musical life was a varied one, being a musicologist and university professor of distinction whilst being active as an oboist and composer as well as a conductor of a wide range of orchestras at home and abroad. From 1942 to 1972 he served as chief conductor of the Prague Symphony Orchestra. These two recordings from the early 1960s capture that partnership in fine form.

The Romeo and Juliet overture is given in a vividly drawn account, which owes much to Smetáček’s dramatic sense of pacing, the full and up-front tone of the orchestra and occasional spotlighting of instrumental lines to increase their impact. Built out of passages portraying several distinct episodes from Shakespeare’s drama, this is an overture that relies more on contrast between the elements rather than seeking unity of them. Smetáček’s reading delivers much in the way of internal contrast. He brings out the terseness of orchestration within the Friar Laurence episode at the start and the fights between the Montagues and Capulets are given real energy, as they must if they are to be fully effective. That said, the shifting harmonics of Tchaikovsky’s soaring love theme are real heart-on-sleeve material and one can sense the excitement behind the playing. The closing coda forms a tragic epilogue depicting the lovers’ deaths, and here Smetáček more than hints at the introspection Tchaikovsky requires. The 1963 sound is faithful and atmospheric without being overly hard-edged – indeed only the oftenused cymbals seem to suffer much in this regard.

The First Symphony is a work of some precociousness, even when considered against the composer’s later works in the genre. Recently I was impressed by the work in concert with the London Philharmonic Orchestra under Vladimir Jurowski (see review). Smetáček, like Jurowski, makes much of the strength in Tchaikovsky’s orchestration throughout, though he does not unsettle the first movement quite as much. This is a movement noticeably influenced by thoughts of nature at the start, progressing to more personal matters as the music progresses. Over the darkly hued strings, the woodwinds chirrup to good effect adding some atmosphere along the way. Much the same mood pervades some of the second movement, with themes freely inspired by folk material. Ultimately though the landscape grows ever more frosty, and it is this change in atmosphere that Smetáček’s forces convey with such ease.

The third movement scherzo sees much interplay between light and shade in the orchestration, with instrumental weight playing a decisive role. If the link to the ensuing allegro scherzando giocoso is momentarily tentative, the section once in full flow moves with elegance and grace. Reasonable care with the recording balance and dynamic levels ensures that much detail within the brass, woodwind and timpani parts tells without being overstated. The symphony closes with a lengthy andante lugubre – allegro maestoso movement. Its more sullen mood is evident in the opening bassoon line, but flute, clarinet and massed strings strive to lighten things temporarily. Around three minutes into the movement premonitions of future great events begin to take hold, and there is little tentative in the transition at this point. Ultimately the fugal writing that dominates the final minutes leads Vít Roubíček in his concise yet informative booklet note to write: “… the composition suffers somewhat from the typical malady of all beginning geniuses, which is to say that it is overflowing with geysers of ideas which are not always handled well from the standpoint of form [with] its youthful energy and frankness”.

There is, in my view, some justification for the remark. It would however be a mistake to see the work as fatally flawed as a consequence, as Smetáček’s account bears out. He takes Tchaikovsky at face value and makes no apologies for the composer’s freely exhibited youthfulness of expression. As a result, one becomes aware just how much Tchaikovsky owed to western European musical style, even at an early age. Such knowledge only serves to heighten ones appreciation of Tchaikovsky’s later works in this genre and others.

A rewarding and recommendable disc: the symphony in particular is given its due in a highly involving reading.

Antonio VIVALDI (1678-1741) The Four Seasons, op.8 CD version: Pina Carmirelli (violin)/I Musici DVD version: A film by Anton von Munster featuring Federico Agostino (violin)/I Musici rec. La Chaux de Fonds, Switzerland, July 1982 (CD); various locations in Venice, July 1988 (DVD).

PHILIPS 475 6940 [CD: 42:23; DVD: 46:00]

If you are thinking, "Not another version of The Four Seasons", then I have bad news for you – this set contains two versions of Vivaldi’s ever-played concertos. However, this is the first time to my knowledge that a purely audio recording has been packaged with a different filmed performance by the same group.

The Four Seasons is something of a leitmotif that runs through the I Musici discography with six recordings by them to date (1955, 1959, 1969, 1982, 1988 and 1995). The two versions presented here are the fourth and fifth in that series.

The solitary page of notes penned by David Hogarth that accompanies this slimly packaged CD and DVD set claims that in effect the authentic music movement owes its existence to I Musici’s spearheading of the ‘Baroque Revival’ in the 1950s. This may be true to an extent, but I find that the claims made for the ‘clarity and vigour’ they bring to these works are matched by other rivals on disc. Leading the throng of alternative recordings are those by Salvatore Accardo and I Solisti di Napoli (Philips 4761716) and Europa Galante directed by Fabio Biondi (Virgin VMD5619802). In both of these the music really springs off the page – Accardo employs a variety of Stradivari instruments that give his reading a special glow, whereas Biondi throws any notion of routine performance out of the window with his deliciously upbeat and infectious tempo choices.

What of I Musici’s performances? That they know the music inside out is beyond doubt. Both performances display a suitably chamber-scaled approach in the playing that is beneficial to obtaining clearly defined musical lines. Both soloists play with credit in their respective versions, although I marginally prefer the slightly rounder tone achieved by Federico Agostino on the DVD. Taken as a whole neither performance is likely to disappoint or leave feathers overly ruffled for the wrong reasons. Differences of tempi between the two versions are generally slight, and neither version is consistently faster than the other. On the whole the reading is more effective when a touch more time is allowed for the music to breathe and establish itself within the recorded acoustic.

Anton von Munster’s film on the DVD presents a visual tapestry of Venetian locations, art and people - past and present - to accompany the music that leaves one aware that Vivaldi and Venice are forever unified. For all that love the much vaunted romance of Venice the film is likely to have its own attractions; for my part it is the inclusion of paintings of Venetian subjects, drawn largely from the collection of the Museo Correr, rather than views of the city itself. All works of art and their locations are identified in the accompanying booklet.

On the whole then these are pleasing if traditionally conceived performances. Those after something beyond the ordinary would do well to obtain other versions. Accardo’s reading is available for silly money from Amazon, and in my view Biondi is his own recommendation: after hearing that recording you might never want to hear another again.

Multi-composer recordings Hector BERLIOZ (1803-1869) Les nuits d'été, op.7 (1840-41) [31.58] Maurice RAVEL (1875-1937) Shéhérazade (1903) [20.49] Henri DUPARC (1848-1933) Chanson triste (1868, orch. 1902) [3.30]; L'invitation au voyage (1870) [4.39] Claude DEBUSSY (1862-1915) La damoiselle élue (1890) [20.11] Hildegard Behrens (soprano)/Wiener Symphoniker/Francis Travis (Berlioz) Janice Taylor (mezzo)/Women of the San Francisco Symphony Chorus (Debussy) Elly Ameling (soprano)/San Francisco Symphony Orchestra/Edo de Waart (Ravel, Duparc, Debussy) Recorded in the Sofiensaal, Vienna, October 1983 (Berlioz); Davies Hall, San Francisco, October 1981 (Ravel, Duparc, Debussy). DDD. PHILIPS ELOQUENCE 476 7982 [77.36] This disc contains an attractive programme of French orchestral song. At budget price it should attract a number of buyers provided that the performances stand scrutiny.

The Berlioz cycle Les nuits d'été is to my mind one of those works, like Wagner’s Wesendonck-Lieder or Strauss’s Vier letzte Lieder, that no single performance can ever fully encompass all its aspects. However, any performance should seek to address at least some of the facets of the score successfully, and these will naturally vary depending upon the soloist, orchestra and conductor employed.

Hildegard Behrens is not a singer who springs to mind as a natural Berlioz exponent, and this is proven in the performance that the work receives. The principal areas of concern can be summarised in two words: diction and tempo. The results here might usefully be contrasted with two alternative versions that do have between them a large measure of what the cycle demands from the performers: Agnes Baltsa/LSO/Jeffrey Tate - Philips 416 807-2 Janet Baker/New Philharmonia/Sir John Barbirolli - EMI CDM 7 69544 2 These two recordings might also demonstrate that the cycle is, in my view, generally more suited to the mezzo voice, given the shadowy vocal timbre that many of the lyrics suggest – though I take issue with Raymond Tuttle’s programme note that claims Berlioz’s setting to be ‘morbid’ in character. That rather overstates the case.

From the start, Behrens’ diction is far from clear, so much so that even with the text - not supplied in the booklet it is still difficult to make out more than a few words she sings. Thus Villanelle inauspiciously opens the cycle, suffering too from a certain lack of feeling for the music. Both Baltsa and Baker capture the mood despite also having to overcome linguistic difficulties, though Baker is more confident in this regard. Whilst the orchestra is decent, the flutes on entry are slightly too forwardly placed to be ideal.

Le spectre de la rose carries more of the requisite erotically charged tranquillity that perfumes the setting, Behrens being more at ease with the relaxed tempo, though her French still some way from clear, but it’s as good as it gets on this recording. Turning specifically to concerns of tempo Travis fails to capture the implied momentary start at “Mais ne crains rien…”, or indeed much of the openly erotic fervour elsewhere. Sur les lagunes (subtitled ‘lamento’) is far too over-stretched making it seem closer to a dirge at times, much to the undoing of the music. For this Francis Travis’s conducting is largely responsible. Barbirolli’s on the other hand is if anything a trump card to equal Baker’s singing in these two songs, though Tate’s more clearly spotlit recording (very much in the mid-1980s style) does capture much detail in the orchestration. The Wiener Symphoniker, though competent, fails to match the impression left by either other orchestra. To her credit Behrens uses her lower register effectively to create a sense of mystery, and when Travis does spring to action, the impact comes almost too late.

The fourth song, Absence, finds Behrens gainly floating a clean line with the words “Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée!” – though in truth she only partly succeeds given that she cannot keep such enigmatic power under control throughout her range, as is required. Baker carries the line and song with spirit, as indeed does Baltsa whose tone occasionally has a slight edge, though it is not as detrimental to the music as with Behrens.

Au cimetière, in a strange reversal of form, is taken rather quicker by Travis than either Barbirolli or Tate, and to be honest this took some getting used to. Still, after several auditions, I am not wholly convinced by the aptness of the tempo, though the playing achieved does have more than a touch of moonlight about it. Behrens, I feel, might have been more comfortable had a slower tempo been taken, though particularly Baker sets the standard once again.

The cycle closes with L’île inconnue, a swift and stormy boat ride to the country of love. I have long admired how Baltsa rides the waves, steered capably by Tate, who perhaps even tops Baker and Barbirolli for the sheer gustiness and spirit of their reading. Travis follows a somewhat safer course, but leaves Behrens floundering in a Gallic squall almost from the start.

It will come as no surprise to you then that I recommend either Baker or Baltsa as preferable – with Baker being the front-runner of the two overall, and the recording that collectors are more likely to find given that it has appeared many times on CD. If I had access to the Philips back-catalogue I would have given Baltsa preference over Behrens for reissue, but I can only wonder why Behrens’ so far wide of the mark effort was chosen.

The rest of the disc is a completely different affair. So much so, that I strongly urge anyone dissuaded at this point from reading further to continue.

Ravel takes the listener on an Asian voyage from his French armchair in Shéhérazade. He freely admitted Debussy was the inspiration for the work, so it’s positive that the two composers should appear on this disc. Ravel appears intent on setting difficult verse and in the opening Asie the normally restrained Ravel reaches heights of near Wagnerian ecstasy as he reaches the words “Je voudrais voir mourir d’amour ou bien dela haine”, penned aptly under A.J. Léon Leclère’s pseudonym Tristan Klingsor. Singer and orchestra are packed off on this journey supplied with all imaginable richness to deliver the listener as they recount a virtual Baedeker account of Asian sights to the delight of ear and eye. With Ameling as a sensitive guide to such rich desires, and de Waart providing sterling support this is one journey well worth the making. A beauty that is more mysterious makes itself aptly evident in their readings of the shorter second and third verses, as they deliver flute-borne kisses and invitations for wine that leave the listener in little doubt that Ravel indulged, somewhat guardedly, a private subliminal message here.

It’s good to hear the two Duparc songs included here with their orchestrated accompaniments. In these songs, arguably the most popular of Duparc’s pitifully small output, jewel-like clarity is the key. Ameling only too happily supplies it with shimmering tone that seems to light on each syllable and make it glisten. In Chanson triste this finds subtle parallels in the orchestration, where in addition to softly hued strings, harps and delightful flute touches predominate, all of which de Waart draws most convincingly from the SFSO players.

Things turn overtly erotic once again with L'invitation au voyage, composed by Duparc for his wife. Was there ever a more sensuous line set to music than “Lá, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.”? It’s a lingering enigma that is steeped in eternal melancholy – and this is just the quality Ameling finds in the words. She may take a fraction less time in letting words fully escape her lips than other singers, but her performance is balanced by the orchestra who contribute more to the total feeling than a thousand ill-chosen words might.

Debussy’s La damoiselle élue dates from his time interned in the Villa Medici as a Prix de Rome winner, and it is a curiously cut-about setting of Rosetti’s The Blessed Damozel. Tuttle correctly comments that in “Rosetti’s preRaphaelite conceit […] nothing really happens, per se, atmosphere and emotion [are] everything.” Thus, depicting the entry of a dead woman’s soul to Paradise, Debussy divides the text to female chorus, who act as commentators, and the thoughts of the woman herself to a soprano and a mezzo. This performance finds Ameling once more a convincing advocate whose subtly polished tones mix well with the restrained yet telling contribution of Janice Taylor’s mezzo. The chorus provides a near ideal background, being recorded at a slight distance, yet not suffering as a result from inaudibility. De Waart’s pacing is finely judged, as is his control of orchestral sonorities. It is a fine ending to the second half this disc.

In the end this disc contains an infuriating mix of artistic results. But with alternative Berlioz recordings easy to come by, what’s so wrong with ignoring him here and enjoying the rest?

Johannes BRAHMS (1833-1897) Sonata for clarinet and piano no.1 in F minor, op.120, no.1 (1894) [24:40]; Sonata for clarinet and piano no.2 in E-flat major, op.120, no.2 (1894) [22:10].

Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856) Romances for clarinet and piano, op.94 (1849) [12:41]; Fantasy pieces for clarinet and piano, op.73 (1849) [11:12] Todd Levy (clarinet); Elena Abend (piano) rec. Helen Bader Concert Hall, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, USA, 22-25 May 2005. DDD AVIE AV2098 [70:47]

Brahms and Schumann are composers eminently suited to pairing on disc. Todd Levy, principal clarinettist of the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra, and his accompanist Elena Abend – both new to me – are artists well suited to the temperament of both composers.

From the outset of Brahms’ first sonata a spacious view is taken, despite the marking Allegro appassionato.

Indeed they realise the contrasts between the sections of the movement remarkably well, proving in the process that appassionato does not have to mean over the top or overtly forceful. Their realisation is that passion comes in waves; rightly so, as this allows for the sense of space and reflection that the more inward passages contain to make the more outwardly passionate ones carry the weight of their emotional impact. In a twist to the perhaps expected movement-ending Brahms concludes on a thoughtful diminuendo, the questioning aspect of which both players capture. The second movement continues in a similar vein, and, as before, a sense of musical partnership rather than mere accompaniment is palpable. So too is the carefully wrought tone of both instruments, where particularly the clarinet’s lower register is played to hang in the air effectively as the tonal line progresses through a characteristically Brahmsian microstructure of modulated triads.

The tempo is picked up in the third movement and a sense of fluidity is shown in the playing to echo the apparent ease of composition. All of Brahms’ innate sense of structure and pacing is to found in his late chamber works, almost to a greater degree than elsewhere in his output, and this performance makes you aware of a very lyrical composer working at full flood. The final movement carries overtones of folk influences, as well as projecting a notably more optimistic voice. Indeed this is an apt thought as more than once Levy’s clarinet takes on a nearvocal quality to telling effect.

