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Bruckner: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor / Thielemann, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Sony Masterworks · Feb 2022CD$11.98 -
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Bruckner: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, WAB 102 (1872 Version) / Bolton, Mozarteumorchester Salzburg
Oehms Classics · Jan 2017CD$14.99 -
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Mahler: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor "Resurrection" / Nepotil, Essen Philharmonic
Oehms Classics · Oct 2022CD$19.99 -
Schumann: Symphonies No 2 & 4 / Zacharias, Orchestre De Chambre De Lausanne
MDG · May 2012SACD$24.99 -
E . T. A. Hoffmann: Missa; Miserere / Rupert Huber, Wdr Symphony Orchestra Cologne
CPO · Feb 2014CD$18.99 -
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- Mozart: Concerto for 2 Pianos and Orchestra No. 10 in E flat, K365
- Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor, K466
- Liszt: Piano Concerto No. 1 in E flat major, S124
- Mendelssohn: Piano Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Op. 25
- Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 in C minor, Op. 37
- Gershwin: Rhapsody in Blue
- Chambers, J C: All American
- Gould, M: Symphonette No. 4 'Latin-American'
- Reddick: Espanharlem
- Iturbi: Soliloquy
- Mozart: Sonata for 2 pianos in D major, K448
- Chabrier: Trois Valses Romantiques
- Iturbi: Spanish Dance
- Debussy: En blanc et noir
- Milhaud: Scaramouche, suite for two pianos, Op. 165b
- Nepomuceno: La siesta
- Infante: Guadalquivir
- Infante: Sevillana
- Debussy: Suite bergamasque: Clair de lune
- Liszt: Liebestraum, S541 No. 3 (Nocturne in A flat major)
- Debussy: Rêverie
- Beethoven: Für Elise (Bagatelle in A minor, WoO59)
- Schumann: Arabeske in C major, Op. 18
- Debussy: Deux arabesques, L. 66
- Falla: Dance of Terror (from El amor brujo)
- Rachmaninoff: Prelude Op. 3 No. 2 in C sharp minor
- Liszt: Les jeux d'eaux à la Villa d'Este, S. 163 No. 4)
- Falla: Ritual Fire Dance (from El amor brujo)
- Saint-Saëns: Allegro appassionato, Op. 70
- Albéniz: Malagueña (No. 3 from Espana, Op. 165)
- Chopin: Étude Op. 10 No. 12 in C minor ‘Revolutionary'
- Chopin: Polonaise No. 6 in A flat major, Op. 53 'Héroïque'
- Debussy: Estampe No. 3 - Jardins sous la pluie
- Schumann: Romance in F sharp major, Op. 28 No. 2
- Chopin: Prelude Op. 28 No. 9 in E major
- Chopin: Prelude Op. 28 No. 10 in C sharp minor
- Chopin: Prelude Op. 28 No. 15 in D flat major ‘Raindrop'
- Chopin: Nocturne No. 9 in B major, Op. 32 No. 1
- López-Chavarri: El viejo castillo moro
- Iturbi: Cancion de cuna
- Granados: Orientale (No. 2 from 12 Danzas españolas)
- Chopin: Mazurka No. 6 in A minor, Op. 7 No. 2
- Chopin: Mazurka No. 7 in F minor, Op. 7 No. 3
- Chopin: Mazurka No. 24 in C major, Op. 33 No. 3
- Chopin: Mazurka No. 27 in E minor, Op. 41 No. 2
- Chopin: Mazurka No. 25 in B minor, Op. 33 No. 4
- Chopin: Scherzo No. 2 in B flat minor, Op. 31
- Debussy: Children's Corner
- Ravel: Jeux d'eau
- Guastavino: Gato
- Mozart: Concerto for 2 Pianos and Orchestra No. 10 in E flat, K365
- Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor, K466
- Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 in C minor, Op. 37
- Gershwin: Rhapsody in Blue
- Ravel: Pavane pour une infante défunte
- Bach, J S: Passacaglia in C minor, BWV582
- Mozart: Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major, K331 'Alla Turca'
- Mozart: Piano Sonata No. 12 in F major, K332
- Chopin: Impromptu No. 4 in C sharp minor, Op. 66 'Fantaisie-Impromptu'
- Chopin: Waltz No. 6 in D flat major, Op. 64 No. 1 'Minute Waltz'
- Chopin: Waltz No. 7 in C sharp minor, Op. 64 No. 2
- Chopin: Mazurka No. 5 in B flat major, Op. 7 No. 1
- Albéniz: Sevilla (from Suite Española, Op. 47)
- Granados: Goyescas: Quejas ó La Maja y el Ruiseñor
- Scarlatti, D: Keyboard Sonata K27 in B minor
- Scarlatti, D: Keyboard Sonata K159 in C major 'La caccia'
- Paradies: Toccata in A
- Iturbi: Pequena danza espanola
- Beethoven: Andante Favori in F, WoO 57
- Albéniz: Cantos de España (5), Op. 232, No. 4
- Lazăr, F: Piano Sonata No. 2 in F Minor, Op. 15: III Tempo di Marcia funebre
- Saint-Saëns: Caprice arabe, Op. 96
- Debussy: L'isle joyeuse
- Infante: Danze andaluse (for 2 pianos): No. 2 Sentimento
- Debussy: Deux arabesques, L. 66
- Bach, J S: Fantasia in C minor, BWV906
- Granados: Danza española, Op. 37 No. 10 'Melancólica'
- Gould, M: Boogie Woogie Etude
- Gould, M: Blues
- Falla: Ritual Fire Dance (from El amor brujo)
- Falla: Dance of Terror (from El amor brujo)
- Debussy: Suite bergamasque: Clair de lune
- Liszt: Liebestraum, S541 No. 3 (Nocturne in A flat major)
- Chopin: Polonaise No. 6 in A flat major, Op. 53 'Héroïque'
- Schumann: Arabeske in C major, Op. 18
- Debussy: Rêverie
- Haydn: Theme and Variations in C major, Hob.XVII:5
- Paderewski: Minuet in G major, Op. 14 No. 1
- Beethoven: Für Elise (Bagatelle in A minor, WoO59)
- Schumann: Träumerei (from Kinderszenen, Op. 15)
- Ravel: Pavane pour une infante défunte
- Rachmaninoff: Humoresque in G major, Op. 10 No. 5
- Infante: Danses andalouses
- Tchaikovsky: The Seasons, Op. 37b: June (Barcarolle)
- Tchaikovsky: The Seasons, Op. 37b: November (Troika)
- Mussorgsky: Une Larme (A Tear)
- Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 3 in A minor, Op. 56 'Scottish'
- Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 'From the New World'
- Liszt: Hungarian Rhapsody, S244 No. 14 in F minor
- Falla: El sombrero de tres picos: Dance of the Neighbours (Seguidillas)
- Falla: El sombrero de tres picos: Danza del molinero (farruca)
- Falla: El sombrero de tres picos: Final Dance (Jota)
- Palau Boix: Marche burlesque
- Palau Boix: Hommage a Debussy
- Iturbi: Seguidillas
- Cuesta: Danza valenciana in A major
- Falla: Siete Canciones populares españolas
- Turina: Homenaje a Lope de Vega, Op. 90: I. Cuando tan hermosa os miro
- Granados: Danza española, Op. 37 No. 8 'Sardana'
- Granados: Danza española, Op. 37 No. 12 'Arabesca'
- Granados: Danza española, Op. 37 No. 9 'Romántica'
- Turina: Mujeres Españolas, Series 1, Op. 17: 2. La andaluza sentimental
