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SaleBartók: Concerto for Orchestra; Music for Strings, Percussion & Celesta / Mälkki, Helsinki Philharmonic
BIS · Oct 2021SACD$21.99$10.99 -
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SaleKastalsky: Requiem for Fallen Brothers / Slatkin, Orchestra of St. Luke's
Naxos · Aug 2020CD$19.99$9.99 -
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Wagner: Das Rheingold / Janowski, Konieczny, Conrad, Elsner, Vermillion
PENTATONE · May 2013SACD$32.99 -
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Verdi: Luisa Miller / Rebeka, Scheurle, Repušić, Munich Radio Orchestra
BR Klassik · Apr 2018CD$34.99 -
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FILLES DE KILIMANJARO
Nerve Case
MUSIC FOR STRINGS
REMISSION
UNFOLDING DEBUSSY
Gathering - Songs by Ben Moore
This unabashedly eclectic album features stirring and varied songs by Ben Moore, who has chosen poems spanning 2,600 years for his texts. The music extends from art song to cabaret, yet all share Moore’s lyrical and eloquent style. The songs are united by the unwavering honesty and passion of the composer and performers, including Isabel Leonard, Liz Callaway, Matthew Polenzani, Michael Kelly, Janai Brugger and other stars of opera and Broadway. Brian Zeger’s collaboration on piano provides the singers with support and inspiration. The album concludes with songs of hope, touching on the acceptance of love in its many forms.
REVIEWS:
A Textura Top 20 Vocal Album of 2022!
There's so much to like about this collection of songs by Ben Moore, it's hard to know where to start. Let's begin with the material itself, twenty-two songs that span the spectrum of emotional experience with dignity and poise. His music has been called “gorgeously lyrical” (The New York Times) and commended for its “romantic sweep” (Opera News), and many a song on the release exemplifies those qualities, plus a great deal more. Gathering is a magnificent collection, and as the songs were written over a span of thirty years, it also offers a superb overview.
-- Textura
The songs are put over in fine style by a terrific group of singers…All of them have their moments at centre stage here, and their voices are flexible and mellifluous enough to cross the stylistic lines drawn with sophistication and taste by the composer. For my money, the loveliest song is ‘I Must Travel as a Phantom Now’ (Thomas Hardy) sung lusciously by Isabel Leonard…[The songs are] accompanied by pianist Brian Zeger, who captures every mood and gesture of the writing. Engaging notes add even more flair to a recital that turns out to have been quite a gathering.
-- American Record Guide
…There is, truly, something for everyone on this eclectic disc. Isabel Leonard offers her dark-hooded mezzo to the most aria-like songs on the album; of them, “Lullaby” feels more traditional at its onset, and perhaps it is in the vocal line, but the uniqueness of the piano line gives the trite concept of a lullaby much more depth and nuance. Matthew Polenzani lends his unparalleled tenor to the gently complex “Where Are the Songs of Spring?,” in which listeners see the rolling hills and a babbling brook in Moore’s rolling piano line, full of movement; Polenzani also shows the more robust side of his tenor that American opera audiences have fallen in love with in “When I Was One-and-Twenty.”
The album is divided into five sections, so it ebbs and flows, like acts in a show.
-- Opera News
Gordon: Clouded Yellow / Kronos Quartet
Clouded Yellow uses a certain amount of electronic manipulation of the quartet sound, from the bird-like falling sounds in the opening and some textural effects later on, but the strings are distinctive enough. The ‘flying’ feel in the music relates to a title that refers to a species of butterfly that migrates to England.
Potassium takes some of its ‘blown-out’ sound from an earlier work, Industry for cello and electronics. The strings are sent though distortion filters in the opening, their downward and upward glissandi a heightened sequence of cadences that hold both angst and a counterbalancing sense of logical inevitability. At the halfway point a related but new energy starts up, with violin glissandi now fast and punchy over ostinato notes from viola and cello. This takes on a magical tonal aspect, out of which the opening glissando ‘theme’ emerges with new meaning. Too much beauty cannot be allowed to survive for long however, and the previous energy bursts in to deliver a spectacular coda, the final gesture of which is a kind of musical reaching for the skies.
The Sad Park is a legacy of the tragic events of 11th September 2001 when the World Trade Centre towers in New York were destroyed in that infamous terrorist attack. A recording is used of children’s voices from pre-school children who lived in the shadow of the towers, recounting what they had seen and experienced. In the first of four movements the voice is stretched into a haunting whale-song over which the quartet weaves chords in an ostinato rhythm. The second movement is partly fragmented, but its repetitions inspire a lyrical keening from the strings. The voice is given a momentary clarity on which the strings comment with related material out of which voices return with a rhythmic character that takes us into the third movement. The voices here are stretched beyond recognition, to my ears developing an introvert but everlasting cry. The final movement throws in extra effects for the quartet, an octave pedal adding extra bass and distortion turning the music into something akin to a weighty rock-band. The association with voices and string quartet takes us instantly to Different Trains by Steve Reich, and the one probably wouldn’t exist without the other, but Michael Gordon’s treatment is disturbing and personal – a highly effective expression of new life in the midst of horror and death.
Exalted for string quartet and choir is performed here with the Young People’s Chorus of New York City, on whose website we are told that the text used is “the English translation of the first word of the Mourner’s Kaddish, one of the most important and central prayers in the Jewish liturgy written 2500 years ago in Aramaic, the language spoken at that time. The text of Exalted, a lament in memory of Mr. Gordon’s father, consists entirely of the Kaddish’s first four words–Yi-ga-dal, v’yis ka-dash, sh’may, and ra-bo.” This connects to each of the other pieces here for one reason or another, but in particular to The Sad Park as “it very much draws a line to the people who died in the towers.” This is a passionate lament, filled with a drive and energy that only lets up in the final dissolution into descending clusters in the voices.
This is a thought provoking release, but one that sees the Kronos Quartet still on top form, and Michael Gordon’s creativity very much an unstoppable force. Poetic, powerful and moving by turns, this is a release no self-respecting contemporary music fan should be without.
– MusicWeb International (Dominy Clements)
Rachmaninoff: Complete Symphonies / Slatkin, Detroit Symphony Orchestra
Sergey Rachmaninoff's symphonic career had a rocky start with the premiere of his First Symphony, now recognized as one of the Russian symphonic works of the late 19th century. Both the powerful First Symphony and the gloriously melodic Second, with its lush harmonic Adagio second movement, are haunted by the Dies irae chant melody. Rachmaninoff considered his Third Symphony to be one of his finest works, alongside the exquisitely and virtuosic Symphonic Dances. The enduring attraction of these symphonies is enhanced by the 'impressive, highly desirable interpretations' (Gramophone) in this acclaimed edition conducted by Leonard Slatkin.