All in all the difference in mood that is apparent between the two sonatas could not be more pronounced. Whilst the second could be described as shaded, maybe even guarded and insular for the most part - it followed closely after a series of personal setbacks for the composer - the second sonata’s three movements present an amiable face to the world. In his notes Stephen Pettitt comments on the ‘salon-style opening’ of the first movement – and there is something of this that comes through in the atmosphere of the recording, with both instruments at a slight distance. Though cleanly captured, they sound as if caught in an amply dimensioned drawing room. Abend’s touch as pianist is sure, whilst Levy’s approach belies a performer of purpose who puts the composer first among his concerns. The comparatively complex textures of the middle movement come across well, by dint of careful phrasing, before leading to the variation-based finale within which much is left implied by composer and players.

The Schumann compositions here are both more compact in form and subtly different in mood from the Brahms sonatas. Their character is more wistful, particularly in the Fantasy Pieces, and the Romances are cast with much sense of mood about them. If my preference is for an element of wonderment that creeps into the Fantasy Pieces, it is due in large measure to the careful yet not over-studied phrasing with which they are played. That said, I found the tonal colouring brought to bear within the Romances effective in providing elements of suggestion. These factors, along with a strong lyrical gift, are perhaps what the two composers have most in common, and it is right that Levy and Abend allow such elements to exist unhurried and unforced in their performances. Most warmly recommended.

Mieczysław KARŁOWICZ (1876-1909) Violin Concerto in A, Op. 8 (1902) [29.34] Karol SZYMANOWSKI (1882-1937) Violin Concerto No.1, Op. 35 (1916) [24.19] Piotr Pławner (violin) Zielona Góra Philharmonic Orchestra/Czesław Grabowski rec. December 2005, Zielona Góra Philharmonic Concert Hall, Zielona Góra, Poland. DDD DUX 0540 [54:09]

I dare say there is at least one name most music lovers will have encountered in the heading for this disc: the name of Szymanowski. Karłowicz, though not a negligible figure, has not made a name for himself on a level with that of his compatriot. This is a pity, because although his idiom is comparatively conservative, his writing possesses a lively awareness of melody. His songs are particularly well regarded in Poland, as is this concerto, his only output in the genre.

Cast in three movements the concerto weaves a path of “vigour and inventiveness”, as the useful liner notes put it throughout the lengthy thirteen-minute first movement. Virtuoso technique is called for, particularly in the first movement cadenza, but it the composer’s rich sense of melody that is the major concern. Indeed, if one knows the works of composers such as Wieniawski, then in Karłowicz it is possible to detect the link between his oeuvre and that of Szymanowski’s more individual style. The second movement, which follows almost unbroken from the first, is a soft and soulful Romanza – and here the soloist must appear as both the poet and his beloved wrapped into one. The finale contrasts the atmosphere nicely, with a perky classical rondo.

Soloist. Orchestra and conductor are all new to my hearing. In recent years we have grown used to a rich stream of musical talent from Eastern Europe becoming better known in the West. The Poles, along with the Czechs, have beaten the path that musicians of other countries are steadily following. This is a state of affairs I can only applaud when the playing on offer on this recording is as assured and gutsy as the Karłowicz concerto shows it to be. Pior Pławner’s playing is polished, but not overly so. There are a few moments towards the end of the third movement when he sounds in danger of veering slightly from true pitch. There is no indication on the packaging that this is a live recording, and the orchestral ensemble is too ‘together’ to indicate a live performance in progress but in building to the work’s climax Pławner gives the feeling that it might be helps to heighten the excitement. All this after he has dashed of a fearsomely intricate first movement without worry and beguiled with the beauty of his tone in the second. He is recorded forward of the orchestra, though not so far forward as to sound in a separate acoustic. The orchestra acquit themselves favourably throughout, bringing dashes of individual colour to specific lines – the winds make a valuable contribution in this way. Czesław Grabowski leads it all with compelling conviction.

Szymanowski’s Violin concerto no.1 has been the subject of many recordings in recent years. To all intents and purposes a single movement work, it was written very much with the assistance of violinist Paweł Kochański, who himself scored the single cadenza. Szymanowski was clear about its place – along with Mythes – in establishing his personal style.

Whilst the soloist naturally plays an important role, it is the orchestra and conductor who establish with their brief tutti passages and accompanying sections the framework that the soloist works within. Czesław Grabowski and the orchestra take a marginally more spacious view of the work than is sometimes encountered: Kaja Danczowska and Warsaw National Philharmonic under Kazimierz Kord on CD Accord ACD 026-2 (see review) come in a bit faster than the present version. Individual flexibilities of chosen tempi are small, and each version is persuasive in its own way. Overall though I prefer the extra punch that the CD Accord version has. But should one

compare the present recording to Jennifer Koh and the Grant Park Orchestra under Carlos Kalmar (Cedille CDR 90000 089), then Pławner and Grabowski are much to be favoured – Kalmar gives his orchestra too much room to relax into, after which they cannot be pulled into shape with sufficient speed.

I like the clear voicing that the Zielona Góra Philharmonic gives to line and texture within their playing. It leaves both bodies of sound stated and subtle shadings hinted at. Pławner takes the high wire act of Szymanowki’s solo line very much in his stride, but for me his reading does not quite evince the emotional qualities contained in Kaja Danczowska’s recording. Her recording remains my first choice for the concerto.

A recommendable disc for the pair of violin concertos presented; they are played with spirit and adventure.

20th Century Polish Music for Violin & Piano Karol SZYMANOWSKI (1882-1937) Violin sonata in D minor, op. 9 (1904) [19.17] Grażyna BACEWICZ (1909-1969) Violin sonata no. 4 (1949) [16.55] Witold LUTOSŁAWSKI (1913-1994) Partita for violin and piano (1984) [13.55] Patrycja Piekutowska (violin) Beata Bilińska (piano) rec. May 2006, Studio S-1, Polish Radio, Warsaw. DDD. DUX 0544 [50:49]

This is the second recording of Polish violin music on the DUX label to come my way within a month.

The Szymanowski sonata receives a commanding and involving performance. Both players are fully up to the significant technical demands made upon them, and together they show an impressive grasp of the magisterial sweep of the music. Around three minutes into the opening movement a more reflective episode appears and both players allow the change of mood fully to register. For the most part though the first movement radiates emotions and thoughts that have lofty ambitions. Even if the work was not well appreciated at its premiere in 1909 - the performers were Kochański and Artur Rubinstein - Szymanowski’s youthful work continues to pack a fair punch. The performance here certainly pulls out all the stops.

The second movement, cast in A major, seems almost song-like as the violinist contours around above the piano accompaniment. A middle section calling for pizzicato playing on the violin varies the atmosphere, before the sinuous songline is resumed. Piekutowska and Bilińska cope well in grading their various passages, ensuring that much variety of expression finds its way into their playing. The third movement returns to more ambitious territory in terms of musical structure, being cast as a grand sonata. Frequent shifts in modulation account for much of the movement’s restless character, and this comes across freely in the playing.

Whereas Szymanowski forever remained heavily indebted to the violinist Paweł Kochański for advice about the instrument, Grażyna Bacewicz had the advantage of being a formidable violinist herself. The sonata proclaims confidence in the instrument, posing several significant challenges for the soloist. The piano part is scarcely less daunting. Constructed from four brief movements, they serve to contrast with one another. The first is initially a subdued Moderato, before a more declamatory and upbeat mood takes hold, only to find the earlier reflective mood returning at periodic intervals. The second movement derives its entire material from the four notes of a repeated arpeggio: E - A- G- E. An unearthly mood pervades the writing, as the music seems to lack direction before cutting off without warning. The third movement Scherzo is subtler, spikier, more light-hearted and altogether requiring quick-fire coordination between the parts. The finale, Con Passione, sobers the rhetoric significantly and a grand conclusion is secured. On my first hearing of the work, there seems no reason not to find Piekutowska and Bilińska highly recommendable advocates of this intricate compositional voice.

Lutosławski’s Partita for violin and piano was later re-scored by the composer for violin, orchestra and piano obbligato, and the work is better known in that form. In the original scoring, the work exhibits rough edges and sparse textures that the performers should not try to disguise or detract from. Happily, Piekutowska and Bilińska do not attempt to take away from the fundamental fabric of the piece. From nervous openings they take the five movements through passages of relative freedom, though perhaps constrained a little by formalities, and quiet intensity, before returning once again to freedom before concluding with elements of disquiet to the fore. The performance might not carry the impact of the later scoring, but it does allow the tight sinews of Lutosławski’s writing to be clearly heard.

I feel compelled to add that the recording level on this disc is rather higher than one often encounters. The Szymanowski sonata begins with an imposing flourish for both players. Should one listen to the disc first through headphones or even through loudspeakers with the volume up slightly, as I did, the sheer force of the opening movement is likely to startle. One soon adjusts to the level, but I found it more comfortable overall to stop the disc, reduce the volume and start again from the beginning.

Overall, an interesting trio of works in recommendable performances, supported by lucid and informative documentation.

Dmitri SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975) Violin concerto 1 in A minor, Op.77 [39:29] a Leoš JANÁČEK (1854–1928) Violin concerto, Die Wanderung einer Seele [11:41] b Baiba Skride (violin) a Munich Philharmonic/Mikko Frank (conductor) b Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra/Marek Janowski (conductor) rec. live, Philharmonie, Munich, 16-18 April 2004 (Shostakovich), Berlin, 25 August 2004 (Janáček). DDD. SONY CLASSICAL 82876731462 [52:41]

Alternative versions – Shostakovich: D. Oistrakh/Philharmonia/Evgeni Svetlanov; Live 1962 (BBC Legends BBCL4060-2) D. Oistrakh/New Philharmonia/Maxim Shostakovich; 1972 (EMI 5 86841 2) Victor Tretyakov/USSR State SO/Yuri Temirkanov; Live 1981 (Revelation RV10108) Lydia Mordkovitch/Royal Scottish N O/Neeme Järvi; 1989 (Chandos CHAN8820) Dimitry Sitkovetsky/BBCSO/Andrew Davis; 1990 (Virgin 759601-2) Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg/LSO/Maxim Shostakovich; 1992 (EMI CDC7 54314-2) Maxim Vengerov/LSO/Mstislav Rostropovich; 1994 (Teldec 92256) Ilya Kaler/Polish National Radio SO/Antoni Wit; 1997 (Naxos 8 550814) Ilya Gringolts/Israel PO/Itzhak Perlman; 2002 (DG 471 616-2GH) Hilary Hahn/Oslo PO/Hugh Wolff; 2003 (Sony SK89921) Sarah Chang/Berlin PO/Simon Rattle, 2006 (EMI 0946 3 46053 2) Daniel Hope/BBC SO/Maxim Shostakovich; 2006 (Warner 2564-62546-2) Alternative version – Janáček: Thomas Zehetmair/Philharmonia/Heinz Holliger; 1991 (Warner Apex 0927-40812-2) In December 2005 I was fortunate enough to review two discs released by Sony Classical featuring violinist Baiba Skride in solo (review ) and concerto (review) repertoire. The fact that neither of them made it onto my Discs of the Year list had more to with the timing of their arrival and the compilation of the list than the artistic quality of the performances themselves. Given the life of a reviewer, we are forever moving on to the next release or concert to write about, Skride’s first discs remain among the few from last year I regularly revisit.

My review of the concerto disc ended with the remarks:

With a second concerto disc (Shostakovich 1st and Janáček) already released in Germany, Sony would do well to release it internationally soon. […] It looks as if we might have a serious artist on our hands. The first two discs certainly make it seem so.

So at last to Shostakovich’s first concerto - the third version to appear in recent months - and something about the many rivals Baiba Skride faces. David Oistrakh, the work’s dedicatee, commented that "the score calls for considerable emotional in intellectual involvement on the interpreter’s part". The selected list - given in date order - heading this review leaves one with a variety of attempts at meeting the challenge Oistrakh makes plain, and each version has something to offer the listener.

The concerto is generally approached in one of two ways: as an experience of extremities from beginning to end, unafraid to release great torrents of wrath when required, or, alternatively, as a slow burning work whose power and force is cumulative. That the same work can indeed be interpreted in two such different ways says much for the strength and inventiveness of the writing itself.

Leading the charge for the ‘torrents of wrath’ view is David Oistrakh. Understandably he will still be the nonpareil for some in the solo part: David Wright claimed in his review of the BBC Legends performance that, "It has never been played like this in my hearing." Also stating for good measure, "If you don't respond to this, you need professional help!" Alright so the last remark was made specifically in relation to the second concerto, but is just as applicable to the recording as a whole, and the studio recording - the last Oistrakh made - under the direction of the composer’s son, Maxim. Indeed, his three recordings of the work show that the fire that burns within the notes remains undimmed as a special cause to champion, with the last recording featuring impassioned playing by the BBCSO and British firebrand Daniel Hope. That said, I regret the short lifespan enjoyed by the version with Salerno-Sonnenberg; at the time of its appearance I had great hopes for her.

Other adherents to this view include Ilya Kaler on Naxos, and decent though he is the Polish orchestra let him down slightly when placed alongside other versions. Gringolts comes across as a real loose cannon, but he has ideas of his own within the music, but paradoxically it is the violinist-turned-conductor presiding over his recording that shows weakness when it comes to leading his orchestra. Much more in control are Mordkovitch/Neeme Järvi on Chandos, Tretyakov/Temirkanov (if one can find their reading somewhere), and the version until recently I would have said approached the significance of Oistrakh’s: Vengerov/Rostropovich on Teldec.

The ‘cumulative effect’ view of the piece is less often expounded on disc. Sitkovetsky/Davis do so to decent ends, but they are easily bettered by Hilary Hahn, who also sees off another of the latest contenders, Sarah Chang, whose reading suffers at the hands of Rattle’s tempi. Chang also can seem somewhat reticent to get between the notes, and no matter how far one plays the cumulative power game, there comes a time when every soloist must get serious and rise to the music’s formidable challenges.

None of these accusations can be laid at the door of Baiba Skride as she joins the fray. It’s not as if following the path less travelled will absent her from comparisons with soloists that take the other route. Her tone is admirably secure - on a par with that of Vengerov or Oistrakh to my ears. Her intonation is precise; more so than Tretyakov’s for example, and it’s worth remembering that both artists are recorded in live performances. Were it not for the spontaneous applause at the end of Skride’s reading, one might on first audition think this a studio recording.

That it is only underlines the standard of genuine music-making we have here.

The opening Nocturne is, of course, far from restful night music though it does possess a dream-like quality.

Skride and Frank play the music as if it might be restful for the most part, yet they are fully aware that it is not.

Menace, though rarely openly stated, is always present and one senses that it lurks thinly veiled within every phrase. The Scherzo is similarly cast in several key respects to form a pair to the Nocturne, but its chief effect is to caricature grotesquely the musical lines. Without ever sinking to mere tongue-in-cheek circus humour, Frank leads a totally assured Munich Philharmonic in a reading that maintains the seriousness throughout, much to the benefit of the music. There are times however that he does not quite plumb the emotional depths body and soul as does Maxim Shostakovich, but then few could claim such intimate connection as him with this music.

The third movement Passacaglia/Andante is imbued with its full measure of suffering by Skride. She takes the music by the scruff of the neck in an iron grip – and keeps this up throughout the ensuing classically cast variations. The contradictions inherent in Shostakovich’s writing are wonderfully realised. But little could prepare

one for the sheer devastation that awaits in the lengthy adjoining cadenza – and few play it so absorbingly as here. It gives one a chance to get a close-up view of Skride’s formidable technique and fully appreciate the beauty of her tone even though she plays some of the blackest music imaginable. Such a contradiction might not have been thought fully out of place by the composer. The recording itself helps, catching her within a forwardly placed ‘spotlight’, rather in the manner found on many Perlman discs.