- Turina: Mujeres Españolas, Series 1, Op. 17: 3. La morena coqueta
- Infante: Pochades andalouses: Canto flamenco
- Infante: ochades andalouses: Danse gitane
- Infante: Pochades andalouses: Aniers sur la route de Seville
- Infante: Pochades andalouses: Tientos
- Albéniz: Granada (from Suite española No. 1, Op. 47)
- Albéniz: Córdoba (No. 4 from Cantos de España, Op. 232)
- Cuesta: Danza valenciana in G major
- Lecuona: Malagueña
- Griffes: The White Peacock
- Infante: Guadalquivir
- Infante: Pochades andalouses: Ritmo
- Mozart: Sonata for 2 pianos in D major, K448: Allegro molto
- Granados: El Pelele
- Granados: Goyescas (piano suite)
- Ravel: Valses nobles et sentimentales
- Chabrier: Scherzo-valse (No. 10 from Pièces pittoresques)
- Chabrier: Idylle (No. 6 from Pièces pittoresques)
- Chabrier: Bourrée Fantasque
- Schubert: Valses Sentimentales, D 779 Op. 50 (Excerpts)
- Schubert: 12 Valses Nobles, D 969 Op. 77: selection
- López-Chavarri: Danza de las labradoras Valencianas
- Shostakovich: Prelude for piano, Op. 34 No. 2 in A minor
- Shostakovich: Prelude for piano, Op. 34 No. 14 in E flat minor
- Shostakovich: Prelude for piano, Op. 34 No. 24 in D minor
- Fauré: Impromptu No. 3 in A flat major Op. 34
- Mozart: Piano Sonata No. 13 in B flat major, K333
Bruckner: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor / Thielemann, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Sony Classical releases the fourth installment of Christian Thielemann’s complete cycle of Anton Bruckner’s symphonies with the Vienna Philharmonic – the orchestra’s first Bruckner cycle under a single conductor. “The claim that this orchestra is essentially the only genuine original sound ensemble for the music of Anton Bruckner should remain beyond dispute” raves Die Presse. The Vienna Philharmonic premiered four of Bruckner’s nine symphonies and has enjoyed a unique relationship with the Austrian composer’s music since 1873, when it gave the first performance of his Symphony No 2.
Thielemann has come as close as possible to the ideal Bruckner sound with the Vienna Philharmonic: full-toned, warm, with registrations that are full of countless colours, clear without sounding harsh and well-contoured without seeming angular. Thielemann’s interpretations of Bruckner’s music are rooted on deep expertise and sympathy. Few conductors can match the solemnity and patience he finds in composer’s symphonies, or his ability to draw on the unparalleled beauty of the orchestra’s sound and the special acoustic of its home in Vienna, the Musikverein.
Christian Thielemann, Principal Conductor of the Staatskapelle Dresden and Artistic Director of the Salzburg Easter Festival since 2013, is his generation’s most esteemed interpreter of the Romantic Austro-German repertoire. In the midst of a mutually stimulating relationship with the Vienna Philharmonic, he conducted his first New Year’s Concert with the orchestra in 2019.
The Vienna Philharmonic will issue the final release of the live cycle in 2024, marking 200 years since the Bruckner’s birth.
Bruckner: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, WAB 102 (1872 Version) / Bolton, Mozarteumorchester Salzburg
There are at least four versions of Anton Bruckner's 2nd Symphony; the last one was written in 1892. Frequently, however – as on this recording – the original version is preferred; as usual with Bruckner, this version of 1872 is bolder and longer. Already very early on, the composer changed the order of movements in this work, which was felt by many to be a response to the dramaturgy of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. The Scherzo, as the second movement, has changed places with the ensuing Adagio. In the later version, he also almost completely eliminated the most striking characteristic of this creation, probably due to the urging of his friends and supporters, especially Johann Herbeck: eight of the nine famous tutti rests in the first movement disappear completely. Another special characteristic of the original version is the solo horn passage in the Adagio, written in an extremely difficult register for the instruments of that time – but also of moving beauty.
Symphony No. 2 in C Minor "Resurrection"
Mahler: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor "Resurrection" / Nepotil, Essen Philharmonic
This is the third volume in the Essen Philharmonic Orchestra’s series of Mahler symphonies, conducted by Tomáš Netopil. Since winning the 1st Sir Georg Solti Conductors Competition at Frankfurt in 2002, Netopil has become one of the most sought-after conductors of the younger generation. Now celebrating his ninth season as general music director of the Aalto Musiktheater and Philharmonie Essen, he gave an acclaimed performance of Mahler’s Second Symphony at the Aalto Theater in Essen in May 2022.
Reinecke: Orchestral Works, Vol. 2
Brahms: Symphonies Nos. 1 & 2
Schumann: Symphonies No 2 & 4 / Zacharias, Orchestre De Chambre De Lausanne
SCHUMANN Symphonies: No. 2; No. 4 • Christian Zacharias, cond; Lausanne CO • MDG MGD 940 1745-6 (SACD: 64:51)
This is the first time I have ever heard these symphonies played gracefully by a chamber orchestra. What makes them so beautiful is that Christian Zacharias does not employ his orchestra’s limitation of size as an excuse for delivering spiky phrasing and rude noises. (Roger Norrington! Beware of Dog!) What I encounter instead in these performances is the delicacy of Schumann’s piano suites and the fine ear of a pianist who knows this music must dance. In fairness, the Lausanne Chamber Orchestra is not that small—perhaps 50-strong here—but usually the temptation would be to overcompensate with smaller-dog tensile energy.
Happily we find instead kinder, gentler versions of big-orchestra Schumann. This approach works best in the inner movements of both symphonies, but also especially well in the danceable opening allegro of the Fourth. Taken a bit faster than usual, the Adagio of the Second Symphony could actually propel a couple gracefully around the room. In the outer movements we get similar tea-dance spirit, but at the slight expense of something larger and more exciting. This is such smooth, euphonious cozy Schumann; it is almost Dvo?ák.