Past praise for previously released volumes included in this set:
Rachmaninoff: Symphony No. 3, Symphonic Dances
The more garish aspects of the Symphonic Dances, with its Dies irae quotation morphing into a Russian Alleluia, and the percussion parts generally, are kept under control, while the symphony’s glorious melodies, the last stand of the Romantic era in 1936, are allowed to flower luxuriantly. A crack Russian or British orchestra might be smoother in places, but there is a confident musicality here that is immensely appealing, and it has everything to do with a group of young players who realize that they are under the gun and have what it takes to succeed, under seasoned leadership. Highly recommended.
-- AllMusic.com (James Manheim)
Rachmaninoff: The Isle of the Dead & Symphony No. 1
This recording of the First Symphony is arguably the finest since Ashkenazy’s with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra for Decca. Slatkin grinds out the opening bars with real menace, and he conceals the first movement’s episodic construction with flowing tempos and smartly managed transitions. The climax of the development section uses the glockenspiel part that seems to come and go in various recordings, but not the rest of the percussion that we find, say, with Litton on Virgin. Through it all the Detroit Symphony plays splendidly.
The crepuscular scherzo has an attractive lilt, while the Larghetto is just that: a small Largo, not one of Rachmaninov’s more hot and heavy statements in the mode of Symphony No. 2. Kudos to Slatkin for catching the movement’s gentle melancholy so well. As for the finale, it begins with plenty of the requisite panache, and culminates with a dark, powerful, and threatening coda that, if not quite as screamingly intense as Ashkenazy’s (the tempo is a bit quicker), comes as close as makes no difference. The trombones really put on a show here.
As for The Isle of the Dead, Slatkin’s performance doesn’t languish as some others do, and it’s all to the good. You really feel the five-in-a-bar rhythm in this performance, the lapping of the waves against the shore. The climaxes have tremendous impact, and the final appearance of the Dies irae sends a shiver down the spine. The work is all the more gripping for having such a strong rhythmic profile, and like the symphony it’s beautifully played (and recorded). Slatkin always has performed Rachmaninov as well as just about anyone alive today, and this cycle, quietly and with little fanfare as it has gradually appeared, sustains his reputation.
-- ClassicsToday.com (David Hurwitz)
Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra; Music for Strings, Percussion & Celesta / Mälkki, Helsinki Philharmonic
On two highly praised albums, Susanna Mälkki and her players in the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra have released recordings of Béla Bartók’s three scores for the stage – The Miraculous Mandarin, The Wooden Prince and Bluebeard’s Castle, all written before 1918. The team now takes on two of his late orchestral masterpieces. Composed in 1936 for the Basel Chamber Orchestra, Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta is one of the purest examples of Bartók’s mature style, with its synthesis of folk music, classicism and modernism. One immediately striking feature is the unusual instrumentation: two string orchestras seated on opposite sides of the stage, with percussion and keyboard instruments in the middle and towards the back. In 1940, during the Second World War, Bartók emigrated to the U.S.A., where he initially found it difficult to compose. In 1943 he received a prestigious commission from the Boston Symphony Orchestra, however, and in less than eight weeks he composed the Concerto for Orchestra. In it he worked with contrasts between different sections of the orchestra, and the soloistic treatment of these groupings was his reason for calling the work a concerto rather than a symphony.
REVIEW:
There hasn’t been a coupling of these two iconic works this successful in, well, decades. Usually the pieces get divided between different performers, or if it’s the same forces throughout, one work comes off better than the other. Not here. Start with the Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta. No one (except possibly Reiner) attempts to play it at Bartók’s indicated timings–around six+ minutes per movement. Everyone is slower, and often rightly so, but sometimes rather too much slower. Mälkki sounds just about perfect: in the range of seven minutes per movement, with an eerily flowing opening fugue, a ferocious second movement Allegro, a terrifying Adagio (listen to those timpani glissandos at the bottom of the texture), and a finale that features an imaginative and characterful flexibility of tempo, highlighting its dance-like character. The Helsinki strings play with extraordinary discipline, even if some of the “special effects” such as col legno bowing could resister more strongly. Never mind. It’s a great performance.
So is that of the Concerto for Orchestra. Perhaps the best thing I can say about it is that it sounds like a genuine collaborative effort between conductor and orchestra. Mälkki keeps the music flowing, reveling in the fine ensemble that the Helsinki Philharmonic has become: the brass fugato in the first movement, the “games of pairs” in the second, or the eerie woodwind solos in the brooding Elegia–nothing here is less than world-class. In the finale, Mälkki finds an idea balance between hard-driving forward movement and precision of articulation. She also keep something especially exciting in reserve for the coda, which dashes away thrillingly. BIS has captured the entire production in powerfully present, tactile sound that really lets you hear down through the ensemble, from top to bottom. This really is an exceptional release. If you love this music, be sure to hear it.
– ClassicsToday.com (10/10; David Hurwitz)
Medtner: Incantation, Complete Songs, Vol. 1
Schnittke, Shostakovich: Violin Sonatas / Dubinsky, Edlina
-- Joan Chissell, Gramophone [4/1985]
Coates: String Quartets Nos. 1-9 / Kreutzer Quartet
At long last, the aural equivalent to Salvador Dali's melted watches! Gloria Coates (b. 1939) has created a string quartet language out of glissandos: long, short, abrupt, gradual, creaky, rounded, often dissonant, sometimes consonant. The music conjures up vivid aural images. The Fifth Quartet, for instance, begins with delicate high-register, insect-like squeals. These assiduously descend into detuned, slow moving canons that resemble a chorus of drunken cartoon cats and coyotes intoning half-remembered hymns and barroom ballads. Its second movement is built from glissandos that ascend and descend in super-slow motion. By contrast, the third movement nearly recaps the second at a hundred times the speed, the double stops suggesting a veritable orchestra of quartets whizzing before you in a race against time.
The brief First Quartet dates from the composer's late 20s and reveals that the basic elements of her present style already were in place, if not so extreme in their deployment. I especially like the Sixth Quartet's concluding "Evanescence" movement, where palpable melodic shapes emerge from intertwining long, sustained, slowly modulated glissandos, demarcated by occasional gentle pizzicato dabs. If Coates is the painter, the Kreutzer Quartet is the widely varied palette of colors and the big, austere canvas. The sheer variety of nuance and timbre the players bring to these scores will be hard to equal, let alone surpass. Kyle Gann's exemplary notes are analytical without being academic.
--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com
Reviewing original release of Quartets 1, 5 & 6
I get the feeling that Gloria Coates does not spend a lot of time worrying about whether or not other people enjoy her music. That is a compliment, not a complaint. Whether or not you like what she does, she does it with a very personal style and with great conviction. The present CD, the fifth of Coates’s music to be released under Naxos’s American Classics imprint, ranks very low on the list of CDs one would play as light background music during a convivial dinner with friends. Coates’s music, this CD included, forces one to consider why we listen to music at all, and to examine what we mean by “entertainment.” To my thinking, entertainment, in the usual sense of the word, is overrated. We need to devote equal time and effort to moving ourselves into new emotional and intellectual territories, even at the risk of causing ourselves a little pain.