The final movement Burlesque is a hell-for-leather ride upon some depraved fairground ride of the imagination.

The concerto’s span arches from nocturne to nightmare. All caution is forgotten, except that caution was never present in this reading. One understands just why Shostakovich was accused of "formalistic aberration, subjectivism and the denial of socialist realism" following the Leningrad premiere of the work. More importantly, this performance makes you feel it too. With the longed for unleashing of power finally realised what a mix of emotions swell around! Here is perhaps the final contradiction to be found in Shostakovich - I found it also when seeing Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk recently: the music dictates that one might be ready to abruptly curtail life immediately it finishes, yet any good performance leaves feelings of joy despite the bleak thoughts. A great performance leaves one elated, and Skride’s definitely does that for me.

In his review of the Janáček concerto played by Thomas Zehetmair Colin Clarke put his finger on the heart of the matter in commenting that: The Janáček is in fact a fragment, heard here in a completion by Leoš Faltus and Miloš Štedru, first performed in 1988 at Brno; another completion by Bretislav Bakala exists. Its total duration is less than twelve minutes and yet it contains Janáček's world in microcosm, including some beautiful moments along the way: the woodwind solos around 3 minutes in are a breath of fresh air and the frequent bitter-sweet harmonies are most affecting.

Skride employs the same completion of the work as Zehetmair, I find it hard to work up much enthusiasm for the piece given its obviously fragmentary nature: just as it gets going, it ends. Ultimately, because of this, despite committed and idiomatic advocacy from Skride, orchestra and conductor, I feel slightly deflated by the experience, particularly as it comes after the white-hot Shostakovich.

So what’s my view of Baiba Skride now? She is a serious artist no question, and whilst some artists politely ask their audiences to listen Baiba Skride demands their total attention. I regret that her concerts so far seem limited to the continent - although that’s not a bad excuse for a trip, if one needs one - and compensation can be found in her recordings. One request of my own I don’t think is out of order: more please, and soon!

Zdenek Bruderhans plays music for solo flute Claude DEBUSSY (1862-1918) Syrinx (1913) [2.23] Arthur HONEGGER (1892-1955) Danse de la chèvre (1921) [3.00] Edgar VARÈSE (1883-1965) Density 21.5 (1936, rev.

1946) [3.35] André JOLIVET (1905-1974) Cinq Incantations (1936) [18.21] Paul HINDEMITH (1895-1963) Acht Stücke (1927) [6.00] Larry SITSKY (b.1934) First sonata for solo flute (1959) [12.49] Luciano BERIO (1925-2003) Sequenza I (1958) [5.48] Anatol VIERU (1926-1998) Rezonante Bacovia (1963) [5.59] Zdenek Bruderhans (flute) rec. Elder Hall, University of Adelaide, South Australia, 1992-1994.

ARBITRIUM 1110 [60.09]

Further details: http://users.senet.com.au/~flute/fp3.htm This is the second disc featuring the flautist Zdenek Bruderhans to come my way recently. Having welcomed his disc of four twentieth century flute concertos including ones by Jolivet and Vieru, I find that this present release makes a good partner as both composers also feature here.

The programme opens with a trio of major works that should be in any professional flautist’s repertoire. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine any collection of solo music for the instrument not including either the Debussy or Varèse pieces. Syrinx is beguilingly played by Bruderhans, bringing out much of the mystery that Debussy suggests in his writing. Danse de la chèvre has a suitably pastoral feel to it, particularly in the opening. Later Bruderhans brings the jumping chamois effortlessly to life with his spirited up-tempo playing. Mountain air swirls softly at the close.

Varèse’s Density 21.5 makes rather stronger demands on the soloist, both technically and in terms of the expressive results that are desired. Written at the behest of flautist Georges Barrère to inaugurate his platinum flute the brief piece fuses notions of material density with the key intervals within the precision of its title. A performance though should suggest also something about the insubstantiality of human breath, without which the flute cannot make music. Bruderhans highlights this essential aspect in his playing by having the recording capture just enough breath behind the notes and registering the subtle changes in tone from the seductive to the demonstrative that his instrument is capable of producing.

Jolivet’s Cinq Incantations is also a work that relies to a large extent on capturing nuances of playing – overblowing frequently figures in the first incantation, insistent fluttered rhythms in the second incantation. An ethereal flow to the third movement reminds one in part of Debussy’s Syrinx with a similar mood evident in the fourth incantation also, though in a lower register on the instrument. The final movement’s distinct rhythmic patterning brings home the composer’s preoccupation with primordial incantations. Ritual of a kind can be readily imagined to accompany Bruderhans’ vividly characterised playing.

Hindemith’s Eight Pieces can be thought of as little more than haikus for the flute. More correctly though they form a mini suite for the instrument, and during its course range and expressive mood is explored with surprising insight. Moving quickly from one to another the listener is invited to form contrasts and links between the items.

Bruderhans proves a most persuasive advocate in that he draws matter-of-factness, humour, inward reflection, even grandeur – albeit on a small scale – from them.

Larry Sitsky is an Australian composer new to me. The sonata starts with a soulful lied that nonetheless has dashes of passion in the writing, before progressing to a mystic interlude, the character of which eludes being pinned down for much of the time. The third movement, a theme and five variations on a Slovak folk song, shifts character swiftly and often to test the manual dexterity and breathing capabilities of the flautist. The closing

movement, Perpetual Motion, is a brief study in edgy unrest as the time signatures fluctuate back and forth. With a pithy final flourish the work ends.

Berio’s Sequenza I is without doubt the other seminal work included here to have a place in any flautist’s solo repertoire. Built on semitone clusters placed throughout the instrument’s range, Bruderhans finds a less aggressive tone than some soloists in his playing. In my view the piece is all the more effective for it, as he can then explore nuances of dynamic and shading with natural ease. The recording captures the action of the flutes keys without undue attention, as it does every inference of light and shade or reduced scale that find its way into his playing.

Anatol Vieru’s Rezonante Bacovia in some senses might be thought of starting where Berio’s Sequenza finishes, as both works explore new sonorities and playing techniques for the flute. Vieru, unlike Berio, has the flautist play in conjunction with a tape that acts as the soloist’s "shadow". By way of a description the composer said, "Bacovia – a great Romanian poet – communicates with the universe and mortals in the name of solitude and infinite grief."

The work’s rondo form employs a variety of devices and techniques – among them the influence of Romanian folk music, simultaneous playing and singing from the soloist, and the imitation of a shepherd’s pipe – to suggest an idea that is not bounded by time or space. The tape’s contribution, particularly noticeable in the last third of the piece, lends an air of dislocation to the experience. Vieru’s piece is given strong advocacy by Bruderhans to end this absorbing recital.

This is a well-recorded disc that showcases the talents of a highly accomplished flautist. That the repertoire ranges from the seminal to some equally interesting lesser-known works only adds to the overall appeal.

Lang Lang: Memory Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Piano sonata in C, K.330 [19.42] Frédéric CHOPIN (1810-1849) Piano sonata no. 3 in B minor, op.35 [38.03] Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856) Kinderszenen, op.15 (1838) [21.32] Franz LISZT (1811-1886) (arr. Vladimir HOROWITZ): Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 in C sharp minor [9.05] Lang Lang (piano) rec. Friedrich-Ebert-Halle, Hamburg, August 2005.

DDD. DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 00289 477 5976 [79.51 + 9.05]

Once you get past the glossy airbrushed photos of the artist and the curious abstract graphics that adorn the liner booklet to read Jed Distler’s mildly informative text, you’ll realise that Lang Lang has some personal things to say about the works he performs here.

He says that the Mozart sonata, K.330 made him realise how much he loved playing the piano and that it always offers him hope. He also points to the challenge of playing in tempo in Mozart. His chosen basic tempo for the first movement, Allegro moderato, is well judged on the whole. Admittedly it gives him the freedom that is required to exploit the lighter side of Mozart’s writing, with precisely articulated trills perhaps hinting at slight frivolity along the way.

Clifford Curzon once remarked that the real test of any pianist’s skill was found in a Mozart slow movement: needing to unify the ideas, maintain some momentum with evenness of tone and all the time explore the expressive depths of the writing. Lang Lang’s account is sober without being dour, as it could easily become, and he does display a care for the scale of his performance. Yes, it’s kept simple to emphasise the internal beauty of the music, and some degree of profundity is captured in his appropriately soft singing tone. It’s only really made more effective though by the contrast that is felt with the closing Allegretto. Again, crispness is all pervasive, but

perhaps a bit more humour should be there too. Recorded at fairly close range, the piano sound is rather on the dry side. You don’t get an awful lot of warmth or reverberation coming through either.

Chopin’s third piano sonata presents Lang Lang with a much larger-scale work to come to grips with. Fortunately, now the piano has much more full-toned presence than in the Mozart. His playing of the first movement possesses some ability in capturing the work’s many shifting nuances of light and shade. Around 3’00" in perhaps the fingering is a little indistinct to be ideal, but later on the effectiveness of Lang Lang’s pedalling brings some space for the notes to breathe as they should. The brief Scherzo second movement – Chopin’s showpiece written for Parisian audiences – is despatched with amazing fleetness of the fingers at first before heading into its more contemplative main subject. The grand yet reflective third movement Largo tests Lang Lang’s resources still further. He does take a very broad view of it and in my opinion it’s too broad a view. Whilst it’s nice that sonorities are given time to register, more than once my listening notes questioned the overall direction that the movement was being taken in. There’s no doubt that things progress more naturally in the finale. Lang Lang does rise to the demands of exuberant virtuosity with ease, carried along by Chopin’s irrepressible presto non tanto.

Schumann’s Kinderszenen seems a natural choice for inclusion on a recording built around the artist’s memories of music from childhood. This series of delightful miniatures comes across from Lang Lang with a certain sameness in the tone of his playing. He can make pointed over-emphases of chords or pauses (no.1), not find as much that is curious in no. 2 of the set as others do. He does launch into ‘catch me if you can’ (no.3) with some gusto and you might take his ‘happiness’ (no.5) to be merely ‘contentment’. The ‘important event’ of no.6 is certainly imposing, though taken at a more relaxed tempo than that adopted by pianists such as Clara Haskil. Her sense of dreaming is also more wistful than Lang’s in no.7. He is apt to linger about a bit. His ‘Knight of the hobbyhorse’ gallops along with bashful enthusiasm – creating a good foil for the serious mood that follows. The fright he finds in no.11 is all too low key – greater contrast within the writing could have been made. His image painting of a child falling asleep (no.12) is sensitively handled and has poetry about it. As does the last of the set, ‘The poet speaks’, but this is a rather prosaic poet and not one that hails forth in pithy verse.

If was not aware of it before then the presence of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 on the bonus CD brings home the shadow that Vladimir Horowitz’s presence casts over this recital. The Mozart, Chopin and Schumann items were all mainstays of his repertoire, and all recorded for DG too. Horowitz’ Liszt arrangement takes unashamed liberties with the original in terms of emphasis and ornamentation. It calls for virtuosity in its dispatch, which Horowitz undoubtedly brought to it. So too does Lang Lang in no uncertain terms. Just one thing worries me slightly though, the booklet states that Lang Lang "bases his performance upon Horowitz’s Carnegie Hall recital recording from 25 February 1953". Surely, if I wanted Horowitz in 1953 then I’d hunt it down and hear it in preference to a modern emulation of it? This might not worry you so much though as it is so easy to just get absorbed in the fireworks that are on display. A clap-trap, yes, but one that’s intended to be in the best sense of the word.

Lang Lang is a gifted pianist who mixes thoughtful and showy elements in his playing. This recital highlights his growing artistic maturity, even if he does not yet fully meet the challenge posed by other artists.

Ralph VAUGHAN WILLIAMS (1872-1958) Fantasia on Theme by Thomas Tallis (1910) [15.36] Erik SATIE (1866-1925) Gymnopédie 1 [2.48]; Gymnopédie 3 [3.17] Samuel BARBER (1910-1981) Adagio for strings, Op.11 [7.28] Gabriel FAURÉ (1845-1924) Pavane, Op.50 (1887) [5.42] Percy GRAINGER (1882–1961) Irish Tune from County Derry (Danny Boy) [6.11] St. Louis Symphony Orchestra/Leonard Slatkin. rec. Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis, Missouri, 27-28 March 1981. DDD. TELARC CD-80059 [41.42]

To my knowledge this is at least the third issue of many of these recordings. First issued on CD shortly after being recorded, they were reissued in SACD format in 2004 when John Phillips favourably reviewed the disc (see review).

Here they revert to their original non-SACD CD format.

I have nothing particularly against this disc, save the short playing time, as there is indeed much to enjoy here. The mix of repertoire is interesting and all of the performances are perfectly decent in themselves. The liner notes, though brief, are serviceable.

Although Slatkin has never struck me as a conductor of great profundities either in concert or on record, he is at least musically sensitive in his approach. All the performances here demonstrate that fact eloquently and one senses that the St. Louis forces play with conviction for him throughout this orchestral pot-pourri. Indeed there are times when one becomes acutely aware that they do more than this – in the Fauré particularly, where a certain understatement is the watchword. At the start of the disc in the Vaughan Williams one is immediately aware of the tonal richness with which the strings are recorded. That a slight atmospheric bloom is given to the sound by the acoustic of the Powell Symphony Hall helps matters immensely.

Despite this at other points in the programme something could possibly be felt to be lacking. Slatkin’s Barber chooses not to plumb the emotional depths that Bernstien’s does, nor does his Grainger quite have the sheer elegance that John Eliot Gardiner brings to his reading. However, as I suggested earlier these things are small in themselves and the impact upon enjoying the disc small overall. Anyone wanting to hear the textural qualities of the orchestra and the idiomatic ear of the conductor at their best should hear their readings of two Gymnopédies, given in Debussy’s orchestrations. The first holds a dangerously slow tempo well to create a canvas that hardly moves; the third gives priority of some sensuousness to harp, winds and discreet brass playing.

Recommended for anyone wanting this mixed programme.

Abendlied: 19th-century Romantic German partsongs and motets Josef RHEINBERGER (1839-1901) Abendlied [2:52] Johannes BRAHMS (1833-1897) Warum ist das Licht gegeben [9:20]; Geistliches Lied [4:52] * Felix MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847) Sechs Sprüche, Op 79 (1841) [11:20]: Weihnachten (Christmas) ; Am Neujahrstage (New Year's Day); Am Himmelfahrtstage (Ascension Day); In der Passionszeit (Passiontide); Im Advent (Advent); Am Charfreitage (Whitsunday) Anton BRUCKNER (1824-1896) Christus factus est [5:20]; Ave Maria [3:09] Max REGER (1873-1916) Drei sechsstimme Chöre, Op 39 [13:36]: Schweigen (Silence); Abendlied (Evening song); Frühlingsblick (Springtime) Richard WAGNER (1813-1883) An Webers Grabe [4:02] Hugo WOLF (1860-1903) Sechs geistliche Lieder (1881) [13:50]: Aufblick (Looking Upwards); Einklang (Harmony); Resignation (Resignation); Letzte Bitte (Last Prayer); Ergebung (Submission); Erhebung (Exaltation) Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949) Der Abend (1897) [10:36] ** The Rodolfus Choir/Ralph Allwood and Ben Parry ** Tom Winpenny (organ) * rec. Eton College Chapel, December 2002. DDD. HERALD HAVPCD 289 [79:40] I doubt if many people have ever thought of part-songs as being revelatory, but this generously filled disc could well prove exactly that for several listeners. Romantic symphonies, opera, lieder, absolute or programme music – these are all well known and much loved musical disciplines covered by the composers included here, yet the partsong remains unjustly neglected.