Schumann, of course, was obsessed by the sound of disembodied trumpets during the composition of his Second Symphony. And there is more metaphysical fear and Wagnerian mystery to be captured in its introduction than heard here. Christoph Eschenbach evoked this hauntingly in his Bamberg cycle for Virgin in the early ’90s. And Ernest Ansermet, just up the road in Geneva, didn’t do badly with it, either. Small forces have difficulty with the stasis of mood and mystery. In particular, tremoli with a large complement of strings can evoke the infinite nature of things. But in reduced numbers, they demystify and can pester like flies at a picnic.
So I shall not argue that Zacharias has exhausted the possibilities found in these symphonies, just that the beauty of his approach will surprise you, in delicious but unobtrusive surround sound. If there is perhaps more grit, force, and sheer amorous passion to be found in the Second Symphony, well, Clara Schumann would certainly have thought so. As a small symbol in her diaries reveals, she and Schumann had sex virtually every day for 10 years! I always suspected girls loved Schumann!
FANFARE: Steven Kruger
E . T. A. Hoffmann: Missa; Miserere / Rupert Huber, Wdr Symphony Orchestra Cologne
E. T. A. HOFFMANN Mass in d, AV 18. Miserere in b?, AV 42 • Rupert Huber, cond; Sibylla Rubens, Jutta Böhnert (sop); Rebecca Martin (mez); Thomas Cooley (ten); York Felix Speer (bs); WDR Radio Ch; WDR SO • CPO 777832 (62:01 Text and Translation)
Butcher, baker, candlestick maker? Well, not exactly, but it wouldn’t be off the mark to call E. T. A. Hoffmann (1776–1822) a polymath, for he was one of Germany’s greatest early Romantic writers of fantasy fiction and horror tales, a lawyer and a jurist, a draftsman and a caricaturist, and a music critic and serious writer on the art of music and its aesthetics. And, oh yes, by the way, did I mention that in his spare time he was a composer? His output includes a symphony, several stage works, a handful of piano sonatas, a piano trio, a harp quintet, and of course, the concerted choral-orchestral Mass and Miserere on this disc.
Hoffmann’s literary works are commonly cited as the inspiration for Schumann’s Kreisleriana and Offenbach’s The Tales of Hoffmann, but less often noted is that Hoffmann’s novella The Nutcracker and the Mouse King was the basis for Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker, and that Léo Delibes’s ballet Coppélia is also based on stories by Hoffmann.
Hoffmann’s literary works had more of an influence on 19th-century composers and the Romantic movement than his musical compositions did, for his abilities as a composer were judged to be more modest than his talent for the written word. Add to that his relatively small output, and it’s hardly surprising that there’s not a lot of E. T. A. Hoffmann’s music on disc. In light of this, what’s perhaps surprising is that this is at least the third recording of the Miserere I’m aware of. A performance on Koch-Schwann/Music Sacra with a different conductor and cast of vocal soloists, but the same chorus and, I believe, the same orchestra was reviewed by David Johnson in 12:4. And yet another recording, also on Koch Schwann, but this time with an entirely different cast of singers, players, and conductor—Rolf Beck, leading the Southwest German Vocal Ensemble and the Concerto Bamberg—was released in 1997, 10 years later.
Johnson was mightily impressed by the Miserere, calling it “a work of genuine, even astonishing power and beauty,” an assessment with which I wholly concur. The piece wasn’t published in Hoffmann’s lifetime, and the exact date of composition isn’t given. It can be deduced, however, that Hoffmann had to have completed it towards the end of 1806 or the beginning of 1807, for the work was to have been performed at the ceremonies earlier in 1806 when Archduke Ferdinand of Austria became the Grand Duke of Würzburg, but the score wasn’t ready in time. It didn’t receive its first performance until Good Friday, 1809.
It’s important to keep in mind when listening to this masterful piece of choral/orchestral writing that its date of composition coincides with that of Beethoven’s C-Major Mass, op. 86. Yet if I had to make a comparison to Hoffmann’s Miserere, it wouldn’t be to Beethoven’s chronologically contemporary Mass, but to a work of 17 or so years earlier, Mozart’s Requiem. Whether Hoffmann was consciously imitating the musical style of that work or not, it’s impossible to say, but the similarities are striking.
Listen to the sighs in the strings just seconds into the opening movement, and tell me you don’t expect to hear the mournful entry of the basset horns. Or tell me there isn’t a resemblance between the Miserere’s “Ecce enim in veritatem” and the Offertorium of the Requiem in the Süssmayer completion.
Understand that in no way am I diminishing Hoffmann’s effort. His Miserere is a gorgeous work, and there’s much in it that postdates Mozart stylistically, specifically the vocal solos, which tend to be more ornate and less liturgical sounding than what Mozart would have considered proper for a sacred setting of such a solemn text, and also in the more symphonic scoring and treatment of the orchestral parts. But as noted by Johnson, Hoffmann additionally takes great pains to fully demonstrate his contrapuntal skills, composing “grand choral double fugues that Bach, himself, could have found no fault with.”
However you hear Hoffmann’s Miserere—whether as an echo of Mozart, a sympathetic vibration with Beethoven, or a precursor to Verdi—it doesn’t matter, as long as you hear it, because it’s a stunning work, which really ought to spark a reassessment of E. T. A. Hoffmann’s output in general.
The Mass in D Minor is a little earlier than the Miserere, dating from between 1803 and 1805, but it’s composed on an equally grand scale. The solemn introductory measures followed by a running fugue is reminiscent of the type of Baroque overture one hears at the beginning of Handel’s Messiah, and simultaneously anticipatory of the overture to Mendelssohn’s Elijah.
As in the Miserere, Mozart looms large over major portions of the Mass. Listen, for example, to the Kyrie, which once again reverberates with recollections of Mozart’s Requiem. But now Haydn takes a bow in the joyful Gloria. Yet through it all, a new Romantic spirit infuses Hoffmann’s work. It’s not as daring as Beethoven’s adventures of the same timeframe, but then whose were?
One thing that deserves some criticism, in my opinion, is Hoffmann’s over-reliance on fugue. At first, one marvels at his aptitude for counterpoint, but when a fugue appears in practically every movement, not only does one begin to wonder if Hoffmann isn’t short on arrows in his quiver, but the recurring fugal textures begin to become a bit tiresome. Remember Saint-Saëns’s dictum: “A fugue is a piece where the voices come in and the audience goes out one at a time.”