Coates is an American who now lives in Germany. In an interview, she describes the German culture as “very serious and formal,” and comments, “One is left alone much of the time unless he plans ahead.” Is there anyone in the United States who is writing music quite like Coates’s? Not that I am aware of. Her music says difficult things—things Americans seem unwilling to say at this point.
This is the world premiere recording of her recent (2007) String Quartet No. 9. The work is in two movements, both of them slow, and both of them making an almost obsessively detailed exploration of texture and sound. The first is a canon and nearly a palindrome, although the materials thus treated are not only melodic but also textural. The long, siren-like glissando, a trademark of Coates’s music from the start of her career, appears six minutes in and produces an unsettling effect. The listener also is thrown off kilter by pitch, because the first violin and the viola are tuned down one quarter-tone. Glissandos occur in the second movement, albeit within a narrower range; imagine listening to the slow movement of a late Beethoven quartet on a turntable whose motor is giving out and from an LP that has been pressed off-center. As Kyle Gann writes in his booklet notes, “The atmosphere is unworldly, creepily dissonant and yet serene, a kind of music of the spheres.”
The Sonata for Violin Solo (2000) allows aspects of Coates’s compositional style to stand out in stark relief. The movement titles—Prelude, Fantasia, Berceuse, and Hornpipe—suggest Handel or Bach, or at any rate more “traditional” composers, but once again, Coates goes her own fascinating way.
One might think that Emily Dickinson would elicit a brighter response from any composer. All of the Lyric Suite’s (1996) seven movements are headed by a fragment from Dickinson’s poetry. The Belle of Amherst was a mystic and a visionary, though, and Coates’s music underscores the notion that much of Dickinson’s work was actually quite strange, considering the time and place in which she lived. Once again, unusual playing techniques, including strings tuned a quarter-tone flat, create a sound world that is eerily beautiful and queasy.
For Coates newbies, any of the discs featuring her orchestral works might be a slightly easier introduction. Nevertheless, I feel that the present CD is an honest representation of who she is and what she does.
The Kreutzer Quartet has participated in earlier Coates recordings, and the quartet’s first violinist, Peter Sheppard Skærved, has championed Coates for her music for two decades. (Neil Heyde is the quartet’s cellist.) It is hard to know what to say about the performances, except that there would be little point in performing and recording this music if one didn’t believe in it. Separately and together, the quartet’s members, plus pianist Chadwick, are committed to the task, and carry it out with deep concentration.
As usual, the cover art is a painting by Gloria Coates, whose visual art looks much like her music sounds. As the saying goes, when God gave out talent, she stood in line twice.
FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle
Reviewing Quartet no 9, Violin Sonata, Lyric Suite
Verdi: Aida / Levine, Millo, Domingo, Morris, Ramey, Zajick
The conflicting emotions of "Ritorna vincitor" are faithfully delineated, the reflective, elegiac mood of "0 patria mia" perfectly caught, with the final awkward passage managed par excellence. Still better is the instinctively right shading in "La, tra, foreste vergine" in the Act 3 duet with Radames and the poised singing of "0 terra addio" in the finale (although she here fails one dolcissimo test). In these examples the voice is all of a piece and the legato seamless. All this confirms the excellent impression Mil lo made on me when the opera was televized from the Metropolitan a couple of years back, a performance that delighted not a few seasoned buffs. After hearing the whole interpretation, I took down from the shelves some famous prima donne on disc: Millo was shown to be more youthful than Milanov on the Perlea/RCA (but it's that great diva at her best that Millo most potently recalls), more vocally appealing than Tebaldi for Karajan (Decca), more reliable in voice than Callas for Serafin/EMI (though not so unique in accents), more involved and as technically skilled than Price (in her first version on Decca under Solti), fuller in tone than Caballe (Muti/EMI). I wouldn't claim that in every respect Millo is superior to these formidable sopranos or to Giannini on the old HMV set now on Rodolphe/Harmonia Mundi and Pearl, simply that she is at least their peer on this evidence.
Millo is the most urgent reason for acquiring this set, but she is worthily supported by Domingo, offering his fourth and, I would judge, best Radames to date. Try "Celeste Aida", or even better the start of the final scene, to learn how much more refined the great tenor's reading has become. In the latter passage, he sings in a mezza voce he has never attempted in the past; indeed, throughout, the approach is more thoughtful. In forte the voice may be very marginally more stretched than, say, in Muti's 1974 set, still a very strong contender, but the difference is slight. When he is finally gone from the scene, we shall treasure his sterling performances, even if we shall still think in this instance that Pertile (Sabajno), Corelli (Mehta/EMI) and Vickers (Sol ti) are the ones with true Radames voices. By the way, at the end of his aria Levine and Domingo opt for the Toscanini solution—forte high B flat followed by a piano B flat an octave lower.
So much more at home in Verdi than he is in Mozart and Wagner, James Levine conducts a performance that captures the cut and thrust of the public scenes in the first part of the opera and the private anxieties and confrontations of the second. Learning a great deal from Toscanini's reading (RCA), he reveals details of orchestration often overlooked by other conductors though certainly not by Muti. His matching of tempos and general pacing (though some speeds, like that for the final scene, are on the slow side) seem to me well conceived and attentive to the histrionic needs of the well-tried piece. He is supported by the Met orchestra, once more in splendid form. The chorus is, for better and worse, not Italianate, that is to say it is more precise, less wobbly than the choruses on some other versions, but also wanting a shade in pungency.
I shall not be dispensing with my Callas/Serafin set or my Caballe/Muti or the readings headed by Giannini (Sabajno) and Milanov (Perlea), all of which are well-tried, treasurable experiences. But the new contender, which has many similarities with the grandly sung Solti (down to the feeling that one is sitting rather near the brass), deserves to be heard in their company, most of all for its very special Aida.
-- Gramophone [5/1991]
Vaughan Williams: The Sons Of Light; Holst, Parry
This was the first recording of "The Sons of Light". When I reviewed the second recording, by David Lloyd-Jones on Naxos, I found the Lyrita preferable, with more presence to the recording, more vital conducting and better choral diction. At that time there still seemed to be no prospect of the many Lyrita treasures ever seeing the light of day again. Now things are changing and this is the recording to get.