Many of the composers here are noted for their settings of religious texts or for personal strength of faith (Brahms, Bruckner, Mendelssohn), others less so (Reger, Wagner, Wolf and Strauss), yet each brings to their setting a deep sense of personal commitment, whether the words be religious or poetic. Each work here takes its place in a firmly established tradition that is particular to German and Austrian composers. A concern with the specific qualities of evening time as expressed through music can only be something that the Romantic sensibility could have responded to. In the twentieth century the a capella partsong tradition continued through composers as diverse as Pfitzner and Schoenberg, though shaded by an entirely different feeling and response.

Josef Rheinberger, a fine if almost forgotten composer today and one much revered by von Bülow, sets the mood with ample feeling. In both Brahms works one can feel the hand that set Ein Deutsches Requiem at work, and particularly in Warum ist das Licht gegeben which sets words from Job, Lamentations and James alongside those of Martin Luther, though elsewhere his love of Palestrina-inspired counterpoint flows freely.

Mendelssohn and Wolf form an effective balance for each other in many ways, not just in their setting of six texts each. Mendelssohn’s are overtly religious, Wolf’s more worldly and reflective of his deep instability that remains never far from the surface of his music. Wagner, the source some might say of Wolf’s condition, penned the work for Weber’s graveside, where he himself conducted it. It is a mixture of reverence, feeling, through a slightly veiled emotion. I am again left thinking whether Wagner had Weber’s memory entirely in mind or was it his own personal reputation. Only the words set by a youthful Strauss (Schiller) seem at a slight discord with the other poets present (Plinke, Falke, Lenau and Eichendorff). Schiller strains to be a truly German poet when heard against the natural

flow of the others. Strauss’s setting though is assured for a young man, as indeed are Bruckner’s, benefiting as they do from considered wisdom deployed with skilful feeling.

The singing is of distinctive refinement being well paced and blended with evenness throughout all the parts. The basses are supple, tenors not over-bright, altos rich-toned, and sopranos float their lines with melting ease. The recording too is beautifully atmospheric, try – just one example I could point to – Schweigen from Reger’s Drei sechsstimme Chöre, Op 39, where a hushed calm is caught in the slightly reverberant though appropriately churchlike acoustic of Eton College Chapel. And some people think Reger a dry and impersonal composer – here he comes across as anything but.

Lydia Smallwood’s accompanying notes succinctly and informatively link the composers and their respective interests in choral writing. Full texts and translations are downloadable as a PDF file from Herald’s website.

Most strongly recommended.

A World of Music Malcolm WILLIAMSON (1931-2003) Lento for Strings [2.45] *; Camargue Scenes [5.25] * Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Piano Concerto in A major, K.414 [25.01] ** Constantin SILVESTRI (1913-1969) Three Pieces for Strings [10.51] *** Joaquín TURINA (1882-1949) Rapsodia Sinfonica for piano and strings [8.32] **** London Schubert Players/Alan Tongue (conductor)* Anda Anastasescu (piano/director) ** / Nicholas Miller (leader/director) *** / Alan Tongue (conductor) and Anda Anastasescu (piano) **** rec. Merlin Theatre, Pembrokeshire College, December 1995 (Williamson and Turina) and live at the Bucharest Athenaeum, Romania (Mozart/Silvestri). ADD. CRESSIDIA CLASSICS CRES CD 196 [52.45] I was prompted to hunt down this disc for review following two recent London concerts that featured music by conductor/pianist/composer Constantin Silvestri. His Three Pieces for Strings is his only composition currently available in the catalogue.

The opening Pesante brims with life after a short and sober introduction. The middle piece – Cantabile – offers a true singing line, particularly to the middle and lower strings. This displays the inventiveness of Silvestri’s orchestration in that he avoids orchestral deployment that might be expected with such a marking: although the violins do contribute they do not take the lead. The cello line in particular is notable for its sensitivity of phrasing, bringing out a sense of nostalgia in the writing. The closing Veloce is entirely different. It is shorter and quietly rousing, for the most part, It also offers opportunities to bring characterful pizzicato playing out to underline a top line of some character.

Malcolm Williamson wrote his second symphony for Silvestri and the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra.

Williamson’s works presented here are of rather shorter duration than a symphony: the Lento for Strings is plushly upholstered in the rich and sonorous playing of the London Schubert Players. Of the Camargue Scenes, the final one is the most extensive and involved in composition terms. Alan Tongue paces the work sensitively allowing the layers of string writing to be captured with clarity.

The Mozart concerto, recorded live in Bucharest, is upbeat from the first with Anastasescu setting a lively tempo and securing playing of clarity from the orchestra prior to her solo entry. Her playing carries a freshness about it that is brought about through cleanness of articulation and a careful shaping of phrases. The piano seems caught at a slight distance from the orchestra, although both forces integrate well during ensemble passages. The middle

movement andante is notable for capturing a sense of space in the reading that never cloys, and in this respect the voicing of the piano line is of key importance. The brass come to the fore, though not unobtrusively so, in the last movement and the performance continues in its lightly-sprung vein until an ending that is most naturally arrived at.

Turina’s Rapsodia Sinfonica is a somewhat different work in character, noticeably Spanish, and here the feeling for the idiom of the music comes through as strongly as before, as does the strength of interpretation. Anastasescu’s playing of the solo part again is noteworthy for the quality of execution, as indeed the London Schubert Players are for their spirited support under Alan Tongue’s direction.

This CD brings a disparate quartet of works together with an innovative approach to programming, and as a result offers listeners the chance to enjoy the familiar alongside lesser known works that nonetheless demonstrate they are worthy of wider public circulation. The playing too is entirely to be recommended.

Neujahrskonzert 2006 CD 1: Part I Johann STRAUSS II (1825-1899) Auf's Korn! Bundesschützenmarsch op. 478 [2.33] *; Frühlingsstimmen Walzer op. 410 [6.24]; Diplomaten Polka française op. 448 [4.11] Josef STRAUSS (1827-1870) Eingesendet Polka schnell op. 240 [1.59] Johann STRAUSS II Lob der Frauen Polka mazurka op. 315 [4.24]; Künstler-Leben Walzer op. 316 [8.43] Josef STRAUSS Ohne Sorgen! Polka schnell op. 271 [1.54] Part II Johann STRAUSS II Der Zigeunerbaron, Einzugsmarsch [3.10] Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Die Hochzeit des Figaro, Overture [4.26] * Joseph LANNER (1801-1843) Die Mozartisten Walzer op. 196 [9.38] * CD 2: Johann STRAUSS II Liebesbotschaft Galopp o. op. [2.43] *; Neue PizzicatoPolka op. 449 [3.41]; Künstler-Quadrille op. 201 [5.26] *; Spanischer Marsch op. 433 [5.05]; Du und Du Walzer (after themes from Die Fledermaus) op. 367 [7.22]; Im Krapfenwald'l Polka française op. 336 [4.13]; Furioso-Polka Polka quasi Galopp op. 260 [2.23] Eduard STRAUSS (1835-1916) / Arr.: Michael ROT Telephon Polka française op. 165 [3.48] * Johann STRAUSS II Lagunen-Walzer op. 411 [8.15]; Éljen á Magyar! Polka schnell op. 332 [2.43] Encores: Johann STRAUSS II Banditen-Galopp op. 378 [2.33] Mariss Jansons' New Year's Address [1.30] Johann STRAUSS II An der schönen blauen Donau, Walzer op. 314 [9.25] Johann STRAUSS I (1804-1849)

Radetzky-Marsch op. 228 [3.49] Wiener Philharmoniker/Mariss Jansons * = first performance in a New Year concert rec. live, Musikverein, Grosser Saal, Wien. 1 January 2006. DDD. DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 00289 477 5566 [47.24 + 62.59]

If there is one musical event that comes around with unfailing annual inevitability it is the Wiener Philharmonker's Neujahrskonzert. I dutifully tuned in on New Year's Day out of habit, musical compulsion and the desire to catch Mariss Jansons in action once again. As a live concert I enjoyed it, but - almost inevitably - upon revisiting it some items fare better than others for repeated hearings.

All the expected critical phrases can be applied to the playing: technical polish, velvet-like ease of playing in the strings, wonderfully weighted and phrased performances. One might think that this concert showed the Vienna Philharmonic on autopilot as well as their natural compositional territory. Well, I don’t get a sense of players on autopilot here. Watching the live concert relay it was noticeable how many players were watching Jansons, which serves to show that he is a conductor that always leaves something in reserve for the concert itself. So many times I have heard players say that even after they’ve rehearsed with him, they are never quite sure of what will happen on the night. The finely paced and voiced readings set this apart from most other Vienna Philharmonic New Year concerts, with the possible exception of Carlos Kleiber, who – like Jansons – brings something uniquely special to the party.

The Viennese sweetmeats presented here are no strangers to Jansons: he describes them as ‘music that speaks through my mind and soul and body’. Indeed the association between conductor and music goes back to his father Arvid, who often conducted this repertoire. If today Mariss’s enviable reputation rests on interpretations of altogether heavier repertoire - Shostakovich, Mahler, Bruckner, etc - he demonstrates here that lighter pieces are every bit as deserving of his probing interpretative approach.

The performances fizz along - one glass of champagne after another; as well they might, given that the occasion is optimistic and the precursor to the consumption of great quantities of champagne by the VIPs lucky enough to attend in person. Their involvement too is for the most part restrained - except where tradition dictates otherwise – applause is minimised – and only once or twice did it disrupt the mood generated by Jansons and the VPO. The opportunity to kick off the Mozart celebratory year was not missed, and Jansons turns in a sensitively phrased Figaro overture, though why it does not appear at the start of Part II is a mystery. The item that follows, Lanner’s Die Mozartisten Walzer, I suspect will either be taken by listeners as musical sacrilege or just schmaltz.

However, on its own terms it is decently performed – and finds a kindred pair, one might say, in Johann Strauss II’s Künstler-Quadrille which also takes off where many another composer stops.

My only serious criticism is one that holds if one were to listen to these discs straight through with any frequency.

Disc 2 starts with seven pieces that are from Johann II’s pen, and with a further eleven elsewhere, other composers get rather marginalised even though they have good things to offer. However, there is variety in the musical forms represented, and this goes some way to balancing the equation.

In Deutsche Grammophon’s rush to release the discs some nine days after the concert some corners were cut – no track timings are provided, for example – but the booklet does contain glossy pictures of the maestro and orchestra caught during rehearsal. More than can often be said of live recordings, a sense of occasion is palpable. I enjoyed the sense of fun Jansons brings to it all, though anyone planning on taking a mobile into his concerts would do well not to follow Jansons’ own example in Eduard Strauss’ Telephon Polka. A thinly disguised comment to concert audiences everywhere, given the near global reach of this concert?

With traditions duly observed and the playing captured with faithful fizz sonority, Jansons’ first Neujahrskonzert proves an uplifting tonic on cold winter nights.

Edward ELGAR (1857-1934) Cockaigne overture (In London Town), op.40 [15.27] *; Symphony No.1 in A flat major, op.55 [54.53] ** Malcolm ARNOLD (1921-2006) Beckus The Dandipratt – comedy overture, op.5 [7.51] *** Peter Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893): Symphony No.2 in C minor, op.17 [32.40] **** Claude DEBUSSY (1862-1918) Jeux – Poème Dansé [17.11] † Benjamin BRITTEN (1913-1976) Four Sea Interludes, op.33a [17.13] †† George ENESCU (1881-1955) Romanian Rhapsody in A major, Op.11, No.1 [11.15] ‡ Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/Constantin Silvestri rec. live, Winter Gardens, Bournemouth, 6 December 1966* / 25 July 1968** / 23 February 1963*** / 12 November 1966**** / 10 November 1965† / 26 November 1966†† / Royal Festival Hall, London, 22 November 1966‡. ADD. All recordings except the Arnold overture are in mono sound.

BBC LEGENDS BBCL 41822 [78.36 + 78.59] During the last year it has been my good fortune to learn more of Constantin Silvestri (1913-1969) as a fully rounded musician, rather than just as a conductor. Performances of his music (review) and reading the only biography of him to appear in English (review) have no doubt been a great help in this, but for many Silvestri remains known exclusively as a conductor of some merit.

This second BBC Legends set of Silvestri-led performances is a valuable one because it largely presents works that the maestro never recorded commercially, the exception being Enescu’s First Rhapsody. There were plans to record the Elgar symphonies and even maybe The Dream of Gerontius with the BSO for EMI, but Silvestri died before the sessions could take place.

Another point of interest is the provenance of these recordings – each, with the exception of Arnold’s Beckus the Dandipratt overture, was recorded from radio broadcasts by Silvestri himself. His personal recording collection today forms part of the Wessex Film and Sound Archive, now the only available source for these recordings; the original BBC tapes appear to have been lost or deleted. That Silvestri found these performances worth preserving is the point. Whether he intended to use them for pure enjoyment’s sake or as private reference for future recordings, noting from them what worked well or not so well, is not known.

Silvestri’s EMI recording of Elgar’s In the South has long held the interest of collectors and alerted listeners to the conductor’s credentials. His conception of Elgar to my ears is somewhat more hot-blooded than you get with, say, Adrian Boult. That does not suggest however that Silvestri cannot be just as persuasive. His Cockaigne overture (In London Town) is drawn across a fairly large canvas with bold gestures. You feel that this is perhaps not a native Londoner’s account, but Silvestri swaggers with confidence and affection along the city streets as he takes the BSO through the score.

Elgar has never seemed to me the most natural of symphonists. Indeed, it is worth noting that Elgar himself took time to come to terms with his compositions in the genre. That Silvestri largely makes sense of the work and convinces me that Elgar is an impressive symphonist is much to his credit. The work doesn’t adopt the notion of contrasting ideas throughout its duration, but presents this idea in contrast with the slow evolution of phrasing from a germinal idea.

Silvestri launches the opening movement by adopting a broad tempo that amply brought out the ‘nobilmente’ inherent in scoring and directive marking. The BSO plays with surging tone that carries a strong sweep to the line, and even slow-building premonition at times. That the orchestra has been well drilled is evident, with clarity of

individual lines being important for Silvestri. He is not afraid to shade down more than other conductors (notably Boult) at times but the playing he secures falls squarely within the natural Elgarian tradition. The second movement is taken at a brisk striding pace with the brass and timpani coming well to the fore when required. Real enjoyment is captured in the music-making. The third movement is notable for the BSO’s luxuriant string tone and delicately spun wind lines – a fine testament to the level of playing Silvestri brought the BSO to during his tenure.

The closing movement has a grandeur about it that still further bespeaks confidence in the playing, moving from passages tinged with shadows and half-lights recalling the opening movement towards a conclusion that carried forward by its own inevitability.

Malcolm Arnold’s wonderfully titled Beckus the Dandipratt overture can easily be thought to be an English cousin of Strauss’s Till Eulenspiegel. There’s certainly fun to be had here and Silvestri – a man of keen wit himself – leaves no joke untold. That the idiom of the piece seems resolutely to straddle the idioms of both English and continental Romanticism at times surely helps Silvestri’s cause. Just as in rehearsals he would flit between languages to get his point across, so it is with the music here. Who’s to mind if it’s a strange mix; it works wonderfully and one can sense the BSO’s enjoyment of the high jinx too. The LPO are about to release a recent live account of this overture under the direction of Vernon Handley. I’m willing to bet that it’s a close run thing between the two accounts; with stereo sound of some immediacy adding to the attractiveness of Silvestri’s account; this is a version that will take some beating.