Koch-Schwann seems to have taken more than a passing interest in E. T. A. Hoffmann back in the 1990s, for in addition to the above-cited recordings of the Miserere, the label also released a recording of this Mass in 1999, featuring the chorus and orchestra of the Capella Cracoviensis, led by Roland Bader. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard that one either, so I have no basis for comparing different versions of the works on this disc. CPO, however, rarely disappoints in its releases, and the soloists, chorus, and orchestra heard in these performances sound secure in execution and thoroughly engaged in the moment of the music. The recording, too, is excellent—open, spacious, bright, and detailed, without any reverb to muddy the singers’ diction. Very strongly recommended.
FANFARE: Jerry Dubins
Shostakovich: Prelude & Fugue, Fantastic Dances
Sibelius Edition Vol 8 - Orchestral Music
SIBELIUS Orchestral Works • Osmo Vänskä, cond; 1 Neemi Järvi, cond; 2 Jaakko Kuusisto (vn); 4 cond; 3 Leonidas Kavakos (vn); 5 Dong-Suk Kang (vn); 6 Marko Ylönen (vc); 7 Lahti SO; 1,3 Gothenburg SO 2 • BIS 1921 (6 CDs: 420:41)
Overture in E. 1 Scène de ballet. 1 Karelia: Complete music; 1 Overture; 2 Suite. 1 Impromptu. 2 Presto. 1 Press Celebrations Music. 1 Menuetto. 1 Coronation March. 1 March of the Pori Regiment. 1 Overture in a. 1 Romance in C. 1 Cortège. 1 Pan and Echo. 1 The Countess’s Portrait. 1 Violin Concerto: (1903–04); 1 (1905). 5 Rakastava. 1 2 Serenades. 2,6 2 Serious Melodies (2 versions). 1,2,6,7 6 Humoresques. 2,6 Academic March. 2 March of the Finnish Jäger Battalion. 1 3 Pieces, op. 96. 1 Suite mignonne. 1 Suite champêtre. 1 Suite caractèristique. 1 Morceau romantique. 1 Suite for Violin and Strings. 1,6 Andante festivo. 1 Processional. 1 Preliminary and alternative versions 1,3,4
Sibelius wrote a colossal amount of music for the orchestra. Already issued in BIS’s Sibelius Edition are boxes devoted to the tone poems (Vol. 1), theater music (Vol. 5, including the full scores plus the suites drawn from the composer’s incidental music), and voice and orchestra (Vol. 3); still to come, of course, is the volume of symphonies (Vol. 12, projected). That makes 21 or 22 well-filled CDs. Then there’s the present set, Vol. 8, which consists of everything else: works for violin and orchestra (about two CDs), music for patriotic pageants (one-and-a-half discs), and various occasional pieces, suites, and other works that don’t fit any of the above categories. The Sibelius quote with which annotator and project advisor, Andrew Barnett, begins his program notes could well serve as an epigram for the entire project: “I am myself a man of the orchestra. You must judge me from my orchestral works.”
Most of the contents of this set were first issued on single CDs: the Karelia music on BIS 915, the Press Celebrations Music on 1115, the two versions of the Violin Concerto on 500, the remaining works for violin and orchestra on 472, and various smaller works on 1265, 1445, 1485, and 1565. Items appearing here for the first time are the Karelia Suite, Menuetto, Romance, March of the Finnish Jäger Battalion , the three French-titled Suites, opp. 98 and 100, and the Processional , as well as several preliminary and alternative versions.
The sheer quantity of material here makes it most practical to discuss the works by category. Along with the Violin Concerto, the most important music in this set is that provided by Sibelius for two patriotic pageants during the Russian crackdown of the 1890s. Thinly disguised as benefits, the first in 1893 for education in the Viipuri district, the second in 1899 for the Press Pension Fund (the Russians had banned a Finnish newspaper), the Karelia and Press Celebrations pageants in reality served as nationalist rallies. The Karelia music, written the year after Kullervo and only two years after Sibelius’s first orchestral works, consisted of an Overture and music for eight tableaux; the Eighth Tableau quotes the song that would later become Finland’s national anthem. The Overture was published independently as op. 10, and three of the eight tableaux were adapted to form the Karelia Suite , op. 11. The remaining music—the entire score totals 50 minutes—is well worth hearing; particularly striking are the runic singing of Tableau 1 and the “siege” music of Tableau 6. In the runic singing, I prefer the earthy female voices used in Tuomas Ollila’s recording for Ondine to the bland baritones used here; otherwise, Vänskä’s version is more compelling. BIS includes Järvi’s energetic 1982 recording of the Overture (to avoid redundancy, one supposes), but gives the Suite in a new recording by Vänskä. I’m not sure why: there are plenty of fine recordings of the Suite already, and Sibelius collectors serious enough to consider this volume doubtless already have their favorite versions; mine is the RCA/Decca recording by Alexander Gibson, not currently available.
The Press Celebrations Music is almost as extensive, comprising a prelude and music for six tableaux; the final movement, “Finland Awakes,” with a new ending, became Finlandia , published as op. 26/7 in the expectation that the entire score would follow. In fact, only three other tableaux were published in revised form as Scènes historiques I , op. 25. The various stages of revision of Finlandia can be heard in Vol. 1 of the Edition; in the original, instead of the familiar apotheosis of the hymn tune, the ending consists of a series of bombastic fanfares. The Press Celebrations score is also included on the Ondine disc, but Vänskä is the clear winner.
The other major work here, of course, is the Violin Concerto. Kavakos and Vänskä give a compelling performance of the familiar 1905 revised version; it’s a performance of extremes, with the many technical challenges met head-on and the more lyrical music played with great sensitivity. Fans of Oistrakh on the one hand or Heifetz on the other won’t want to discard their favorites, but Kavakos offers yet another good option. The real story, though, is the 1991 version of Sibelius’s original score by the same artists; I believe it remains the only recording of the 1903–04 version. The comparison is intriguing; longtime Fanfare subscribers can find David K. Nelson’s detailed review in 14:6. It is impossible to discuss the two versions at length here, but two points should be made: first, the original is both longer and more difficult, including several fascinating passages that were later cut; second, as is almost invariably true, Sibelius’s final thoughts are his best. The revised version eliminates some interesting digressions and much extraneous detail, making it more cohesive and giving it more impact. The original version is still well worth hearing, not only because the comparison is so interesting, but also because it does include a good deal of music later eliminated. The two versions were originally issued in tandem, but here the original version is placed in an “appendix” on the last disc of the set, along with early or alternative versions of other works.
Kang and Järvi give sympathetic readings of the Two Serenades and the Serious Melodies ; the latter are also given, in the appendix, in Sibelius’s cello version by Ylönen and Vänskä. Only the Humoresques are a bit of a letdown. These superb pieces, written in 1917–18 when Sibelius was working on the Fifth Symphony under horrible conditions, are technically demanding and musically complex; they should be far better known, but their format—six short pieces totaling about 20 minutes—seems to have no niche in today’s concert programs. Kang and Järvi are less volatile, less exciting than Aaron Rosand on an ancient Vox LP. I have not heard the recordings of the violin-and-orchestra works by Tetzlaff or Kuusisto; Robert Maxham gave the former a mostly favorable review in 26:6, but the latter does not appear in the Fanfare Archive.