I referred in my review to the "coursing energy and phenomenal range of colour" of the work. It is, in its way, one of Vaughan Williams’s most impressive. You would certainly never imagine it was written to be sung by children – 1,150 of them at the first performance in 1951, with the accompaniment of the LPO under Boult. What worries me is that, every time I come to it, I find I don’t remember it. It’s not just that the themes don’t stay in my mind. As the work plays I don’t get any sense of recognition – "Ah, I remember that bit now". I hear it as a work I’ve never heard before. This is not a problem I have with Vaughan Williams generally.
Though I also had the LP containing "The Mystic Trumpeter" I never really listened to it often enough to say whether it sticks in my mind or not. I should think it unlikely. I find the same problem here as with Vaughan Williams’s "Willow-Wood", which was also on the Naxos/Lloyd-Jones disc. The composer has very skilfully set the poem line by line, with meaningful upward swoops for important words, pregnant key-changes and so on. He’s produced a nice wall-paper backing to a poem that is far more exciting when it’s simply read. But composition is about creation. It is a constructive process. If you start with an exhilarating poem and finish with a piece of music with about as much tension as a wet lettuce, is this to be defined as composition or decomposition? A work for Holst completists only. The performance is good enough, though Armstrong’s voice sometimes billows when it should soar. Holst seems to have a whopping Wagnerian soprano voice in mind and Armstrong, for all her virtues, was not exactly that. There is also a touch of opaqueness to some of her notes on the CD, though not on the LP.
The Parry is a far more memorable work. The composer had the good sense to choose a poem which provides a refrain. He does not repeat the same music every time but provides a new variation of it. The result is a sort of variation rondo form, combining continuous development with structural unity. Parry is at his finest and most eloquent throughout, from the lilting opening to the dancing energy of the later stanzas. There is a satisfying build-up which dies away to a touching close. There is also a lovely solo stanza, beautifully sung by Teresa Cahill. John Quinn noted in his review that her word underlay at the end of this stanza was at variance with the new edition he was using and wondered if the edition had been revised. I doubt it; I have a copy of the original edition and the textual underlay is different from what is sung there, too. Quite simply, the music as written calls unrealistically for a third lung, so I imagine Cahill herself changed the underlay in order to take a breath in the middle. Composers who aren’t singers miscalculate in this way more often than you’d expect – even Verdi did sometimes. Read John’s review, by the way; he has had the good fortune to sing in a rare performance of the work and his enthusiasm comes from within. But did the soprano at that performance cope with that long phrase in a single breath?
If Parry is at his best, so is Willcocks. It’s a thrilling performance from a great choral conductor. This is the only recording of the piece so far, but now it’s available again we hardly need another. Just for the record, I have always thought Cahill a little insecure in her opening phrase, but thereafter she is splendid. She has a lovely disc of R. Strauss and Rachmaninov to her credit and, unlike Sheila Armstrong in "The Mystic Trumpeter", her voice doesn’t billow, it soars.
Maybe in 1912 the Parry seemed old-fashioned. In 2007 it just seems timeless.
Outstanding recordings, as always with Lyrita, and notes by Ursula Vaughan Williams, Bernard Benoliel and Imogen Holst.
-- Christopher Howell, MusicWeb International
Toscanini Collection - Verdi: Falstaff / Valdengo, Stich-Randall
The Falstaff remains, as it always has been, one of the half a dozen greatest opera sets ever recorded. The Requiem is certainly among the three or four most satisfying accounts of that work ever put on disc. As each has here been remastered on CD to give clearer, more immediate sound than I have ever heard before from the originals on LP, joy at the reissue is doubled. With the Aida some caveats have to be entered. In spite of the conductor's vital contribution, this set suffers both from an indifferent cast and a less successful recording and, in this case, the transfer to digital sound seems to have added an unwanted edge to voices and instruments. Even so, here is further evidence of Toscanini's complete understanding of a composer with whom he had worked and whom he understood better than any of his successors.
Toscanini's Falstaff is, and will probably remain, unsurpassed. It is a miracle in every respect. How he loved Verdi and how he strained every sinew to fulfil this amazing score's variety in line, feeling and colour. Whether it is the clarity and discipline of the ensembles, the extraordinary care taken over orchestral detail (most arresting in the whole of the final act's first scene) or the alert control of dynamics, Toscanini is supreme, yet nothing is done for effect's sake; everything seems natural, inevitable, unforced, as though the score was being created anew before us with chamber music finesse – and the atmosphere of a live performance, caught at a 1950 broadcast, adds to the feeling of immediacy. Nobody dares, or seems to want to interrupt the magic being laid before them. Toscanini in his old age is matching the subtlety and vitality of the composer's own Indian summer – or one might say spring, so delicate and effervescent does the scoring sound.
The other overriding impression of Toscanini's reading is the perfect relationship of tempos, not always precisely Verdi's, and the way he accommodates his singers, quite putting to flight any idea of him as a strict taskmaster. If, vocally, the main glory is the wonderful sense of ensemble gained through hours of hard rehearsals (now to be heard on non-commercial discs), individual contributions are almost all rewarding. Indeed, Valdengo's Falstaff, under Toscanini's tutelage, has not been surpassed on disc even by Gobbi. Flexibility, charm, exactness, refinement inform his beautifully and wisely sung portrayal (extraordinary for a singer in his mid thirties) – listen to the whole of the monologue at the start of Act 3 and you'll hear what a great singer working with a great conductor can make of a great role – mainly by observing what the composer has written. He is no less pointed and subtle in his encounter with Frank Guarrera's imposing Ford, and Guarrera himself, again with Toscanini's help, reminds us how much the writing in the Jealousy aria relates to Otello's music. Another great joy of the set is the women's ensemble, their contribution the very epitome of smiling chatter. The Alice, Meg and Nannetta (Stich-Randall – none better) all sound, as they were, fresh and youthful, and Cloe Elmo's Quickly is as rich and ripe of voice and diction as any on disc, though a trifle coarse at times. The Fenton is sweet and Italianate in tone, but not as stylish as others. The smaller roles are all very much part of the team. ...I have no space to dwell further on the sheer pleasures to be found in these sets. They are a repository of the very best in Verdi conducting, worthy of study by aspiring (or established) conductors. More important than that, they should be a source of revelation to a new generation of collectors who may have a dim and/or wrongheaded view of what Toscanini was about.
-- Gramophone [5/1990]
Kastalsky: Requiem for Fallen Brothers / Slatkin, Orchestra of St. Luke's
A 2020 GRAMMY nominee for Best Choral Performance!
Alexander Kastalsky was a student of Tchaikovsky and a mentor to Rachmaninov, becoming director of the Moscow Synodal School until the Bolshevik regime banned all sacred music, including the extraordinary Requiem for Fallen Brothers which consequently lay forgotten for over a century. The Requiem is a rich and varied mosaic that honors those who perished in the First World War, poignantly combining Orthodox and Gregorian chant with hymns from the allied nations, even including Rock of Ages. This unprecedented and peerless monument to those who made the ultimate sacrifice was acclaimed on its 1917 premiere as a ‘uniquely Russian requiem that… gave musical voice to the tears of many nations.’ This is a world premiere recording.