For me the high point of the set is found at the start of the second disc: Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony. With the first and the third symphonies, or the latter two piano concertos, it has been long overlooked by the public, orchestras, conductors and music promoters. Silvestri makes a serious and cogent case for its place in the mainstream repertoire of any self-respecting orchestra. Unafraid to demand bold, though never harsh, playing from the BSO, Silvestri draws out the drama of the work in the grandest of gestures. The opening Andante sostenuto is immediately meditative in character, before contrasting with a rather livelier Allegro vivo second section. With his instinct for dramatic contrast, Silvestri makes much of the movement through investing it with strong rhythmic incisiveness whilst never neglecting sonority of brass parts in particular. The march rhythms evident within the second movement rise and fall in prominence throughout is span to create gentle contrasts with more lyric material. The brisk scherzo and trio third movement showcases some lively upbeat playing across all orchestral sections, often with delicacy being at the forefront of considerations. Silvestri however ensures that contrasting emotions are present as he builds the influence of certain and imposing passages. The final movement picks up on this notion with grandly phrased brass and timpani opening flourishes, before moving on to efficiently contrast three distinct sections and secure a powerful conclusion. Listen to how the piccolo line bounces jauntily along briefly to provide colour against the massed strings and percussion. Indeed, with all Silvestri’s undoubted affinity for the showy elements of music-making, there is much material here that suits his particular style of music-making. The BSO are more than willing to follow his lead. This is a reading I will revisit with much enthusiasm for the contributions of all concerned. As in the Elgar symphony, the sound quality is very clear. Climaxes are full and uncongested, with piano lines being well captured too.

Debussy’s Jeux comes from an entirely different sound world, but one that Silvestri had some experience of as head of the Paris orchestra after leaving Bucharest. The quality of the sound does much to disrupt Silvestri’s game of tennis with Debussy, so much so that it seems one game short of being a full set played. With so much of the score reliant upon spatial clarity and the vivid interplay of voices it’s a shame that the somewhat congested acoustic does not let something more representative of Silvestri’s full interpretation to come through. Another mixed success is the recording of Britten’s Four Sea Interludes from Peter Grimes which is marred by significant audience coughing in places.

Enescu might have grown to particularly resent that his youthful first rhapsody overshadowed more intricate and representative compositions, but Silvestri made it his calling card encore of choice around the concert halls of the world. Standing in the wings he would give a signal for the wind soloists to begin the freely spun opening, prior to Silvestri timing his arrival at the podium to bring in the first orchestral tutti. A clap-trap, sure, but then perhaps only a showy and mercurial genius such as Silvestri could pull it off with fresh abandon time after time. This account certainly makes his Vienna Philharmonic studio recording seem a touch lacking in willingness to push things to extremes. Underneath it all though is a feeling for the music and a joy in making it that is never in doubt alongside such evident affection for his homeland.

Silvestri’s reputation as a serious and colourful maestro is well served by these vividly characterised performances: this 2 CD set is most enthusiastically recommended.

Women's lives and loves Frauenliebe und –Leben - A Liederspiel devised by Graham Johnson Lovestruck: the first meeting Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856) (arr. KIRCHNER) Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan excerpt GJ [0'53] SCHUMANN Erste Begegnung DUET [2'02] Johannes BRAHMS (1833-1897) Ach, wende diesen Blick lines 1–3 AK [0'35] SCHUMANN Seit ich ihn gesehen verse 1 FL [0'57] BRAHMS Ach, wende diesen Blick lines 4–9 AK [1'12] Hugo WOLF (1860-1903) Bitt’ ihn, o Mutter FL [1'50] SCHUMANN (arr. KIRCHNER) Seit ich ihn gesehen excerpt GJ [1'05] Johann Carl Gottfried LOEWE (1796 - 1869) Seit ich ihn gesehen AK [1'26] Hopeless Adoration Felix MENDELSSOHN (1809 - 1847) Ich wollt’ meine Lieb’ ergösse sich DUET [1'46] SCHUMANN Seit ich ihn gesehen verse 2 FL [0'41] WOLF Was für ein Lied soll dir gesungen werden? AK [1'44] SCHUMANN Er, der Herrlichste von allen FL [3'21] LOEWE Er, der Herrlichste von allen verses 5 and 6 AK [1'21] BRAHMS Mädchenlied AK [1'44] SCHUMANN (arr. KIRCHNER) Seit ich ihn gesehen excerpt GJ [0'26] WOLF Wohl kenn’ ich Euren Stand [1'48] FL WOLF Wohl kenn’ ich Euren Stand lines 1– 2 AK together with ANON. after SCHUMANN Seit ich ihn gesehen lines 1– 4 FL [0'24] Reciprocation and Betrothal Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Die Post excerpt GJ [0'56] as introduction to GOETHE Die Wahlverwandtschaften AK reader LOEWE Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben AK [1'11] SCHUBERT Die Post excerpt GJ [0'27] and SCHUMANN (arr. KIRCHNER) Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben excerpt GJ as accompaniment to ANON. Du bist mein, ich bin dein FL reader SCHUMANN Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben FL [1'16]; Botschaft DUET [3'48] LOEWE Du Ring am meinem Finger AK [2'06] SCHUMANN & Loewe Du Ring am meinem Finger verses 4 and 1 BOTH [1'14] SCHUMANN (arr. KIRCHNER) Helft mir, ihr Schwestern excerpt GJ [1'06] BRAHMS Das Mädchen spricht BOTH [1'20] SCHUMANN Das Glück DUET [0'52] Fiancées and Brides MENDELSSOHN Gruss DUET [2'14] WOLF O wär’ dein Haus FL [1'29] LOEWE Helft mir, ihr Schwestern AK [3'45]

SCHUMANN Helft mir, ihr Schwestern verse 5, lines 4– 6 FL [0'36] WOLF Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens FL [1'18] BRAHMS Spanisches Lied AK [2'34] Joyful Motherhood SCHUMANN Süsser Freund FL [4'11] SCHUMANN (arr. KIRCHNER) Süsser Freund excerpt GJ [1'07] LOEWE Süsser Freund verses 2–5 AK [2'28] SCHUMANN An meinem Herzen, an meiner Brust FL [1'22] LOEWE An meinem Herzen, an meiner Brust AK [1'32] MENDELSSOHN Volkslied DUET [1'47] Bitter loss, Love everlasting LOEWE Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan verse 1 AK [0'57] SCHUMANN Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan verse 1 FL [0'35] LOEWE Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan verse 2 AK [0'52] SCHUMANN Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan verses 2 and 3 BOTH [1'28] BRAHMS Klänge I DUET [1'50] SCHUMANN So wahr die Sonne scheinet [2'01]; Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan - postlude GJ [1’33] Felicity Lott (soprano) FL Angelika Kirchschlager (mezzo) AK Graham Johnson (piano) GJ rec. All Saints Church, East Finchley, London, 2-4 August 2005. DDD. HYPERION CDA67563 [71’46] I am not always convinced by programmes that seek to unite a number of artists and composers around a given theme. Graham Johnson puts his finger on the challenge to be faced in that there must be "some musical reason for two voices to come, and stay, together for an evening." There must be "a strong enough unifying thread" and often there is not. Johnson’s task was made all the harder by the fact that here he wanted a purely lieder programme, in German and without recourse to other musical styles. The choosing of the thread is key to the ultimate success of the recital, whether it is to be given in concert or on record.

Johnson’s thread, or "crucial idea" as he calls it, is to "follow the shape of Adelbert von Chamisso’s cycle of poems entitled Frauenliebe und –leben". His choice of that cycle offers a particularly rich musical pool to draw from, with settings by Schumann and Loewe, in addition to the arrangement of Schumann’s setting for solo piano by Theodor Kirchner. This Johnson employs most profitably to set the scene and to act as interludes at points along the way. That Johnson proves as admirably persuasive in his playing as his writing is something one cannot escape.

Persuasiveness is a factor found to a large degree in the singing of both Lott and Kirchschlager. That they have spent much time working together not just on this recording but on a wide variety of projects over recent seasons pays dividends here. Although for the most part each singer follows her own path through Chamisso’s poems, Lott singing Schumann and Kirchschlager singing Loewe, there are key points when they join in duet or separately explore repertoire by other composers. Within a succession of sequences we are taken along the life experiences of these women, who explore similar emotions yet do not – until the very end – comment upon the situation of the other.

Subtlety of textual inflection and interpretation are central to the approach of both singers, and this is much required given Johnson’s intricate ordering of the material. Oftentimes only a word or two serves to form the link between one song and another. The alert listener, following the supplied texts, is likely to pick up on them. The

more casual listener will be rewarded by the inherent musicality of the performances. This is a disc that one can dip into – either listening to a sequence of songs or a song in isolation – and get much from the experience, but I recommend hearing it complete to get your bearings.

Having done just that a half dozen times now I still find that on revisiting it there is some aspect in either song or interpretation that I had not fully noticed before. Lott’s bright-toned soprano contrasts cleanly with the darker palette Kirchschlager brings to proceedings. Together they have the ability to blend effortlessly also, often displaying a remarkable similarity of tone. That the carefully balanced and clear recording maintains a distinctly chamber scale in proceedings is also much to the disc’s benefit. With the piano discretely recessed both singers are caught as if in a private salon. Shifting moods and emotional states are sketched with the finest of lines.

This is the most intelligently conceived and executed lieder disc I’ve heard for some time. Deeply rewarding; a disc to live with and love.

Vocal recitals Roberto Alagna (tenor) Sacred Songs Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893) Ave Maria [2.58] **; Repentir [5.24] * César FRANCK (1822-1890) Panis Angelicus [4.00] Adolphe ADAM (1803-1856) Minuit, chrétiens! [4.55] * Gabriel FAURÉ (1845-1924) O salutaris [3.26] César FRANCK La Procession [5.02] Charles GOUNOD Sanctus from ‘Messe solennelle de Sainte Cecile’ [6.11]; Salutation Angelique [3.48] Hector BERLIOZ (1803-1869) Sanctus from ‘Requiem’ [10.18] Jean-Baptiste FAURE (1830-1914) Crucifix [3.22] * Camille SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921) Panis Angelicus [3.30] Georges BIZET (1838-1875) Agnus Dei [4.44] André CAPLET (1878-1925) Panis Angelicus [4.56] Lili BOULANGER (1893-1918) Pie Jesu [4.23] * Arrangement and orchestration by Alain Kremski ** Arrangement by Thilo Winter Roberto Alagna (tenor) Petits Chanteurs à la Croix Potencée Chorus and Orchestra du Capitole de Toulouse/Michel Plasson rec. Eglise Notre-Dame de la Daurade, Toulouse, 2-6 May 1996.

Texts in Latin, English, German and French.

DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 477 6278 [68.01] Discs of this type featuring star soloists, more often than not a tenor, are not in short supply. This one, recorded a decade ago as a vehicle for Roberto Alagna and first issued by EMI, scores over many alternatives because of two factors: the programming and the quality of execution.

Any programme focusing on French chants sacrés of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries is almost bound to include Gounod’s often performed Ave Maria, written after Bach’s famous prelude in the ‘Well-tempered clavier’. To place it at the beginning – as here – is apt and allows the musical content to diversify from that point.

Gounod’s representation is extended with three further contributions that pay testament to the importance not only of his compositional voice but also his deeply felt beliefs, which he sought to convey through his music. Other composers whose names one would expect to appear within a disc of this type are represented (Berlioz, Franck and Fauré) along with others whose music merits more than the occasional airing it gets – outside France at least: Caplet, Boulanger and Jean-Baptiste Fauré, who during his lifetime was better known as a star baritone.

There is much to merit the performances as well. The Toulouse orchestra under the equally experienced and alert baton of Michel Plasson offer assured accompaniments to each item. The orchestra is resonantly recorded to ensure depth of tone but not an unduly pronounced role in proceedings. Choral parts, where employed, tend on

the whole to be slightly recessed in the church acoustic that is faithfully conveyed in the recording too, but this does not impede enjoyment of the carefully homogenised sound that the choirs produce. Texts are included, but are only on occasion needed to follow what is being sung.

Alagna’s contribution then is the only thing left to comment on, and I need not detain you long if you know other discs he recorded at around the same time in his career. Given that the programme contains two versions of the Sanctus and three of Panis Angelicus some variety of expression is needed if the texts are not to lose part of the individuality they gain through different composers’ settings. True, in forte he has a tendency to push the tone a little too much perhaps, but at least he varies the effect to show awareness of line and allow for supple phrasing of the texts he sings. A pity perhaps that he did not assume more Berlioz around this time, since he displays many necessary attributes in abundance: vocal strength and sureness of line and an awareness of French style, even though the text is in Latin. These qualities mark out much of what he brings to the items by Gounod and Franck on this recording too. However it would be a mistake to think of Alagna as possessing only a forthright urgency; then (more so than now) he was able to shade down to the most winning of pianissimi that bring an Italian tenor sound to mind as much as a French one. The delicacy found in Lili Boulanger’s moving chamber-scaled Pie Jesu shows this quality at its finest.

This is a welcome and most warmly recommendable reissue.

Classic recital: Fernando Corena Gioachino ROSSINI (1792-1868) La Cenerentola - Miei rampolli femminini (5:19); Sia qualunque delle figlie (4:47); L’italiana in Algeri - Ho un gran peso sulla testa (4:28) Domenico CIMAROSA (1749-1801) Il matrimonio segreto (1766) - Udite, tutti, udite (4:59) Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Grisélidis (1894, rev. 1898) - Jusqu’ici, sans dangers (4:12)* Ambroise THOMAS (1811-1896) Le Caïd (1849) - Je comprends que la belle aime le militaire (5:15)* Charles SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921) Le pas d’armes du roi Jean (5:01)* Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893) Philémon et Baucis (1859-60) - Au bruit des lourds marteaux (2:55)* Jacques OFFENBACH (1819-1880) La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein (1866-7) - A cheval sur la discipline ...Pif paf pouf! (1:50)* Fernando Corena (bass) Orchestra del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino/Gianandrea Gavazzeni * L'Orchestre de la Suisse Romande/James Walker rec. Teatro alla Pergola, Florence, September 1956, * Victoria Hall, Geneva, October 1956. ADD mono.

DECCA 475 7170 [39:15] Decca’s operatic recital reissues continue apace. Some discs feature artists and repertoire that will be familiar to collectors today. Others might be less familiar – and this is one such.

As the reproduction of the original sleeve-otes is rendered all but illegible by the font size and typeface I consulted the Decca website to find out more. Corena was born in Geneva to a Turkish father and Italian mother on 22

December 1916. After studying in Milan he made his debut in 1937 in Zurich. After the war he appeared as Varlaam at Trieste. For the Metropolitan Opera in 1954 he sang Leporello and Covent Garden saw him as Dr Bartolo - in Rossini's Il Barbiere di Siviglia - in the 1960s. He died at Lugano on 26 November 1984, and is chiefly remembered for his prowess in the buffo repertory.

An undoubted strength of this recital is that it captures Corena in the music he excelled in with his voice in good form. It is impossible not to be aware of Corena’s gifts as an interpreter of text. As one would expect, his approach is rather different from that of today. Some of the music has sadly passed out of fashion too. For all that, his are fine interpretations even if occasionally they may seem a touch fussy or over-emphasised. But he certainly gets inside his characters. Don Magnifico (La Cenerentola) is given the full buffo treatment, and when the opportunity comes he does not shy away from using falsetto to invest the line with wit. His vocal agility throughout the programme is enviable.

The Thomas aria invites comparison with Ezio Pinza, and whilst Corena gives the music uncut and his reading is fine in itself, he does not show qualities to stand beside Pinza’s in terms of shading and shaping the vocal line. SaintSaëns demonstrates that he was not most comfortable at the bottom of his voice – I’d say he was more a bassbaritone than a true bass. The short Offenbach aria with which the recital ends shows him very much on top form, relishing the humour of the piece. On the whole it is the humorous items that he appears more at ease with, and they for this reason they prove more memorable.