The many other pieces in this set can be addressed only briefly. Sibelius’s first orchestral works were the Overture in E Major and the Scène de ballet , both written in 1891; in 31:1, I preferred Järvi to Vänskä in the former, the reverse in the latter. The Overture in A Minor was written to fill out the program for the premiere of the Second Symphony; supposedly it was composed in a single evening. It certainly is far thinner in substance than the Symphony; its introduction, striking in its use of the trumpets, fails to go anywhere. The well-known Romance in C Major is given a rather perfunctory reading; Pan and Echo , a “Dance Intermezzo” sometimes grouped with the tone poems, is a striking miniature.
Rakastava (“The Lover”), a three-movement work for string orchestra with triangle and timpani written in 1911, the time of the Fourth Symphony, is a small masterpiece. It actually grew out of a much earlier choral work (thus perhaps explaining the anomalous opus number 11), and it was revised in 1912, Sibelius being dissatisfied with the arrangement. Again the final version is far superior to the earlier one, included in the appendix. Vänskä gives a sympathetic account.
Most of the remaining works are of minor importance; the Three Pieces , op. 96, and the three suites that followed, written between 1919 and 1922, are all essentially salon music; the Suite for Violin and String Orchestra, written in 1929 and thus one of Sibelius’s final compositions, is likewise not consequential. The Andante festivo , a 1938 arrangement of a work composed in 1922 for string quartet, is notable not only for its noble formality, but also because the recording of Sibelius’s live broadcast for the New York World’s Fair is the only surviving document of his conducting. That recording shows that almost everyone, including Vänskä, takes the piece too quickly; Vänskä’s version here has a timing of 5:10 versus Sibelius’s 6:55. Finally, the Processional is an arrangement of one of several songs Sibelius wrote for the Finnish Masonic lodge in 1927, again making it one of his last works.
The contents of this set range from some of Sibelius’s finest, most important works to some of the least significant products of his mature years. If you don’t have the single CD of the two versions of the Violin Concerto, or either of the pageant scores, or if you absolutely must have every scrap of orchestral music he created, this set’s for you. Collectors who have been acquiring each volume of the Edition as it is released will find this one of the more rewarding ones. Essential for Sibelians.
FANFARE: Richard A. Kaplan
Clementi: Symphonies Nos. 3 And 4 / La Vecchia, Rome Symphony Orchestra
CLEMENTI Overture in C. Symphonies: No. 3 in G, “The Great National”; No. 4 in D • Francesco La Vecchia, cond; O S di Roma • NAXOS 8.573112 (71:32)
A riddle that may be posited is: “When is a symphony not a symphony?” There are, of course, a number of possible answers, but in the case of Muzio Clementi (1752–1832), this becomes a rather relevant issue. Clementi was an important composer for the keyboard, and his duel with Mozart in front of Emperor Joseph II is the stuff of legend (as are Mozart’s less than charitable comments on Clementi’s music and performance). As a composer of orchestral works, however, the entire situation becomes quite murky. When he established himself in London at the end of the 18th century, he achieved some renown as a teacher and publisher; one only needs note his protégé John Field, who Clementi apparently abandoned while on tour to Russia, as a pupil who was to achieve important things. He did, however, also dabble in the composition of orchestral music, eventually composing an undetermined number of works even as Napoleon was ravaging Europe and finally defeated. To be sure, like most composers of the time, he had a wide range of works, and in 1787 apparently even published a couple of symphonies as his op. 18 (available on the companion disc to this Naxos release). But the late works were and remain problematic, for even though they were featured on concert programs in the post-Napoleonic era in Northern Europe, somehow they failed to survive intact, forcing the inevitable “reconstruction” by modern scholars, namely Alfredo Casella and Pietro Spada. The work of these musicologists has been hampered by a web of conflicting sources, non-sequitur fragments, and portions which have been lost to time. Nonetheless, they have succeeded in cobbling together the works featured on this disc; two complete symphonies and the torso of a third (here euphemistically labeled an Overture).
This is not the time or place to discuss these reconstructions (here done by Spada), but suffice it to say that the editions do seem musically cohesive, albeit with no guarantee that these are in any shape or form what Clementi actually intended in toto . Still, they do allow for a glimpse into his work as an orchestral composer. My only concern is the extraordinarily heavy orchestration, including trombones, which seems to give the works an overweening sense of modernity at times. To be blunt, the textures are often extremely dense, sounding like these were companion pieces to, say, the Schubert Great C-Major, and I am not at all convinced that this is what Clementi, trained in the Italian Classical tradition, was after. The brief notes state that the symphonies are “more closely [tied] to the tradition of Haydn and Mozart than they are to post-Eroica Beethoven,” with a passing nod to the latter’s obvious influence. My view is that this seems far-fetched, particularly given these reconstructions. The “Overture,” for example, has a nicely waltzing main theme foreign to Classicism, and the lyrical second theme is positively Schubertian. It is performed in a Beethovian manner, but the appearance of an um-chuck-chuck accompaniment figure places us fairly close to the world of Italian bel canto opera. It is also rather repetitive. The symphonies, on the other hand, show a wider variety of styles, much of which probably is due to the reconstruction process. The so-called “Great National Symphony” in G Major (which nation I cannot fathom) has a slow, plodding opening followed by an obvious hymn, which is then repeated. Some of the faster portions sound heroic, but then Clementi devolves into a pattern reminiscent of Rossini. The second movement, with its massive brass introduction, also features variations on a hymn, and the Finale is positively in the manner of Haydn’s London symphonies; light and frothy. The D-Major Symphony offers more depth, with a solemn, mysterious D-Minor opening that seems to create a dramatic scene, which then dissipates into an Allegro that would not be out of place in one of Schubert’s early symphonies, both in tone and texture. The cantabile is suitably languid, and the off-beat minuet in B Minor positively Beethovian. Despite the thick orchestration, Haydn returns in the rondo Finale, save for a brief B theme that I would swear is Beethoven.
In short, the reconstructions offer a pretty mixed bag, but in Spada’s defense, I will say that his works reasonably well, given the tortuous path he probably had to negotiate to get a playable, cogent score. As for the performance, the Orchestra Sinfonica di Roma does a rather nice job. The tempos seem in order and the ensemble fits well together. The sound can be a bit muddy sometimes, particularly when the entire brass corps plays together, but this may be a consequence of the microphone placement or venue (I can’t decide which). My final verdict is that if you are collecting early 19th-century music and want an alternative to the multiple Schubert and Beethoven discs out there, this might prove interesting, but one should be aware of the caveat that the question of whether all of it is as Clementi wished it to be is still open.