-----
REVIEW:
One of Russia’s foremost composers of Orthodox church music, Alexander Kastalsky (1856-1926) is remembered for assisting Rachmaninov with his All-Night Vigil. During World War I, Kastalsky composed his Requiem for Fallen Brothers in honour of Russia and her allies: using a full orchestra, and mingling texts and melodies from the Orthodox, Anglican and Catholic Churches, Kastalsky also included textless tributes to the Indian and Japanese forces. Most of the music is clearly steeped in the Orthodox tradition, infused with memories of Mozart’s Requiem, but includes disquieting elements such as the Musorgsky-like funeral bell chord which makes ominous reappearances, like the bell in Britten’s War Requiem. After its 1917 premiere, Kastalsky added a further three movements including one honouring Russia’s new ally, America. The October Revolution precluded their performance, and the work was not heard again until 1977 when Yevgeny Svetlanov conducted the earlier 1917 version, its liturgical texts inevitably replaced with Soviet-style sentiments: this was recorded, but is currently only available as part of an expensive 11-disc Melodiya set.
Leonard Slatkin and his first-rate team of musicians now present the first complete recording. The ‘new’ post-1917 movements include a ‘Beati mortui’ sparkling with sleigh bells and piano figuration; a sombre bass solo ‘Kakaya sladost’, which for a moment enters a hellish region with shadowed smears and slitherings from the orchestra; and the American hymn ‘Rock of Ages’ bizarrely yet touchingly combined with Chopin’s Funeral March. Slatkin, who admits a deep belief in this work, draws a touching performance.
- Daniel Jaffé, Choral & Song
REVIEW:
Alexander Dmitrievich Kastalsky was born in Moscow on 16 November 1856 and died there on 17 December 1926. A student of Taneyev and Tchaikovsky at the Moscow Conservatory, his works stood to one side from the secular musical world. Rachmaninov saw Kastalsky as his teacher and was influenced by the older man whose presence can be sensed in the Vespers and in the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom—also recorded by Charles Bruffy and his Kansas choir. Kastalsky became a leading light in a nineteenth century renaissance of the liturgy of the Russian Orthodox Church. With Smolensky and Grechaninov, Kastalsky was part of fresh passion for Russian devotional music. Tragically for Kastalsky, this was to collide with the Bolshevik ban on sacred music. The extraordinary imaginative strengths of the choral-orchestral Requiem for Fallen Brothers were disregarded. Even so it is reported that the Kastalsky Requiem travelled far and wide. It was, for example, performed in Birmingham by that city’s Festival Choir on 22 November 1917 conducted by Henry Wood, a fervent Russophile.
The towering Requiem lay in oblivion for more than a century despite its fresh and tragic inspiration: it recalled those who perished in the First World War. The score is affluent in ideas, both vocal and orchestral. Across seventeen segments (here separately accessible) the work accommodates a range of well-recognised spiritual references. Without falling into the trap of a variegated collage it finds a place for Orthodox and Gregorian chant and mixes in material from the allied nations. In tr. 14 Kastalsky weaves Chopin’s ‘funeral march’ and the hymn ‘Rock of Ages’ with the same mastery we find in Bridge’s Sir Roger de Coverley and Holst’s Fantasia on The Dargason. The more one experiences this major work, whether through this fine recording under Leonard Slatkin or in the hands of Evgeny Svetlanov, the more one places it alongside other known Great War humanist monuments like Delius’s Requiem and John Foulds’ World Requiem. To this group, can be added John Ireland’s These Things Shall Be and perhaps also a work quite unknown, Julius Harrison’s Great War tribute Requiem of Archangels. Kastalsky’s commitment towards church music spread to a work kindred to the Requiem but this time for unaccompanied choir. It was a short version; only 40 minutes as against the 64 minutes of the present Requiem. This a cappella work came under the title Memory Eternal to the Fallen Heroes.
The Requiem strides forward with slight pauses between sections. In terms of sweep and incident it coheres well. Proceedings begin with seraphic choir and tolling bells, all suggestive of Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov. The Kyrie (2) continues the seraphic treatment but is underpinned with tenderly stabbing strings. The whole rises to a searching intensity that recalls Rachmaninov’s The Bells. As this section closes Kastalsky refers obliquely back to the clangour of the first movement. The dark griping of the brass in the Rex tremendae (4) paves the way for a soprano solo in Ingemisco (4) and for Beethovenian protest and struggle in the Confutatis. Here Kastalsky deploys words from Pushkin’s poem John of Damascus; a text that also drew Taneyev. The Lacrymosa (6) has the two soloists’ voices mingling amid a choral haze. Mixed in we hear tendrils of the Dies Irae. In Domine Jesu (7) the scent of incense is strong against the treble of silvery bells. Beati mortui makes use of the sound of sleigh bells and, not for the first time, fleetingly suggests The Bells—the latter a work dating from four years before Kastalsky started work on the Requiem. The Hostias (9) blends the harp with the rich tone of the choir in a heaven-invoking carol. In the first of two Interludia (10), Japanese music is limned in to represent participation of the Japanese army in the conflict. Trumpet fanfares impel and crown the grand statement that is the Sanctus (11). The coaxing and soothing ways of the Agnus Dei (12) usher in What Sweetness in This World (13) with its commanding piano part and bass-baritone darkness. Its fruity solo trumpet makes you think of Holst’s Dirge for Two Veterans. The Dies Irae returns in mists for the Kyrie eleison (15)—an exercise in slow-stepping serenity. There’s unhurried atmospheric ululation in the second Interludium: Hymn to Indra, calling to mind, if only in choice of subject, Holst’s Sanskrit works. The Requiem ends with the bells: part hugely imposing and celebratory and part seeming to reach out towards apotheosis from the bleak fog of chaos. The superb echoing resonance of the church acoustic is very present as the finale rings out.
This fully-fleshed out Requiem has a tremendously dignified tread, noble grief and imperious ways. Naxos have done well by Kastalsky. This treatment extends to a twenty-page booklet with all the sung text. The layout has the Italian, Latin, Greek and Russian words with English translation in parallel throughout.
– MusicWeb International (Rob Barnett)
Den har tiden
Wagner: Das Rheingold / Janowski, Konieczny, Conrad, Elsner, Vermillion
So to The Ring! Marek Janowski’s epic Wagner cycle enters the final strait as it begins the great tetralogy that crowned Wagner’s life’s work. Few conductors get to record The Ring twice, but Janowski is privileged to have done so. His first recording was from Dresden in the early 1980s, the third out of only five studio Rings to be recorded. It was blessed by the phenomenal playing of the Staatskapelle Dresden and first rate digital sound captured in the city’s Lukaskirche. However, despite some excellent individual turns, the set was often hobbled by the choice of solo singers, most notably Theo Adam’s desiccated Wotan and the rather overwhelmed Brünnhilde of Jeannine Altmeyer. It is interesting that, almost for the first time in Janowski’s Berlin Wagner cycle, we can now make some informed comparisons. I’m pleased to say that this Rheingold shines up very impressively.