The recording sessions captured consistency in the voice itself, and both source recordings place him rather forward. Where the atmosphere and orchestral accompaniments are concerned differences can be noted. The September session in Florence seems rather cool, with little warmth to the tone. The Maggio Musicale orchestra appear of thinner presence than is ideal. The session with the Suisse Romande conducted by James Walker (who was also the producer) preserves the orchestra with greater fidelity, even if some small uncertainty enters into the vocal tone, for example during the Thomas aria.

Corena wasn’t a great singer, but he wasn’t a dull one either, and this enjoyable disc can be recommended. My recommendation would have been stronger had texts been provided to accompany a playing time greater than the minimal 39 minutes given here. Other recordings of him exist in the Decca archive – largely on complete recordings of Mozart, Puccini, Verdi, Donizetti, Bellini, etc. – so ‘big aria’ extracts might have been included to provide a fuller picture of Corena’s art. The ‘classic recital’ marketing concept would not have suffered too much if the programme had been supplemented in this way.

Amelia Farrugia: Joie de vivre!

Charles-François GOUNOD (1811-1893) Ah! Je veux vivre! from Roméo et Juliette [3.25] Jacques OFFENBACH (1819-1880) Conduisez-moi vers celui que j'adore from Robinson Crusoe [3.44] Ambroise THOMAS (1811-1896) Oui, pour ce soir je suis reine ... Je suis Titania from Mignon [5.41] Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Suis-je gentille ainsi? ...

Obeissons quand leur voix appelle (Gavotte) from Manon [5.13] Charles-François GOUNOD (1811-1893) O Dieu! que de bijoux! ... Ah! je ris de me voir! from Faust [4.35] Giacomo MEYERBEER (1791-1864) Ombre légère from Dinorah [7.04] Daniel-François-Esprit AUBER (1782- 1871) C'est l'histoire amoureuse from Manon Lescaut [4.09] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Quando m'en vo from La bohème [2.31] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Ore dolci e divine from La Rondine [4.48] Johann STRAUSS II (1825-1899) Tales from the Vienna Woods [4.38] Carl ZELLER (1842-1898) Schenkt man sich Rosen in Tirol from Der Vogelhandler [2.38] Johann STRAUSS II (1825-1899) Mein Herr Marquis from Die Fledermaus [3.21] Johann STRAUSS II (1825-1899) Voices of Spring [6.46] Ivor NOVELLO (1893-1951) Waltz of My Heart from The Dancing Years [2.42] Richard MILLS (1949-) Love's Coming [3.19] ANON. (arr. MILLS) Until We Meet Again [2.24] Amelia Farrugia (soprano) BBC Symphony Orchestra/Alexander Briger rec. BBC Maida Vale Studios, London; 26, 27, 29 September 2005. DDD. DECCA 987 5237 [67.47] As a prelude, a few words on how I approach any disc that I review. Upon receipt, I listen to it straight through without beforehand reading the booklet, other than to follow the track-listing and identify the artist(s) concerned. This initial hearing, during which thoughts are noted, is always followed by further listenings supported by the use of a text, if one is supplied or if I have one to hand (should one be required) – and again, thoughts are noted. Comparisons with other recordings in the same repertoire could also be made at this point. As a final stage a thorough reading of the accompanying booklet and any further documentary research is undertaken. Then the writing commences. The point of this is a simple one – it’s the music that comes first, and so too the reaction to it. Otherwise it might be all too easy for a reaction to be tainted – however slightly – by ‘external’ factors inherent in packaging, presentation or booklet before a note has been heard. That places the artist(s) at an immediate disadvantage.

The programme for this recital is one that displays at least a measure of originality, and it is most welcome that it be sufficiently present to take the content away from solely running out the same predictable fistful of arias; though inevitably and particularly when any young artist is making his or her first solo recording a number of those will be present. And it’s likely to be those that are employed when it comes to comparative listening against other artists’ efforts.

A while ago I was present at a master class given by Christa Ludwig. With one student singer-accompanist pair she spent more time berating the pianist for playing Schubert like Brahms than working with the singer. The point – made in Ms. Ludwig’s own inimitable way – was that in performance all parts are equally important and must have an understanding of the music, its meaning, its moods and feelings before anything can stand a chance of being artistically successful. At the time I felt she went much further than was needed with the poor pianist. Listening to this disc, I was not only mindful of her reaction, but understood her point more clearly than before.

The problems begin before Farrugia sings the opening line of Ah! Je veux vivre! Alexander Briger’s conducting – here, and throughout the disc – shows hardly any emotional response to the music. His conducting is at best peremptory. Where there

should be musical commas, he places full stops. Where ebb and flow should be, there is a much harsher gradation at work.

His Tales from the Vienna Woods was unfortunate enough to follow hot on the heels of my hearing Jansons and the Wiener Philharmoniker play it, but Farrugia’s reading is not worth a second reading, even if he does provide a rarely heard vocal part.

The BBC SO sound is decent if hardly distinguished, though things do occasionally rise to higher levels periodically.

Maybe the singer can save the day? Farrugia can sing in the technical sense of hitting the notes, carrying a tune and producing reasonably flexible tone at any required volume. This much is beyond dispute; otherwise hopefully she would not have had the career she has since the mid-1990s, largely but not exclusively at Opera Australia. You can probably sense a ‘but…’ coming on, and yes they are coming. For a studio recording, more care should have been taken with the planning and the details as brought out in the execution of it.

Farrugia’s voice and this repertoire: I think there is a mismatch here that is fundamental to the resulting disappointment of the disc. I seriously question if she should even be singing this repertoire, the voice being somewhat heavier than the music demands.

Language: the opening line of Ah! Je veux vivre! sounds more like ‘Ze jeux vivre’ and the aria continues in a similar vein.

Alright, so not the first soprano to have problems with the French language, but in her effort to imbue the line with happiness and joy it has become laboured and confused. Not that she is helped by Briger’s singularly uninspired reading.

Among other six French arias the linguistic problems persist resulting in the fact that for all (except Offenbach’s Robinson Crusoe, which I did not know prior to this) a host of preferable alternatives sprang to mind that cope better with language musical feeling and interpretation: Popp, Gruberova, Gheorghiu, Vaduva, Mesplé, and Streich. Thinking again about vocal weight, quite a range is represented in that list, showing exactly what Farrugia does not have. The other languages are handled moderately better than the French, though far from idiomatically.

Style and interpretation: as a friend whom I played this disc to said of it: "Repertoire like this needs to be done with bags of style, and this has very little’. I couldn’t agree more – comments on the laughing items I will make later – but others scarcely distinguish themselves. I’m well aware that singing is a living art and that artists of today have their own approaches, but if they run as counter to the music as here, then I don’t want to know. Take Musetta’s Waltz as an example, comparing Farrugia to the recording made by Lesley Garrett. Garrett’s tells you more than it says by what it implies in the way it is sung – she is properly knowing, and portrays a character that has been around the block a few times. Farrugia’s is cold, unknowing, and just goes through the motions: no character involved.

Laughter: there’s plenty of it included here, but in the sterile surroundings of a Maida Vale studio the sound of it is none-tooat-ease, and (often, frankly) rather shrill. Farrugia’s experience with those roles she has sung on stage does not overcome this. Soon I was waiting in dread of another laugh, the very joie de vivre sapped out of me.

By the time I reached the Novello and Mills items I couldn’t take any more – I gave them one listening to make sure they were on the disc and resolved never to listen to them again. Their inclusion does lower the tone of the company that the serious repertoire keeps, even if the intention was to do something light-hearted. Wasn’t that the purpose of all the ‘laughter songs’, as Decca calls them?

One glance at the booklet should be enough to tell you that Decca is unashamedly marketing this at a mass audience, and I am all for music of serious worth reaching that audience providing the artistic results are strong. Otherwise, the risk is run whereby at best mediocre results are taken to be great ones by the public, and that won’t do. The foreword from Decca blatantly oversells the non-existent qualities of this disc. The introductory note pitches things accessibly at a generalist reader, with texts, translations and artist biographies in accompaniment.

Artist photos, taken very much with the thought ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it’ in mind, show Farrugia looking every inch a young diva on the up. However was one of her reclining on sofa beneath a painting of a nude in a similar position really necessary?

Or is even visual taste absent here?

And finally, there’s "thanks from Amelia" – all two and a half pages of it! – in which the word ‘thanks’ is mentioned 42 times for the ‘support’ and ‘belief’ she received in making this CD. There is even thanks for ‘extra Bling!’ – the artistic contribution of it is non-existent, but image-wise it’s inestimable. The pop industry, where nauseating acknowledgements of the minutiae on the underbelly of nothingness have long been essential, has so much to answer for that this has to become prevalent in the classical market too.

Of course the fight for sales is tremendously tough and Decca’s course seems set – this is hardly the first artist or release to be marketed this way; witness the horror of Renée Fleming’s recent ‘Sacred Songs’ release, even Bartoli’s ‘Opera Proibita’ that was sensationalised as far as possible for the sake of sales. It wasn’t like that in Joan Sutherland’s day, but then the world has moved on and suddenly I’m feeling way beyond my years. The label’s roster of ‘artists’ rolling out pseudo-classical products should act as a warning to any newcomer as to what might be expected. Nicole Cabell, their latest signing, releases

her first arias disc in the summer – she has glamour, but will the disc have anything more than that? We’ll have to wait and see.

It pains me to say it, particularly as Farrugia and Briger are young artists in need of support and encouragement, but this disc is a total artistic disaster.

Anja Harteros – Bella Voce Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Oh smania!

O Furie! ... D'Oreste e d'Ajace [6.25] from Idomeneo K. 366; Porgi, amor [3.25] from Le nozze di Figaro K. 492; Temerari ... Come scoglio [5.43]; Ei parte - senti!

Ah no! ... Per pieta, ben mio perdona all'error [8.57] from Così fan tutte K 588; Ah, lo previdi! - Ah, t'invola agl'occhi miei - Deh, non varcar K.272 [13.16]; Vado, ma dove? O Dei! K. 583 [4.09]; Misera! dove son?

L'aure del Tebro - Ah! non son io che parlo, K.369 [6.49] Franz Joseph HAYDN (1732-1809) Scena di Berenice Hob.XXIVa;10 [12.20] Cantata composra per la Signora Banti in Antigono di Pietro Metastasio Anja Harteros (soprano) Vienna Symphony Orchestra/Pinchas Steinberg rec. 7–11 December 2005, Baumgartner-Casino, Vienna. DDD. BMG-RCA RED SEAL 82876771432 [62.01] First off, I must ask you to suspend any thoughts you have that Bella Voce, to title of this CD, should just indicate inherent tonal beauty. Whilst Harteros’s voice is beautiful in a conventional sense, there is so much more to her art.

If the notes by Martin Bernheimer that accompany this CD concentrate more on discussing Anja Harteros and her voice than the repertoire she sings, it is perhaps understandable. A few of the points he makes bear amplification. “… she arrived at the Met without fanfare”: Her international career was launched when she won the 1999 Cardiff “Singer of the World” competition. My notes from watching that competition on television record the “mix of fire and control in her voice, a lirico-spinto whose top range has great dramatic potential – although she has yet to fully realise this.” Since 1999 she has sung at many European and American houses, with notable appearances in Munich and San Diego featuring high on the list. The fact she has had the patience of approach to build a career rather than be an overnight sensation singing everywhere is to her credit.

Mozart is a key component of her stage repertoire, although she has also sung Eva in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Mimi in La Bohème, Violetta in La Traviata and Amelia in Simon Boccanegra – all with success.

Consideration of these other roles leads me to agree with Martin Bernheimer once more in that her voice is more accurately described by the German term Jugendlich-dramatisch. Being of Greek-German parentage, the two musical aspects working within her voice are aptly summarised by fiery Greek passion and the more conscious self-control that you might think of as a characteristic of the Germanic mentality.

Mozart, of course, requires both elements to be present in differing degrees for many roles. It’s a fact one cannot escape as one listens to Harteros in this sequence of seven Mozart arias.

Oh smania! O Furie! ... D'Oreste e d'Ajace is the nearest thing Mozart wrote to a true mad scene. Urgency is there throughout the singing, though never produced through over-forced tone. The recitative is inwardly shaded to contrast well with the passionate fury on display in the aria. Much of the text is repeated, but Harteros varies the colour of the words, displaying both musical awareness and intelligence of interpretation. Without doubt she has developed the dramatic potential of her upper range, but without sacrificing flexibility or precision to get there.

The lower range might not be used with the same strength - to do so in this aria would be uncalled for – but it does possess a most useful ‘smoky’ quality in the chest voice.

Porgi, amor calls for more restraint in the assumption as the text expresses with succinct brevity the weight of personal regret rather than fury. Stage experience with the music shows, as does vocal flexibility and awareness of the implied nuances of meaning Mozart’s setting draws from da Ponte’s text.

Fiordiligi, no less than Figaro’s Countess or Idomeneo’s Elettra, is a role that could have been written for Harteros, so natural does her phrasing sound. Temerari ... Come scoglio brings to the fore once more the urgently dramatic aspect of her ability to characterise a role. The recitative implies much of the aggressive desperation that follows in Fiordiligi’s thoughts at that point in Act I, though where reflection occurs this is well integrated too. The long vocal runs are expressive of her plight, rather than just showy runs of notes thrown off without thought. Ei parte senti! Ah no! ... Per pieta, ben mio perdona all'error shows an altogether different aspect of Fiordiligi’s character: pensive desperation. The recitative here is nervous, the aria might sound at the start a bit like Porgi, amor in tone, but listen carefully – it is much weightier of concept and implication. The vocal leaps are cleanly executed without disrupting the characterisation.

The remaining Mozart items are all concert arias, but ones that afford Harteros further opportunities to display her dramatic qualities. Ah, lo previdi! - Ah, t'invola agl'occhi miei - Deh, non varcar is a true scena that “balances as informal recitative with formal melody”, as Martin Bernheimer states. Frustration, empty desolation and abandonment are all picked up with ease in Harteros’s tone. Vado, ma dove? O Dei! is the best known of the concert arias included here, and is sung with absolute security and feeling. Doubts are quietly yet definitely expressed in the singing, as they should be. Misera! dove son? L'aure del Tebro - Ah! non son io che parlo once more expresses the plight of a distraught woman with skill.

The single scena by Haydn continues the theme. Recently I reviewed a disc featuring Arleen Augér in this music (see review). Then I commented about Augér’s voice: “at times the relative maturity of the voice is noticeable, particularly when pushed wide at each end of the vocal range. The Scena di Berenice shows this in particular, but odd moments of effort are quickly passed.”

No such comments can be levelled at Harteros. As I confirmed at the start, hers is a Jugendlichdramatisch soprano, and one with a seemingly limitless range of expression too. Much as I love Augér in other Haydn works, The Creation under Rattle for example, I admit that I can only admire her in this scena. Harteros on the other hand makes me love the music and her singing of it because her voice is ideal for it – youthful yet experienced, imposing yet flexible, subtle yet it demands you listen. Brilliantly realised are the contrasting keys of the two arias – E major and F minor – and the originality of Haydn’s daring writing is still something to delight the ear over 210 years after his quill scratched upon manuscript paper.

Not a word so far on the orchestra or conducting: both sound sensitive and fine to me, sensitive to mood and practised in establishing the right atmosphere for each aria. The recording places Harteros forward in the sound spectrum, making her impact all the greater.

This disc proves that some things are worth waiting for. Harteros is an artist very much in the ascendant; she holds passion and control in balance within her singing. May her next solo discs explore other areas of her repertoire as thrillingly as this one has. But, please, don’t make me wait another seven years!