FANFARE: Bertil van Boer
Shostakovich: Concerto And Sonata For Cello / Sol Gabetta
Sol Gabetta is a cellist in great demand as a concert performer. If the high-end German record shops such as Ludwig Beck, Munich and Dussmann, Berlin are anything to go by Gabetta is being strongly marketed by her record label. The programme chosen this time for the young Argentine cellist is all-Shostakovich with wonderful accounts of both the Concerto and the Sonata. The Concerto recording was made at live concerts in January 2008 in the admirable acoustic of the Philharmonie at Munich’s Gasteig. The applause has been elided. On the other hand the Sonata in which Gabetta teams up with Romanian-born pianist Mihaela Ursuleasa is a studio recording made in Zurich. My disc was sent from Germany with German-only text.
The Cello Concerto No.2, written in the last decade of his life, was dedicated to Rostropovich who premièred the score at Shostakovich’s 60th birthday concert in Moscow. Compared to the first Cello Concerto, Op. 107 from 1959 this relatively underrated score is only now beginning to establish its rightful place in the repertoire. The harsh constraints of living and working under the Soviet regime must surely have helped shape its character.
In the opening Largo the cello plays virtually continuously. Right from the first bars the darkly brooding intensity of the cello is spine-tingling. Gabetta’s rich mocha-toned instrument is caught splendidly by the sound engineers. Taking the listener by surprise the cannon salvos and pounding martial beat at 3:58-4:03 is highly dramatic. From 4:31 the anguished wails of the cello are remarkably affecting. A reflective passage on the cello at 5:34 and 6:55 is developed by the orchestra into a thickly textured and deeply depressing episode. A concentrated section from 7:28 feels almost overwhelming. Coming as a welcome relief from 8:35 is a more upbeat passage. It is not long before the playful figures become restless and demanding and the overwhelming weight of torment returns. At 10:32-10:59 the percussion blows are quite ferocious and serve as an ominous warning. The pounding continues but fades and disappears into the distance. Over a rumbling and restless orchestra the cello from 12:54 with its plaintive theme tries to calm the agitation.
Serving as a Scherzo the central movement marked Allegretto is terse and highly rhythmic. A waltz-like street theme on the cello with a sardonic twist opens the movement. Horn-calls punctuate the scene together with a colourful array of percussive effects. Gabetta’s energetic playing cuts through the macabre orchestral writing seemingly intent on holding the cello back. Played continuously, the closing movement also an Allegretto, is heralded by a horn fanfare and drum-roll. Gabetta plays a languorous melody of a certain nobility that has been described as “ barcarolle-like”. Especially interesting are the unusual orchestral textures with notable percussive effects. From 4:41 the tempi shift quickly several times and take on a curious galloping quality. At 6:35 the cello theme becomes one of sadness and tender introspection - a mood that underpins the remainder of the movement. Percussion lashes against a frenetic cello line from 9:41 create a disconcerting effect and this builds to a terrifying climax at 10:52. The breathless cello writing then recovers its poise to repeat the melancholic but introspectively steely theme. If that was possible the mood becomes even more mournful with Gabetta’s cello sounding as if it was weeping. Snare drums and other light percussion effects close the score. The orchestra provide warm and positive support .
For alternative versions of the Cello Concerto No.2 I have long been satisfied with that from cellist Heinrich Schiff with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra under Maxim Shostakovich. With playing of impressive assurance the performance was recorded in 1984 at the Hercules Hall, Residenz, Munich on Philips 475 7575. (c/w Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1). Another beautifully played account is from cellist Mischa Maisky with the London Symphony Orchestra under Michael Tilson Thomas. It was recorded in 1993 at the Abbey Road Studios in London on Deutsche Grammophon 445 821-2. (c/w Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1).
The four movement Cello Sonata was written when Shostakovich still had artistic freedom. This was prior to the denunciation in 1936 by the Soviet authorities and before his fall from favour owing to the opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. Essentially a lyrical score rather than experimental the Sonata was premièred in 1934 in Moscow by cellist Viktor Kubatsky, its dedicatee. Interestingly there have been several arrangements for viola and piano.
The two main themes of the opening movement could not be more different in character. The first is an upright elegant melody that Gabetta and Ursuleasa. It is intensified in tension and made more weighty until it becomes unruly bordering on stormy. By contrast the second theme is cloaked in lush yearning Romanticism. Gabetta’s glorious tone is outstanding and Ursuleasa revels in the long warm lines. An Allegro the second movement is a countryside romp that Gabetta and Ursuleasa develop into the manner of an excitable folk dance. Sombre and mournful in the third movement Largo Gabetta’s cello sounds as if it is sobbing. The intensity becomes heavier with the cello reaching down to its deepest register. In the skittish and scampering Rondo: Finale the piano has abundant opportunity to shine with Ursuleasa demonstrating her assurance in a number of dazzling runs. It is Gabetta’s relatively restrained cello part that keeps the merriment in check.
For both the splendid playing as well being an important music document I admire the version of the Sonata played by cellist Daniil Shafran and the composer on piano. Recorded in 1956 I have the performance on Revelation RV10017. (c/w Rachmaninov Cello Sonata). I also play often the account from cellist Leonid Gorokhov and pianist Nikolai Demidenko. This satisfying version was recorded at Champs Hill, Pulborough, Sussex in 2004 on ASV Gold GLD4006.
I was perfectly happy with this RCA Victor Red Seal recording in both the concerto and sonata. Gabetta’s cello is placed well forward and is vividly clear. I know of no more dramatic and beautifully played account of the Concerto.
-- Michael Cookson, MusicWeb International
Marcel Tyberg: Symphony No 3 / Piano Trio Falletta, Chuang, Ludwig
TYBERG Symphony No. 3. 1 Piano Trio 2 • 1 JoAnn Falletta, cond; Buffalo PO; 2 Michael Ludwig (vn); 2 Roman Mekinulov (vc); 2 Ya-Fei Chuang (pn) • NAXOS 8.572236 (60:51)
Don’t bother trying to find Tyberg in Grove , or in the six-volume Baker’s Biographical Dictionary , or in the 14th edition of the International Who’s Who in Music , or even in MGG ’s monumental 17-volume Personenteil , of which the volume with the Ts was published as recently as 2006. Until only about five years ago, Tyberg languished among the many forgotten names of music history, in particular among those of Jewish background who were sent to the death camps by the Nazis. Tyberg was only 1/16th Jewish, but he was deported anyway and died in late 1944 (the circumstances of his death remain unclear). But posthumous recognition is finally coming to this Austrian composer.