I haven’t always praised Janowski’s approach to Wagner’s dramas - I found his take on Tristan maddening - but this Rheingold finds him at his best. He uses his preference for fast speeds to his advantage to make the drama buzz along from one exciting episode to another, pacing the work by tapping right into the sense of quickfire elation. At times it feels as energetic as a soap opera - a compliment - and the opera’s series of conversations has seldom sounded so energised. The Prelude, for example, has a sense of expectation that can hardly wait to get started, but in spite of the fast speed I never found it rushed. The transitions between scenes seem natural and well judged, and the showpieces are never less than excellent. The descent into Nibelheim is thrilling, threatening to overwhelm the listener at the entrance of the anvils, and you can sense the fragility of the rainbow bridge in a sound that is commanding yet ephemeral. Janowski controls the sound of the orchestra impressively, too: I particularly loved the sound made by the strings during Erda’s scene, menacing with a subtle sense of decay, casting a dusky veil over her warnings.
The orchestra and the clarity of its recording have been two of the principal assets of this series, and so it proves here. They take every opportunity to reveal Wagner’s score in all its astounding, delectable colour, as if holding it up to the light for fresh examination. There are lots of highlights - the trumpet at the first appearance of the gold, the clearly delineated semiquavers on the violins as the water ripples around the rejoicing Rhinemaidens, the delicate flecks of harp as we arrive in Valhalla, the rhythmic, almost comical, swagger of the giants’ theme, the ominous brass depth of the dragon, the stunning trombones of the curse - but we can summarise it by saying that the orchestra do a magnificent job of bringing the colours of Wagner’s score to the surface. Likewise, the Pentatone engineers have captured the whole performance brilliantly, both in stereo and surround.
So what of the singing? Well, I admit this doesn’t get off to a good start, probably due to the limitations of the live concert setting. The opening is not auspicious, with a rather hollery group of Rhinemaidens and an Alberich that, initially at least, struggles with accurate pitching. However, things settle down once everyone has warmed up. The Rhinemaidens’ invocation to the gold is very effective, and Schmeckenbecher manages a thrilling renunciation of love. What is more, by this time a momentum seems to have taken over the scene, so that Alberich’s curse on love launches us headlong into the swirling eddies of the transformation music that transport us, via some daring timing from Janowski, up to the cloudy heights of Valhalla, clearly and atmospherically enunciated from the brass. Elsewhere Schmeckenbecher is fantastic in the Nibelheim scene. His fantasies of world domination are played as the furious rantings of a deranged mind and it’s very effective to listen to. However, he then sounds remarkably pitiable when he pleads for Wotan not to take the Ring from him and he sings a masterclass curse that begins as a resentful whimper but grows into a powerful denunciation.
Tomasz Konieczny is a slightly gritty Wotan. He doesn’t have the grandeur or poetic beauty of, say, Hans Hotter or, more recently, René Pape, but he is undoubtedly dramatic. This feels like a lived-in performance, not a “mere” concert. He is brilliant at depicting the god’s conflicted sense of inner dilemma. Even when he is at his most contented, surveying his new home in the final scene, you can sense the unease that plagues the god, and the sense of entrapment that encircles him in the second and fourth scenes is well worth hearing. Christian Elsner makes a slightly nasal Loge, but I found him very effective. The vocal colour reinforces his role as the outsider among the gods and helps to enrich his character as the slightly disreputable fixer among the immortals. He is delightfully derisive during the passages after Freia’s departure when the gods begin to age and his interaction with Alberich in the Nibelheim scene is a case-study of wheeling and dealing. You can even sense a touch of pity for the despairing Alberich in the fourth scene. Elsewhere among the men, Andreas Conrad makes a surprisingly humane, sympathetic Mime, and the same is true for Günther Groissböck’s Fasolt. Timo Riihonen has enough darkness in his voice to mark out Fafner as the nastier of the two brothers.
The women are also very strong, led by a marvellously imperious Fricka from Iris Vermillion. Ricarda Merbeth does a good job with what limited material she has as Freia, but Maria Radner’s Erda is extremely impressive. She actually manages to sound quite youthful, even affectionate, avoiding any of the elderly warble that sometimes afflicts singers of this role. Her warning of the “dark day” that dawns for the gods is made all the more impressive by the spellbinding playing of the orchestral strings. The trio of Rhinemaidens grow into the first scene and sound good from offstage towards the end.
So the final chunk of Janowski’s Wagner cycle has got off to a good start. I would certainly choose to listen to this Rheingold over his Dresden one, mainly because of the conductor’s more impressive sense of drama and excitement. Now let’s see how the rest of this Ring is going to unfold.
-- Simon Thompson , MusicWeb International
Rossini: Ricciardo e Zoraide / Perez-Sierra, Virtuosi Brunesis
It takes place during the Crusades in Dongola in ancient Nubia. The Nubian king Agorante is infatuated with Princess Zoraide, daughter of Ircano, whom Agorante has defeated. Zoraide was captured and the Christian knight Ricciardo, Zoraide’s lover, accompanies an emissary to have her released. Agorante’s wife, Zomira, feels her position as Queen is threatened and arranges that Ricciardo and Zoraide are captured and plots to have them executed. In the end an army of Christians rescues the two lovers.
The story is more complicated than the above summary says, but it is something of a thriller and it should be able to engage an audience – as it obviously did at Bad Wildbad in July 2013, even though it was only a concert performance. This on the other hand means that extraneous noises are reduced to a minimum – only applause after some numbers and at the end of acts.
The sinfonia is brass-laden and gloomy and we understand that this is going to be a sad story. After 3-4 minutes it becomes lighter in tone, march-like for a while, but there is little joy. Some woodwind for a while lighten things up further but a long horn solo spreads more gloom – though the melody is beautiful. In the end the Rossini we know steps forward, faintly smiling, but no crescendo within eyesight, just a jolly piccolo flute … and then: Curtain! There is a brassy intro to the opening chorus with troops and Nubian people – and here some joy creeps in: their leader Agorante has just returned home victorious.
Agorante addresses the people and informs that he has expelled Ircano and his followers because Ircano has denied him the hand of his daughter who, we already know from the summary, happens to be in love with Ricciardo. Thus we are at once involved in the love triangle that is the core of the story.
Agorante then sings a cavatina with high-lying tessitura and virtuoso passages, well-sung by Randall Bills who ends in the bass register. The cabaletta that follows, requires him to climb up in the stratosphere. A man of power he is properly hailed by his soldiers … and the audience.