As I read through this review before submitting it to our Editor, I note that a recording of Anja Harteros in Verdi’s La Traviata is about to be released.

Ana Maria Martinez: Soprano songs and arias Leo DELIBES (1836-1891) Les filles de Cadix [3:19] Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893) Romeo et Juliette, Act I: Je veux vivre [3:36] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Gianni Schicchi: O mio babbino caro [2:39] Franz LEHÁR (1870-1948) Die lustige Witwe, Act II: Vilja-Lied [6:24] Pablo LUNA (1879-1942) El nino judio: De Espana vengo [6:02] Francis LOPEZ (1916-1995) Violettes imperiales [3:06] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) La rondine, Act I: Chi il bel sogno di Doretta [3:34] Joseph CANTELOUBE (1879-1937) Chants d'Auvergne, Series I: II. Baïlero [7:14] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Madama Butterfly, Act II: Un bel di vedremo [5:24] Heitor VILLA-LOBOS (1887-1959) Bachianas brasileiras No. 5 for Soprano and 8 cellos: Aria (Cantilena) [7:27]; Danca (Martelo) [4:43] Ana Maria Martinez (soprano) Prague Philharmonia/Steven Mercurio (conductor) rec. Dvořák Hall, Rudolfinum, Prague, August 2000.

DDD NAXOS 8.557827 [53:26] There are recital discs that do credit to the solo artist featured and there are those that seem to do their reputations no good at all. Happily, this disc falls squarely into the former category. This is despite the fact that the chosen repertoire will prompt many to compare Ana Maria Martinez to other greats, among them de los Angeles, Caballé, Gheorghiu and Freni. I can hear some eagle-eyed readers ask, "Did he really mean other greats?"

Well, yes I did, and the inference that I think Martinez is to be tipped for greatness was equally deliberate.

I do not know how long these works had been in her repertoire before she recorded them, but it feels as if it could have been a long time. The performances suggest almost without exception that each aria has been thought through, and a definite approach decided upon. In many ways the Delibes sets the tone for the disc: expressive, strongly sung throughout the range and characterisation very much to the fore. The temperament one of strength and passion - fits Martinez like a glove too, reflecting to a certain extent her Latin roots – she hails from Puerto Rico – and this makes the interpretation all the more winning. An auspicious opening indeed.

The pairing of Gounod and Puccini that follows reveals other sides to her artistic personality. So often arias CDs move between composers with less noticeable distinction than they ought to; not here, however. The Gounod is given with a lightness of touch and airiness in the vocal line, and the voice positively radiates a smile – poles apart from the last version I encountered: Amelia Farrugia on Decca. In the Puccini one is aware of her sensitivity to line and beauty of vocal tone. It was only after this experience that I reflected earlier her forte had been a bit too forced in the Delibes.

Lehár’s Vilja-lied is again strongly projected, and the same slight hardness creeps in, though for me it does not spoil things much. Another small thing I became conscious of was Martinez’s reluctance to enunciate vowels fully.

In this she is far from alone today. But to linger is to over-accentuate a minor problem that will no doubt receive attention.

Of the two remaining Puccini items Doretta’s aria from La rondine appears to suit the voice more, given the warmth of emotion contained in the words, but it should be said that Madama Butterfly contains no vocal pitfalls for her, the voice having a remarkable range in addition to flexibility of expression. Oh, the days of youth when all seems possible!

Pablo Luna and Francis Lopez may not be household names in the UK, but their music is certainly close to Martinez’s heart, and she rewards both composers with passionate performances. Her singing of Spain (both

composers) and of flowers (Lopez) made me aware of how right her voice would be for Carmen. By coincidence this CD’s release coincides with her Met debut, for which she sings that role. That we’ll have to wait for on disc, but in the meantime these works offer much in showing the direction she is already most wisely exploring. Of all the items included here these are amongst the ones I have returned to most often.

To that pair is added, for me at least, her Canteloube and Villa-Lobos. Immediately I recall my earlier words on her Puccini in respect of warmth of emotion and flexibility of expression – even without words there is feeling. Earlier still I mentioned de los Angeles, for many unequalled – even unequallable, let alone surpassable – in this music. I am among those that love de los Angeles’ recordings of these works, but by the time I had reached Martinez singing them I was wanting her to give them her own stamp, not just ape a previous great. Martinez does not disappoint either, and it is to her credit that her vision and personality shine the most when the recorded competition might be the strongest.

So far, not a word on the accompaniment. Some might regret more than me the lack of a chorus in the Vilja-lied, but the arrangement is adequate. Here, as throughout, Mercurio’s conducting is experienced and unfussy. The playing he draws from the Prague Philharmonia is more notable for pliant vigour and strength of instrumental colouring than its delicacy of shading.

It might seem churlish at this stage to bring up some other slight quibbles: the strange ordering of the items I can’t explain. Having texts and translations available as a PDF download worries me less here than it might if the release were a full price one. Then there’s the time delay in releasing the CD; why did it take over five years to reach us? Finally, there’s the shortish playing time. With Martinez’s repertoire extending far beyond the items included here it is a pity not to have more of it. Every diva dreams of leaving her audience wanting more. After this disc I certainly do, and Naxos should provide it with some urgency.

An Enchanted Evening with Ezio Pinza Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) From Don Giovanni: Deh! Vieni alla finestra [1.41]; Fin ch'han dal vino [1.15]; La, ci darem la mano [3.18] * Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) Dormiro sol nel Manto mio Regal [3.54] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Vecchia zimarra, senti [2.23] Giuseppe VERDI Vergine degli Angeli [4.33] ** Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893) Le Veau d'Or [1.47] Giuseppe VERDI Infelice! [3.13] Francesco TOSTI (1846-1916) La serenata [2.51] Henry BURLEIGH Deep river [2.28] LEVITZKI Do you remember? [2.01] Clara EDWARDS Into The Night [3.13] Richard RODGERS From South Pacific: Twin Soliloquies [2.25] ***; Some enchanted evening [3.01]; This nearly was mine [3.29]; Bali ha'i [3.14] Kurt WEILL September song [3.13] Agustin LARA You belong to my heart [3.03] Harold ARLEN Let me look at you [3.32]

Isham JONES I'll see you in my dreams [3.28] Burton LANE Everything I have is yours [2.55] Jerome KERN All the things you are [3.02]; The way you look tonight [2.39] Salve D’ESPOSITO Anema e core [2.13] Antonio VIAN Luna rossa [2.16] Carl BÖHM Calm as the night [3.23] **** Ezio Pinza (bass-baritone) * with Elizabeth Rethberg (soprano); ** with Rosa Ponselle (soprano); *** with Mary Martin (soprano); **** with Nathan Milstein (violin) Accompanied by various orchestras, conductors, choruses and pianists.

Mono recordings made between 1927 and 1952. ADD. LIVING ERA CD AJA 5618 [76.10]

Regular readers will know of my dislike for ‘crossover’, more for the results that are often produced in its name than for the concept itself. However, it’s nice to be able to make an exception to one’s own views once in a while.

This disc is one such, as I must confess I am something of a sucker for Ezio Pinza’s luxuriantly rich tones no matter what the repertoire. There is something irresistible about the voice itself that to my mind puts him in the same bracket as Johnny Cash and Frank Sinatra.

Answer me this: how many people can you think of whose life encompassed being a champion racing cyclist, world class opera singer – many would claim he’s unsurpassed still as Don Giovanni or in Verdi’s Requiem, quitting classical music to take on starring roles in Broadway musicals, and trying his hand at film acting and being a TV chat show host? Indeed, Pinza must have been one helluva guy. Some people have it, whatever it is, and others don’t. You can’t learn it – you’re born with it – call it a desire to succeed or raw natural talent: Pinza had both by the spadefull.

As the track listing shows this disc provides an overview of Pinza in opera, song and musicals. The emphasis is on light song rather than opera, as the bulk of the recordings he made in his later career for Victor or US Columbia focused on less demanding repertoire. Whilst he still had vocal allure and could produce a rich, commanding tone that was never forced whatever the volume, there is some slight loss of flexibility when placed alongside his operatic recordings of the early 1920s. Of course they are by and large of inferior sound quality overall, which is a shame, so maybe its understandable why collectors of Pinza’s arias may want several versions from throughout his career.

Don Giovanni became, despite initial misgivings, his signature operatic role. The three arias here are given with feeling and suavity. The voice alone could have made girls fall at his feet, and you can’t say that for every Don you encounter. La, ci darem la mano with Elizabeth Rethberg captures a notable singing partnership of the mid-1920s.

Pinza portrays the pain of Philip II’s predicament in Dormiro sol nel manto mio Regal and the sense of self-sacrifice made in Vecchia zimarra senti from La Boheme. More than some he brings to life the bacchanalian quality needed in Gounod’s Le Veau d'Or, even if the tempo is a touch considered.

The song and musical items are also mostly success. Some are outright winners as Pinza lends them his noble voice to make the music more than it intrinsically is. Tosti’s La Serenata, Levitzki’s Do You Remember? and Edwards’ Into The Night (a song written for Pinza) all benefit in this way. Many of the last ten tracks on this disc similarly impress.

There’s no denying that Pinza’s reading of Deep River has feeling, but when heard against that of, say, Paul Robeson, you realise it doesn’t get so much into the spirit of the piece. Of course, there is Pinza’s Italianate English to take into account – by and large it doesn’t bother too much – but it’s out of place in Deep River.

Inevitably, we come to South Pacific – perhaps the best example of Pinza’s ability to raise music to a higher level that we have here. The soliloquies capture tenderness with Mary Martin, and his mature tone is a notable asset for this item. Some Enchanted Evening is of course a classic of its kind and Pinza’s recording is one I wouldn’t want to without. It should not overshadow the fine singing he also gives in This nearly was mine or Bali Ha'i.

Supported by useful notes this disc provides enjoyable and varied listening. A good introduction to the lighter side of Pinza’s art.

Further listening: Pinza’s opera aria recordings 1923-1930 – Pearl GEMM CD 9306

Juliette Pochin – Venezia Antonio VIVALDI (1678-1741) arr. Morgan Pochin Sposa son disprezzata [4.24] * JS BACH (1685-1750) arr. Morgan Pochin Ave Maria [3.28] ** Tomasso ALBINONI (1671-1751) arr. Morgan Pochin Mille Fiate (Adagio) [3.50] MORGAN POCHIN Lucezia [2.52] Antonio VIVALDI (1678-1741) arr. Morgan Pochin Nulla in Mundo [3.36] Benedetto MARCELLO (1686-1739) arr. Morgan Pochin Pace non trovo [3.42] *** Domenico CIMAROSA (1749-1801) arr. Morgan Pochin A Capemonte [3.20] Tomasso ALBINONI (1671-1751) arr. Morgan Pochin Salve Regina [3.55] MORGAN POCHIN Ponte dei sospiri [3.13] Antonio VIVALDI (1678-1741) arr. Morgan Pochin Four Seasons suite: La Primavera I [2.43]; La Primavera II [2.18]; L’estate [2.37]; L’autunno [2.13]; L’inferno I [3.06]; L’inferno II [2.13] Juliette Pochin (mezzo) * with Craig Ogden (guitar) ** with Julian Lloyd-Webber (cello) and Marat Bisengaliev (violin) *** with Alun Darbyshire (oboe) BTA West Kazakhstan Philharmonic Orchestra/Arcadians Choir/James Morgan Orchestra recorded at Gateway Studios; vocals, choir and mixing at Morgan Pochin Studios, London. No recording dates given.

SONY 82876821222 [47.36] Having heard Juliette Pochin in concert I know that she can sing more than averagely well. Without such prior experience anyone reading her booklet biography might assume much the same given that it lists collaborations with many well known orchestras and conductors. Why mention this? Surely her singing on this disc would confirm the fact? Yes and no. She can hold a tune and produce tone with evenness, it’s true. But going by this disc alone one does not learn too much about either her vocal range or her ability to exploit dynamic extremes. Two factors are responsible for this: the recording and the arrangements of the music that are used.

The recording itself, also produced by Pochin, largely results from several separate sessions that have been mixed together to achieve the end result. Even moderately close listening reveals performances recorded in different

acoustics that do not sit too comfortably with each other. Pochin for her part is closely microphoned, thus negating the need for much vocal projection or body behind the tone she produces. The West Kazakhstan Philharmonic play competently but without much individuality. The same could be said for the solo instrumentalists who ‘feature’ on this disc; but the generality of Lloyd-Webber’s might have been avoided somewhat with a recording that conveys nuances more readily. Piece after piece is played at a consistent mezzoforte that after a few minutes becomes all but unbearable. Has nobody connected with this disc heard of dynamic gradation? What is so wrong with playing pianissimo occasionally, or fortissimo or anything else in between for that matter? Then there’s the tempi – so middle-of-the-road as to be frankly rather dull and quickly very boring.

Morgan Pochin, the husband and wife team of James Morgan and Juliette Pochin, are responsible for the musical arrangements. One can tell from them that the pair have had a hand in producing film soundtracks and whilst there is nothing wrong with this per se the stock-in-trade predictable syrupy flavour so often found there is out of place in the purely classical context. However this is not a pure classical context, this is crossover: Vivaldi, Bach, Albinoni, Handel, Marcello and Cimarosa are all present but take second place to Morgan Pochin reworkings of their music. Handel, for example, contributes a mere four bars from his cantata Lucrezia which becomes a complete aria following the Morgan Pochin treatment. And not only is the material by these composers negligible at times, but the relationship of some composers to Venice, the theme around which the disc is based, can be tenuous to say the least. Bach is included because he arranged Vivaldi’s works on occasion and Handel finds a place because his opera Agrippina was first performed in Venice. As far as I know he never ventured there personally.

The major novelty here is the Four Seasons suite. In the Morgan Pochin arrangement of Vivaldi’s evergreen quartet of concertos the sonnets attributed to Vivaldi that accompany each season are sung in the place of the violin line. Given that the sonnets are of varying lengths incomplete versions of each season are performed. It might be vocally challenging to do this but it adds little if anything to the music. Good excuse for a gimmick, however the result should not detain you long.

It’s an instantly forgettable disc. One thing is for sure though, since this is the first of five discs to come from Juliette Pochin in fulfilment of her £1 million contract we have not heard the last of her. It can only be hoped that future releases might pay more than occasional lip service to serious music and music-making, but I fear this hope may be a forlorn one.

L'art de Teresa Stich-Randall CD 1 George Friedrich HANDEL (1685-1759) Ode for Saint Cecilia (1739) [48.24] a Johann Sebastian BACH (1685-1750) Cantata ‘Jauchzet Gott in allen landen’ (1731) [21.02] b ; Laudamus te [4.36] c and Domine Deus [6.14] cd from Mass in B minor, BWV 232 CD 2 Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Exultate Jubilate KV 165 (1773) [17.10] e ; Laudamus te from Mass in C minor, KV 427 [4.10] e ; Messe solennelle de coronne, KV 317 (1779) [27.58] e ; Vesperae solennelles du Confessore, KV 339 (1780) [26.30] ef CD 3 George Friedrich HANDEL (1685-1759) Cantata ‘In Praise of Harmony’ (1708-9) [13.52] e Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Salve Regina, D676 [12.22] e Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) 7 lieder [23.15] g Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) 9 lieder [28.40] g CD 4 Johann Sebastian BACH (1685-1750) Cantata ‘Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis’, BWV 21 (1714) [5.24] h Ludwig Van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827) Fantasia for piano, chorus and orchestra, op.80 [18.08] i Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Per pieta from Così fan tutte KV 588 [7.54] j Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) Ah fors'e lui, sempre libera from La Traviata [8.13] k Gustave CHARPENTIER (1860-1956) Depuis le jour où je me suis donnée from Louise [4.54] k Giaccomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Vissi d'arte from Tosca [3.33] k Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949) Es gibt ein Reich from Ariadne auf Naxos [5.21]; Vier Letzte Lieder [23.11] l Teresa Stich-Randall (soprano) a Alexander Young (tenor); London Chamber Singers and Orchestra/Anthony Bernard; rec. 1958 b Maurice André (trumpet)/Orchestre de Chambre de la Sarre/Karl Ristenpart; rec. 1961 (?) c Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra/Lorin Maazel; rec.