Shortly before he was arrested, Tyberg entrusted his scores to his friend Milan Mihich, who in turn gave them to his son Enrico. The latter eventually moved to Buffalo. For years he attempted to interest Buffalo Philharmonic conductors, among others, in Tyberg’s music. Rafael Kubelík expressed keen interest but died soon afterward. About half a dozen years ago, Tyberg’s scores caught the attention of JoAnn Falletta, and she programmed the Third Symphony with her Buffalo Philharmonic. The Tyberg Legacy Foundation was established in Buffalo at the Foundation for Jewish Philanthropies, and funding therefrom helped bring forth the Naxos recording we now have.
The Third Symphony, composed in the 1930s, received its world premiere by the BPO and Falletta on May 10, 2008, and the recording soon followed. (Falletta has also programmed Tyberg’s Second Symphony for performances on April 30 and May 1 of this year to coincide with Holocaust Memorial Day.)
The score is richly romantic, with strong echoes of Bruckner, Mahler, Zemlinsky, and Szymanowski. The huge orchestra requires quadruple woodwinds, heckelphone, eight horns (four doubling on tenor tubas), bass trumpet, contrabass trombone, two timpanists, and much more. It opens with a portentous call from a tenor horn heralding music of dark, Mahlerian angst (comparison with the opening of Mahler’s Seventh cannot be ignored). One almost immediately becomes aware that, like Mahler, Tyberg is going to use his orchestra as a vast palette of colors to play with. The second subject is as warmly romantic and gracious as the first was menacing and tortured. The D-Minor Scherzo has a Brucknerian drive and energy, thickly yet brilliantly orchestrated and with a virtuosic edge that recalls Dukas’s Sorcerer’s Apprentice as well. Shades of Bruckner hover also over the Adagio, which moves slowly and inexorably to its main climax. Its somber colors would have benefited from a warmer recording acoustic, but what is a small defect in this movement becomes an asset in the finale, a rollicking rondo whose main theme has the flavor of a saucy British sea shanty, tossed off in its initial presentation with virtuosic abandon by the Buffalo Philharmonic horns. The Philharmonic sustains the sense of high spirits and energy throughout the movement, indeed, throughout the entire symphony, though one cannot avoid the feeling that Tyberg might have left us a more convincing conclusion—the ending is simply too abrupt and unexpected.
The Piano Trio of 1936 is, if anything, even more engaging, filled as it is with big-boned, sumptuous themes and rich textures right out of Schumann, Brahms, Franck, and Tchaikovsky. Themes are masterfully worked out. One listens in disbelief to music composed in the age of Stravinsky and Satie, of Schoenberg and Berg, of Bartók and Messiaen, that is as accomplished as Tyberg’s yet so untouched by the fast-changing world around him—“as if he had truly lived a century before,” as Buffalo Philharmonic archivist Edward Yadzinski puts it in his fine booklet notes. Concertmaster Michael Ludwig and principal cellist Roman Mekinulov, joined by pianist Ya-Fei Chuang, deliver a performance that glows with passion and power. This disc is worth acquiring for either the symphony or the trio alone. Together they constitute an irresistible combination. This is definitely a Want List candidate.
More information on Tyberg can be found at Wikipedia and in an extensive article by Herman Trotter, music critic emeritus of the Buffalo News (reprinted on the website of the Jewish Music Institute). Readers are also referred to an interview in Fanfare 34:2 in which Falletta and Yadzinski disuss the Tyberg situation in some detail.
FANFARE: Robert Markow
How Marcel Tyberg's Third Symphony wound up in Buffalo is an interesting story, related in the booklet notes to this world-premiere recording. Tyberg (1893-1944) was a Jewish Viennese composer who died in Auschwitz in 1944 (as did several members of my own family--it's strange to think that they may have been there together). His Third symphony was composed in 1943, and it's a fine work, obviously in the Viennese tradition--sort of Wagner/Strauss with a Brahmsian structural overlay. It's colorful, uninhibited, perhaps a bit thickly scored, full of attractive melodic invention, and not a moment too long. For its date of composition it's a conservative work, but given the circumstances that hardly counts against it. JoAnn Falletta and her Buffalo forces do it proud: this is a bold, confident performance, excellently paced, that never suggests any unfamiliarity with what must have been a very unfamiliar work.
Tyberg's Piano Trio, from 1936, is even more stylistically reactionary, sounding like a typical example of mid-19th century Romanticism--but again, because it's the real thing and not a decadent relic it comes across simply as freshly melodious. Okay, it's not a masterpiece, but its three euphonious movements pass by very pleasingly, and like the symphony it's very well played (and recorded). Tyberg had a particular knack, both here and in the symphony, for creating vigorous rondo finales that never drag or sound tired, and if you know anything about late-Romantic finales then you know what a rare feat that is! There are many recordings of neglected composers around these days: this one deserves a greater claim on your attention (and purse) than most. It's a real find.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com
The Rediscovered RCA Victor Recordings / José Iturbi
This collection stands as a valuable time capsule from which one comes away with a fuller understanding of Iturbi’s prominence in American wartime and postwar culture.
The complete RCA Victor Recordings by José Iturbi from 1933 to 1953, include his piano duo recordings with sister Amparo Iturbi as well as Amparo Iturbi’s solo recordings on 16 CDs, restored and remastered from the original lacquer discs and analogue tapes using high-resolution 24 bit/192 kHz mastering technology with about 95% of the recordings appearing on CD for the first time and 23 pieces previously unreleased. As well as a new, captivating essay by Grammy-nominated singer, pianist, and music anthropologist Michael Feinstein on the life and work of José Iturbi and a photo book with previously unseen photos and facsimiles from the Iturbi Archives in Hollywood.
There was a time when classical music was a natural part of Hollywood. From the moments with Jascha Heifetz in They Shall Have Music (1939) to the unrivaled performances of Oscar Levant and Isaac Stern in Humoresque (1946). In its Golden Era, Hollywood adorned itself with the Who's Who of classical music. Today, alongside icons such as Marylin Monroe and James Dean, the names of Leonard Bernstein, Maria Callas and Arturo Toscanini, as well as Rudolf Serkin, Joseph Szigeti, or José Iturbi were immortalized on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame. This edition is a loving homage to Hollywood in the 1940s and 1950s, made possible through the generous support of the José Iturbi Foundation and the Hollywood Museum Board of Directors, who contributed to the lavish restoration of many previously lost unpublished recordings. The publication was also made possible by contributions of singer, pianist, and music archivist Michael Feinstein, the Ambassador for the Great American Songbook.
REVIEW:
During the 1940s and 1950s the “World’s Most Popular Classical Pianist” mantle fell comfortably upon José Iturbi (1895-1980). His recognition as a radio personality led to a movie career that yielded ten feature films between 1943 and 1951 where the pianist mostly starred as himself. Yet for all of Iturbi’s renown, he was hardly a poseur. He worked with Wanda Landowska in Paris, and gave Stravinsky’s Piano Rag Music its world premiere, as well as the first complete Carnegie Hall performance of Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes.