Enter Zoraide, who is an important character – at the premiere she was sung by Isabella Colbran and we can expect some great things, but she is not quite in focus yet. After some dialogue with her confidante Elmira, the Queen, Zomira arrives. She offers to help Zoraide deal with Agorante’s unwelcome wooing – but her prime aim is to render Zoraide harmless since she believes Zoraide wants to force her off the throne. Zoraide doesn’t trust the Queen and the two women sing a dramatic duet, where the Queen is formidable in her anger (CD 1 tr. 8-10). When Agorante pops up this gives Rossini an opportunity to write a lively and dramatic terzetto, Cruda sorte! (CD 1 tr. 12-13), with a bridal chorus singing a wedding song in the background (the King is very sure he will bring home his new bride!), and here Rossini can’t avoid building up one of his famous crescendos.
There is a change of scenes, and after a proud soldiers’ chorus we finally encounter Ricciardo and his friend Ernesto. They have just arrived on a ship, Ernesto is there to plead to Agorante that he releases Zoraide and Ricciardo, disguised as an African, is acting as his guide. He sings a cavatina where he pours out his longing after Zoraide. Maxim Mironov, certainly one of today’s best bel canto tenors, has a sappy voice, elegant vocalism and marvellous phrasing (CD 1 tr. 16). In the cabaletta, which is filled with stunning coloratura, Ernesto also joins in. After a new change of scenes we meet the jealous Zomira and her confidante Elmira, who is ordered to keep an eye on Zoraide’s every move. In the final scene the tension builds up and Agorante’s decision to start another war creates turmoil, accompanied by martial rumble from the timpani.
We needn’t go into every complication during the second act, but there are some good musical numbers worth pointing out. The first is the duet between Agorante and Ricciardo, the latter still in disguise. Their voices are so different in character that there is no problem to tell them apart. They sing well together, and in the following florid cabaletta Agorante (Bills) excels in brilliant top notes, whereas Ricciardo (Mironov) displays his elegant bel canto (CD 2 tr. 6-7).
They separate and now Ricciardo and Zoraide meet alone for the first time – but they are secretly observed by Elmira! Their duet (CD 3 tr. 2-3) is one of the highlights of the score. The final note, taken fortissimo, causes furore in the audience. I would have preferred it much more lyrical. Before Ricciardo has been able to explain his plan to run away with his beloved, Agorante suddenly appears, and when Ircano, Zoraida’s father also unexpectedly appears, this gives room for a quartet, where Nahuel Di Pierro powerful black bass in the role of Ircano gives dramatic depth to the music.
In the next scene the vengeful Zomira has a big scene (CD 3 tr. 7-8). Musically it is excellent and Silvia Beltrami’s powerful and expressive voice – more contralto than mezzo-soprano – is certainly in phase with the character. A pity that her vibrato sometimes is a bit wider than one could wish, but it is a dramatic highpoint.
The final scene begins with plaintive sounds in the orchestra. Ricciardo and Zoraide are now certain they will be executed, and Zoraide, expresses her desperation in her grand scena. Alessandra Marianelli musters some really intensive singing here. But their rescue is imminent. Like a deus ex machina Ernesto arrives with his troops and disperses Agorante’s soldiers. He disarms Agorante, but Ricciardo prevents him from killing the King and gives his sword back to him. Moved by such chivalry Ircano grants Ricciardo the hand of Zoraide. Everybody, except Zomira, rejoices at this happy end!
Though not one of Rossini’s greatest operas, it still has a lot to offer. The singing on this issue is generally good and Maxim Mironov adds another great achievement to his CV as recording artist. The recorded sound is worthy of the occasion, and there is an interesting essay and a comprehensive synopsis. Rossinians shouldn’t miss this.
– MusicWeb International (Göran Forsling)
Murray Perahia Plays Franck & Liszt
The rest of the 60 minutes go to Liszt, and here my only slight (but only very slight) disappointment came in the Mephisto Waltz, recorded in UCLA's Royce Hall in Los Angeles. Needless to say it is played with all Perahia's customary command, finesse and what I can only describe as aristocratic musical discernment. Yet I still felt that just that last touch of devilry was missing on the dance-floor (even more piquant accentuation might perhaps have helped), and likewise the ultimate in lingering sensuous seduction in Liszt's "lascivious, caressing dreams of love". For the rest I have nothing but praise—starting with the cutting intensity Perahia brings to the melodic line in Petrarch's tale of unrequited love ("Sonetto 104"). By comparison, Louis Lortie on Chandos (in a less forward and less sharp-cut sounding recent Maltings recording) seems to shrink from this sonnet's acutest disquiet and pain—such as in the passage marked agitato, and then crescendo and rinforzando from about 3'46"-4'17" in track 5 of Perahia's disc. Perahia's liquidity in "Au bard d'une source" and shimmering whispers in the first Concert Study, "Waldesrauschen" (as spacious as Arrau's—now part of the Philips Arrau Edition) are wholly ravishing as sound per se, while "Gnomenreigen" in its turn brings reminders of that delicately scintillating brilliance that always gave him a place apart when gambol ling with Mendelssohn in concerto finales. His range of keyboard colour in the concluding Rhapsodic espagnole (the second and finer of Liszt's pair) is as ear-catching as are his rhythmic spring, his teasing caprice and his exuberant climaxes.
Full marks to his engineers for so faithfully capturing so wide a dynamic range—and, incidentally, to Sony for including so generously spacious a booklet (with full quotations from Lenau, Petrarch and Schiller).
-- Joan Chissell, Gramophone [10/1991]
Verdi: Luisa Miller / Rebeka, Scheurle, Repušić, Munich Radio Orchestra
Ivan Repušić made his debut as Chief Conductor of the Münchner Rundfunkorchester on September 24, 2017 at the city’s Prinzregententheater with a concert performance of Giuseppe Verdi's opera "Luisa Miller". The Latvian soprano Marina Rebeka – the orchestra’s Artist in Residence during the 2017/18 season – was successfully engaged for the title role of the tragic opera, based on Friedrich Schiller's "Kabale und Liebe". This highlight of the Munich music scene has now been released by BR-KLASSIK. Verdi's masterpiece was written during the year 1849 in Paris and Busseto, completed in Naples, and first performed there on December 8, 1849 at the city's Teatro San Carlo. Schiller's tragedy tells the story of the calamitous love of the nobleman Ferdinand for the musician's daughter Luisa Miller, who falls victim to a terrible court intrigue that ultimately drives both to their deaths. To turn the play into an opera Verdi worked intensively with his librettist Salvadore Cammarano; both men were fascinated by Schiller's tableau-like dramaturgy, which matched their own ideas of an "epic drama". The tragedy was given three acts, entitled "Amore" (Love), "Intrigo" (Intrigue) and "Veleno" (Poison). After its successful premiere, the work soon established itself and has remained a fixed part of the international opera repertoire to this day. In this concert performance at Munich’s Prinzregententheater, Marina Rebeka made her role debut as Luisa Miller. Marina Rebeka sings the challenging role with technical perfection, giving it a sparkling vocal splendor.