1965 d Ernst Haefliger (tenor) e Orchestre de Chambre de la Sarre/Karl Ristenpart; rec. 1963 f Bianca Maria Casoni (alto)/Pietro Bottazo (tenor)/Georg Littasy (bass) g Jacqueline Bonneau (piano); rec. 1961 h unnamed orchestra and conductor; rec.1954, mono i Hans Richter-Haaser (piano)/Judith Hellweg (soprano)/Hilde Rössel-Majdan (alto)/Anton Dermota, Erich Majkut (tenors)/Paul Schoeffler (bass)/Vienna State Opera Chorus/Vienna Symphony Orchestra/Karl Böhm; rec. 1957, mono j Vienna Symphony Orchestra/Rudolf Moralt; rec.

1956, mono k Vienna Volksoper Orchestra and Chorus/Brian

Priestman; rec. 1967 l Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra/Laszlo Somogyi; rec. 1964 All recordings stereo except where indicated. AAD. ACCORD 476 8633 [4 CDs: 81.23 + 75.48 + 77.29 + 76.40] In common with most music-lovers I have a list of artists from years past whom I would dearly like to have heard live. Teresa Stich-Randall’s name makes it onto my list of singers without hesitation along with others including Maria Callas. Were I pushed to do so I would opt for Stich-Randall in preference to Callas for the reason that her art seems less prone to intervene between music and listener. Stich-Randall’s art will be known to owners of Karajan’s famous Der Rosenkavalier or Falstaff sets, but it took a live lieder recital to reveal her greatness to me.

Partnered by Hans Rosbaud at the Aix-en-Provence Festival in 1956, the programme consists of Mozart, Schubert, Brahms, Strauss, Debussy and Schumann – available on INA 262008. Hardly a song in the recital can be dismissed lightly and as a whole it’s noteworthy for the fact that well known and less known items sit comfortably beside one another. The encore, Schumann’s Widmung, is nothing less than a revelation.

Coming to this four CD boxed set I had high hopes that have for the most part been realised upon hearing it. That the set casts its net wide in terms of overall repertoire is commendable, as is the fact that it brings onto CD - often for the first time to my knowledge at least - studio recordings of extracts from roles in which Stich-Randall was much admired. The lieder items all but avoid duplication entirely with the INA disc. It is good that a few recordings have found their way complete into the set too, even if this is also a source of minor frustration at times. Just why was Beethoven’s Fantasia included? It is nearly 15 minutes into the piece before the chorus entry and even then Stich-Randall plays a minor recurring role in proceedings. Maybe if the performance as whole held together better than it does I would be more inclined to overlook this, but this is 18 minutes of playing time that says little in favour of The Art of Teresa Stich-Randall.

Handel and Bach afford much more of an opportunity for her to make an impression. CD 1 opens with Handel’s ‘Ode for Saint Cecilia’, which is given a spacious reading under the direction of Anthony Bernard, indeed he maintains a stately vision very much at odds with today’s period instrument approach. Stich-Randall shows her qualities as an unassuming stylist throughout the six sections to which she contributes. Not only is her tone assured and crystal-clear, but her English diction betrays nothing of her American origins. Alexander Young contributes his tenor line with firmness. Handel’s cantata ‘In Praise of Harmony’ gives her a fine vehicle again; indeed it is hard to imagine it sung with greater sensitivity. It’s no surprise the recording won the coveted Preis de Tonkunst for 1964. It still wears its years lightly.

That Bach accounts for a reasonable part of her concert repertoire can be appreciated from the items included here. She sings it with a sense of the eternal. Maurice André contributes his near constant trumpet part in ‘Jauchzet Gott in allen landen’ with enthusiasm and his tone works well against Stich-Randall’s voice. A good reminder of tenor Ernst Haefliger in his prime under a young Lorin Maazel is afforded by an extract from the B minor Mass.

Mozart with orchestra fills all of CD 2 and lieder with piano a chunk of CD 3. Though the style of the performances themselves are a little different, she can bring to mind another American, Barbara Bonney, as her closest equivalent today. Though Stich-Randall throws off Mozart’s florid lines in the orchestral works with ease, she is no mere songbird. Vocal agility, clarity of tone and diction and heartfelt feeling all contributed in making her one of the exemplary Mozart sopranos of her, indeed, of any age. Different colours are found in the voice to differentiate the various sections of ‘Exultate Jubilate’, the Mass and Vespers. It’s nice to have the Laudamus Te from the C minor Mass too. Karl Ristenpart conducts the Orchestra de Chambre de la Sarre with stately reverence at times (the andante in ‘Exultate Jubilate’ is a good deal slower than one might expect) but his is a genuine chamber orchestra that is well drilled and precisely balanced. What of Stich-Randall’s operatic Mozart though?

Just a single aria from Così represents it (well, I might add); nevertheless it is a pity not to anything of the Figaro’s Countess, Giovanni’s Donna Anna (illustrated in the booklet), Magic Flute’s Pamina, Idomeneo’s Ilia or Entführung’s Konstanze. These roles were her regular calling cards at major Festivals around Europe.

Some compensation is to be had with the inclusion of the lieder. When encountering performances such as these one wonders why more singers don’t perform them regularly. Stich-Randall does so with the same care for nuance as exhibited in the orchestral works. Jacqueline Bonneau’s accompaniment is unassuming and a touch

recessed at times. From that same recording of 1961 comes a group of nine Schubert settings to complete a programme of German lieder. The selection is of well known items but the readings are fresh and carefully prepared. Particularly impressive is the hushed control of tone combined with faultless breathing whichever evident whichever composer is being performed. Mozart’s ‘Das Lied der Trennung’ or Schubert’s ‘Du Bist die Ruh’ and ‘Nacht und Träume’ best illustrate this. ‘Die Forelle’ darts winningly in a swiftly flowing stream. The Schubert contribution to the set is rounded off with a pleasing reading of the ‘Salve Regina’, once more sensitively accompanied by Ristenpart’s Sarre forces.

The quartet of arias on CD 4 not yet mentioned give some indication of where her musical heart lay – with passionate roles that, alas, she performed all too rarely. La Traviata sees her Violetta in a whirl; Louise lacks for little tenderness; Tosca is reflective of music as the love she lived for. It is unsurprising that such a supreme Mozartian should bring much required intimacy to her performance of Strauss’s Ariadne monologue. That her mantra was "Die Musik ist heilige Kunst" one can believe and her performance of Vier Letzte Lieder shows this also. Occasionally she is taxed a touch by breathing, but overall it is a radiant reading that finds more shading in the lines than larger voices can do when they approach these songs. For a work that it’s hard to think of ever having a definitive performance, this version joins those by Jurinac, Popp and Schwarzkopf that bear repeated hearing.

The booklet offers only a brief three side appreciation and includes a rather pompously worded testimonial by Gabriel Dussurget. No texts or translations to accompany the music are included and some will find this a drawback. There might be a few quibbles over what is or is not included here, but it’s the quality of Stich-Randall’s singing that really matters and that is beyond reproach.

Book reviews Constantin Silvestri, A Musician Before His Time: Conductor, Composer, Pianist

by John Gritten.

Published by Kitzinger (London, 1998), 304pp, ISBN 1900496-12-7

Until a short while ago I was only aware of Constantin Silvestri as a conductor of insight, integrity and a still sorely missed figure in the music world. Having been born too late to hear him personally, my experience of his work has been via recordings alone, but these leave a strong impression of a serious and complex musician at work.

The art of writing a good biography is far from straightforward. One should include factual detail about the subject with accuracy and authority, but more than that a wider picture of the personality behind the life, and an impression of the times through which the individual lived should be sketched. All of this John Gritten achieves with ease in this volume as he paints an affectionate portrait of Silvestri, his music and his time.

We are taken from his youth, full of precocious talent for improvisation, as a student of the ‘Iron Lady’ Florica Musicescu, who also taught the young Lipatti to his early career as a pianist, ever the groundstone for one with ambitions as a conductor and composer. In the respect of the intertwining of numerous significant musical roles Silvestri appears akin to Enescu, who remarked that the young musician would bring honour to Romania: and so it proved. Yet talent shrouded an often fragile being: it seems particularly in his younger years were cast under the shadow of one depression or another, despite the clamouring of audiences and critical esteem his work was held in.

Gritten rightly stresses the efforts Silvestri went to as a pedagogue and performer to carefully foster both Romanian and foreign composition within his native land. His students included leading lights of the Romanian avant-garde such as Anatol Vieru, and he was closely associated with a production and planned recording of Enescu’s magnum opus, the opera Oedipe, which never came to pass due to ‘political interference’ one might say.

Following his decampment from Romania – first in Paris and later in Bournemouth – Silvestri always carried that passion for music and music-making within him, the knowledge that the act itself had the power to move and change (even fleetingly) the lives of those around him.

His time in Bournemouth is covered in depth, and it seems at first some people found it hard to accept Costi - as those close to him affectionately called him. The chapter ‘How not to be an alien’ might be considered essential reading for anyone attempting to deal with the English Establishment whilst possessing a scant linguistic grasp – the nerve of Costi’s cheeky remark to the Duke of Edinburgh ("We are both mongrels", before elaborating "I am an Italian-Austrian-Romanian") had me screaming with laughter ...

But it was not only linguistic matters that rubbed against the grain with some - though not, it seems with his orchestras - it was also Silvestri’s very expressive style of conducting – to the extent that he almost seemed to embody works – and this at a time when it was quite out of fashion as an approach in the UK. Today the Romanian chief guest conductor of the Hallé, Cristian Mandeal, brings to mind the Silvestri ‘model’ by similarly expounding compositions works from the inside out.

It wasn’t made with regard to Silvestri so far as I know, but one can imagine Beecham’s caustic remark being applied: "Why do we employ so many third rate foreign conductors when there are so many second rate home grown ones about?" Such views say more about those that make them than about their target in any case. But the view is not one-sided as the book benefits greatly not only from Gritten’s own recollections of hearing Silvestri in action. There are also a large number of interviews and recollections from those that knew Silvestri throughout his life, personally and professionally, both in Romania and the UK. That Costi finally came to be accepted by the notoriously narrow-minded musical establishment was a result of little more than constant effort on his part, and some notable musical results drawn from the wide variety of orchestras he conducted. Audiences it would appear took to him far more readily.

Composition held (until the age of forty) an important role in Silvestri’s life too – not only piano music but some highly complex and idiomatic orchestral scores and songs flowed from his pen – often imbued with a calculated pseudo-improvisatory feeling. Composition ceased as conducting took over more and more of his time, and his compositions are listed in Appendix 1, which is followed by a useful analysis of some 19 pages written by Zeno Vancea, Silvestri’s composition teacher at the Târgu Mureş Conservatoire. With numerous musical extracts, it’s likely to be of most use to trained musicians or amateurs with good score reading skills, but the fact that an analysis is included at all demonstrates the commitment given here to providing a volume that has something to offer many different categories of reader.

Of interest too is the transcription of Costi’s rehearsal of Elgar’s In the South (Alassio) – his recording with the BSO appears to be temporarily unavailable – but I remain hopeful that it won’t be for long. Inevitably given the fluctuations of record company wiles these days, the discography serves as but a guide for what a collector might find – though no doubt the intrepid will find the listing of recordings made in Romania useful if visiting that glorious country.

So much of the time reading this wholeheartedly recommendable book has been accompanied by listening for me – both to Silvestri’s music in concert and Costi’s recordings as a conductor. Of available recordings, the knockdown bargain has to be the 10 CD set Constantin Silvestri: The Collection from Disky Classics (DB 707432) that retails at under £20.

I recommend the book without hesitation for countless reasons, not least because it opens new avenues of enquiry and illuminates a significant musician with generosity and affection. Now, given that recent years have seen recordings of music by the likes de Sabata, Weingartner and Furtwängler, surely someone will rise soon to Silvestri’s cause. It’s certainly about time – no, long overdue.

Mozart: His Life and Music

by Jeremy Siepmann Published by Naxos Books, 2005. Paperback. ISBN: 184379-110-2. 224pp.

Includes two full CDs of music and accompanied by a free access dedicated website.

Let anyone recently arrived from the moon be aware that we are on the cusp of yet another Mozart-packed year (2006). To get things started, Naxos offers this attractive volume, with more than just the contents of its pages to occupy the purchaser.

In the preface, Jeremy Siepmann states that he has "attempted to give the book some of the immediacy of a novel by allowing its protagonists wherever possible to relate the story in their own words". In respect of the Mozart family he was undoubtedly fortunate as they always seemed to have been scribbling down their thoughts in letters, journals and the like. I agree with him that this gives "a far richer and more fascinating portrait of both the characters and their time than any amount of subjective ‘interpretation’." Nothing beats going back to the source, and this book does so with tremendous frequency.

This book is anything but dry, turgid and academic as a result, which is much to its overall advantage. Siepmann’s style is clear and his points are lucidly made. The structure and layout of the volume also say much about its overall ambitions: it weaves chapters of biographical content with interludes that concentrate on the music. Each narrative can be followed independently, or sections read in isolation – and either way the text reads well as it glides accurately and effortlessly over the main facts, theories and intricacies of Mozart and his music.

Siepmann uses the word ‘masterpiece’ with amazing frequency – I lost count after about the twentieth time – and were Mozart not the subject I would take greater exception to it. It is in any case a word all too often twisted uncomfortably from its original meaning. For a book pitched at a generalist level such a situation might be expected, however in future greater care should be taken to both credit the reader with critical faculties and also help to inform and develop them.

There seems a slight discord though between the editorial direction of the book and the author’s opinion: the preface proclaims a split between biography and musical commentary of about two thirds and one third, but Siepmann claims on page 153 in the chapter ‘Mozart the Immortal’ that "All that matters is the music". The comment comes after briefly touching on whether or not Mozart had Tourette’s Syndrome, but taken more widely, the musical commentary would have been more rewarding if it had greater equality of space overall.

It is however, a well-intentioned primer on both man and music, and as such is likely to be of most use to one approaching either for the first time rather than someone like myself who has spent the last 15 years or so regularly digesting Mozartiana. The glossary of musical terms, brief notes on personalities that appear along the way of the Mozart story, annotations to the CD tracks and a short bibliography are likely to encourage the interested reader to take things beyond the confines of this volume.

The website I found serviceable and informative, showing that Naxos have purposefully taken a leaf out of many more scholarly publishers’ current practice. The two CDs cover in over two and a half hours some 25 examples of Mozart’s music, from his Minuet in G, K.1 (played by Siepmann) to the Requiem, K.626. The tracks benefit from presenting complete works or movements and many of the artists will be known to those familiar with the Naxos catalogue: Jenő Jandó on piano, Capella Istropolitana or the conductor Michael Halász, to name but three. Whilst none of the performances scales the sublime heights of Mozartian interpretation, they nonetheless provide the novice listener with a averagely decent starting point. Those that expand their horizons to complete recordings would in the long run do well to explore other sources for their purchases, providing their budget allows.

Mozart and Beethoven (the subject of another volume also written by Siepmann) are obvious choices to launch such a series with, and hopefully as it grows through taking in major figures, space will be found to accommodate some more esoteric names too, thus complementing Naxos’s approach to recording music. Mozart celebratory year or not, his is a story that can never be told too many times – and having a love of his music is one of the supreme joys in life by which few can remain unmoved.