He also conducted. When Eugene Ormandy assumed the Philadelphia Orchestra’s music directorship in 1936, his chief rival for the position was Iturbi, who wound up taking charge of the Rochester Philharmonic that same year. Once Hollywood beckoned, however, Iturbi became the brunt of intellectual critics, who basically wrote him off as a sell-out and an artistic lightweight.
Time, of course, brings perspective, and Sony/BMG’s lavishly produced 16-CD collection containing Iturbi’s complete RCA Victor recordings invites a fairly thorough examination of the musician behind the personality, plus an opportunity to reassess a largely forgotten body of recorded work. A 188-page coffee table book contains photos in abundance, with all original-jacket artwork represented, including the most politically incorrect cover art ever to grace Dvorák’s “New World” symphony. We get complete session and release discographies, an Iturbi filmography, plus a brilliant in-depth biographical essay by Michael Feinstein, who co-produced this collection with Robert Russ.
It’s a pity that the session discography is not cross-referenced to corresponding CD tracks, not to mention the absence of a discography by composer. This makes it difficult to navigate the contents with ease, especially in works that Iturbi recorded more than once. For example, it took some sleuthing on my part to discover that Discs 5 and 11 each contained the Liszt Liebestraum No. 3, Schumann Arabeske, Debussy Reverie, and Chopin Polonaise in A-flat Op. 53, and that the performances were not identical.
With few notable exceptions, Iturbi’s solo recordings mostly consist of short, encore-length pieces. He’s especially at home in Spanish music: Iturbi’s accentuation, phrasing, and timing throughout Falla’s Ritual Fire Dance define perfection, while he shapes Granados’ Spanish Dance No. 2 (“Oriental’) with sensitivity and tenderness. Classical selections also stand out for Iturbi’s bracing articulation. True, the outer movements of his Mozart K. 331 and 332 sonata recordings are overly facile and insufficiently inflected when measured alongside contemporaneous Mozartean rivals like Schnabel, Gieseking, Fischer, and Haskil. Yet the sheer evenness and poised symmetry of Iturbi’s finger-work easily explains why pianists like Julius Katchen and William Kapell praised his Mozart.
Iturbi also revels in the Haydn C major Theme and Variations’ sly wit. By contrast, introspection and sobriety characterize Iturbi’s measured unfolding of Beethoven’s Andante favori. Similar gravitas elevates Paderewski’s Minuet in G to near-masterpiece status. Iturbi’s virtuosic glitter befits his dashing Saint-Saëns Allegro appassionato more than in his glib Liszt Les jeux d’eaux à la Villa d’Este.
Iturbi’s Chopin hits and misses. His Mazurkas lack the ardency and rhythmic snap that distinguishes a Second Scherzo that gets better as it progresses. Also note the pianist’s dotting the duple rhythms in the A-flat Polonaise’s main theme that Horowitz, Rubinstein, and Lhevinne play straight on their rival RCA versions.
The later recordings reveal Iturbi’s pianism losing some of its erstwhile luster and subtlety, possibly exaggerated by the close microphone placement and twangy patina typical of late 1940s/early 1950s piano recordings stemming from RCA’s Hollywood recording studio. For example, the two Debussy Arabesques recorded in New York in 1939 have a supple elegance missing in their glassy-sounding 1950 Hollywood counterparts (sound clips). The blustery, hard-toned, and harshly engineered Liszt Concerto No. 1, Mendelssohn Concerto No. 1, and Beethoven Concerto No. 3 were non-starters in their day, with the piano way up in the mix, relegating the crackerjack RCA Symphony musicians to doormat status. Still, the Mendelssohn’s outer movements feature some of Iturbi’s most scintillating pianism on disc.
While Iturbi’s two-piano distribution of the solo part of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue is surprisingly effective and discreet, he and his pianist sister Amparo turn in a crass, alternately whipped up, and sappily sentimentalized interpretation. Works of Mozart, Debussy, and Milhaud better represent their dazzling ensemble rapport, but again, the boxy, claustrophobic engineering undermines their efforts. Similar dryness typifies Amparo’s idiomatic solo recordings of Spanish repertoire. Still, it’s nice to have her rare 1954 Granados Goyescas back in circulation, although it pales alongside Alicia de Larrocha’s far more nuanced and texturally differentiated interpretation from the following year.
The collection also showcases Iturbi’s work on the podium. His 1940 Rochester Philharmonic versions of the Mozart D minor and Beethoven C minor concertos are more judiciously balanced than his orchestrally superior 1952 RCA Victor Symphony remakes. Each contains lively and engaging outer movements that flank wooden, hard-toned slow movements.
Iturbi’s 1951 Liszt Hungarian Fantasy with the Valencia Symphony Orchestra has a snarling rawness that differs from the sheen and suavity of the 1952 Arrau/Ormandy and late 1940s Solomon and Moiseiwitsch editions. As with many second-tier American orchestras in the 1940s, the Rochester Philharmonic boasted strong strings but less proficient winds and brass. Consequently, Iturbi’s Mendelssohn “Scottish” Symphony took a back seat to Mitropoulos’ powerful 1941 Minneapolis version, while the aforementioned Dvorák New World lacked the Szell/Czech Philharmonic recording’s flavorful ensemble discipline.
The prize of Iturbi’s Rochester discography is a snazzy and brilliantly turned-out Morton Gould “Latin American” Symphonette, which is surprisingly well-engineered for its 1944 vintage. Another delightful curiosity is William J. Reddick’s Espanharlem, a brief orchestral work whose quick changing moods and jazzy underpinnings wouldn’t be out of place in a Carl Stalling Bugs Bunny cartoon soundtrack. There’s also a previously unpublished recording conducted by Werner Janssen of Iturbi’s orchestral composition Soliloquy. The piece amounts to 14 and a half minutes’ worth of rambling 1940s film music clichés filtered through third-rate Lecuona. Why Iturbi is credited as piano soloist when there’s no piano to be heard is anyone’s guess!
Notwithstanding the artistic unevenness of Iturbi’s recorded output he always had the self-respect to keep his technique in world-class repair, unlike his rival classical pianist turned media personality Oscar Levant. Still, music lovers who don’t want to go the whole hog, so to speak, are directed to APR’s 2016 three-disc solo Iturbi compilation. I also hope to see Iturbi’s post-cinema EMI recordings restored. However, beyond purely musical considerations, Sony/BMG’s collection stands as a valuable time capsule from which one comes away with a fuller understanding of Iturbi’s prominence in American wartime and postwar culture.
-- ClassicsToday.com (Jed Distler)
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