REVIEW:
This recording can’t quite oust my personal favorite recording, Fausto Cleva’s RCA set with Moffo and Bergonzi, but Marina Rebeka is a much more dramatic Luisa and the recording is worth hearing for her contribution alone—and there is so much more to admire. Inveterate Verdians should definitely lend their ears to this latest Luisa Miller, and those contemplating their first recording of this hidden away masterpiece could do much worse than starting here.
–MusicWeb International
Schubert: Schwanengesang / Rutherford, Asti
That is not the only point of textual interest in this Schwanengesang. In preparing the work baritone James Rutherford and pianist Eugene Asti had to decide what keys to put these (originally high voice) songs in, and decided to put every song down a minor third, preserving the key relations at least. They even claim this might be the first time on disc this has been done (but one would need to listen to an awful lot of recordings to be quite sure). Of course this deepens and darkens the songs, which suits some more than others, the heavier songs like Der Atlas and Die Stadt tending to sound very imposing in these keys. And although BIS describe Rutherford as a baritone, he sounds more of a bass-baritone here. But then he has sung Hans Sachs at Bayreuth and Vienna, and the cast list in my score of Die Meistersinger says simply “Hans Sachs – Bass”.
The opening song Liebesbotschaft lacks a certain tripping lightness, but the next one Kreigers Ahnung suits Rutherford’s very fine voice perfectly, and one notices his impeccable German diction from the start. The third song, Frühlingssehnsucht shows that his large voice can deploy a lighter manner, and he really relishes the text. Ständchen, is the best known of all these songs and benefits here from a restrained but still ardent treatment. Following Aufenthalt with Herbst feels slightly like viewing a sketch after the finished painting, but both songs are so well done it seems churlish to complain. With the long (six minutes), slow and anguished In der Ferne the low voice makes its mark, as does the pianist in Abschied, with just the right tempo - a canter, not a gallop, that allows the singer to articulate the text. The performance of the Heine songs in the second part are if anything even more successful than the Rellstab ones, reaching a powerful climax with the rising hysteria of Der Dopplegänger. A properly charming account of the last song Schubert ever wrote, Die Taubenpost, closes a very satisfying version of Schwanengesang.
The four extra songs filling the disc are all favourites, and all are well sung and played. The SACD sound is excellent, and the useful booklet notes are by the distinguished American Schubert scholar Susan Youens, no less. But of course Schwanengesang is the main thing, and there are many fine accounts to choose from. If you want Herbst embedded in the cycle, and in a really fine performance, then it is included by Goerne in both of his splendid versions (Decca and Harmonia Mundi), and by Schreier (Decca), but Fischer-Dieskau (DG), Bostridge (Warner), and Gerhaher (Arte Nova) omit it. Of the few women to record the cycle, Fassbaender (DG) has it in but Stutzman (Erato) does not. The best solution might be that of Holzmair (Decca) and Pregardien (Challenge) who add it to the CD as an extra, but not within the cycle, which also happens on the last volume (No.37) of the Hyperion/Graham Johnson version. That has the two parts of the cycle shared between two tenors, John Mark Ainsley and Anthony Rolfe Johnson. There are now so many good recordings of this cycle – all of those mentioned above are worth hearing, and several are worth owning. Goerne on Decca (live, with Brendel) is still my choice of the lower voice options, and Bostridge among the tenors. Fassbaender’s disc is a quite exceptional performance. But the long list of those worth really hearing now includes this fine version too.
– MusicWeb International (Roy Westbrook)
Henze: El Cimarrón / El Cimarrón Ensemble
HENZE El Cimarrón • Angelo de Leonardis (bar); Gundl Aggermann (fl); Christina Schorn (gtr); Ivan Mancinelli (perc) • WERGO 6710 (2 CDs: 84:22 Text and Translation)
"I made my case for El Cimarrón in Fanfare 31:2; I think it is a potent work, perhaps Henze’s masterpiece, but I didn’t like that Stradivarius recording by Nicholas Isherwood. That issue is too recent to merit quoting at length; if you don’t know the work, please refer to that review. The piece falls into a musical no-man’s-land between song and speech. Henze’s singing actors are given far more freedom than Schoenberg’s—there is little of Sprechstimme here, unless a performer so chooses—which is both the glory and the curse of El Cimarrón . Early recordings (there have been four that I know of) concentrated on the music; baritone William Pearson sang in the 1971 DG recording led by Henze himself, which remains my favorite. One might say that those performers (at the composer’s direction, of course) followed the score, trusting in the words and music to make the full dramatic impact. More recent productions, the Stradivarius and now this one, take advantage of the aleatoric elements of the score and lean toward a chewing-the-scenery style of acting—screaming, ranting, and raging—which puts me off. For one thing, it makes the protagonist less sympathetic; we are less likely to take his life experiences seriously, which is the main point of the work. Henze’s complete title (translated) is El Cimarrón, The Autobiography of the Runaway Slave Esteban Montejo; Recital for Four Musicians . Henze met Esteban Montejo; at age 108 “he radiated dignity.” There is little dignity here, whereas Pearson’s deep bass speaking voice and overall formality delivered dignity in spades. This wild acting style also tends to obscure some wonderful music, turning it into background accompaniment instead of full participant. This issue credits an artistic director/dramaturge (Michael Kerstan) rather than a conductor. Does the composer approve of this recent trend? He attended a rehearsal for the staged production that led to this studio recording, and was “very impressed by the energy, the artistic élan, and the human commitment they manifested.” I interpret that as damning with faint praise, as he has always raved about any performers who tackle his œuvre.
De Leonardis starts off very much as Isherwood did, using many voices from bass to falsetto, crooning and moaning, shouting and whispering; he calms down a bit as Esteban’s life progresses and is a fine singer when required, which Isherwood was not. More of the music comes to life this time; I like the slow tempos very much. The big surprise is that de Leonardis sings an English version by Christopher Keene; the booklet gives no hint as to why. Wergo is the recording division of Schott Music & Media, Henze’s publishers; one would expect it to use Hans Magnus Enzensberger’s original German libretto for this “official” documentation. Texts appear in both languages, on facing pages. De Leonardis makes every word clear, though he sings with an unidentifiable accent; at least it is not that of an upper class, educated white man. The English grows on me at repeated hearings; it’s nice not to have one’s nose buried in the libretto. The other three musicians are excellent, and an impactful digital recording is especially effective in reproducing Henze’s wide variety of exotic percussion."
FANFARE: James H. North
