“New” Music Log

[Todd]

Johann Jakob Froberger is a name I’d only read about up until I got this disc. Those who’ve already discovered his music seem to hold him high regard. Since the fine harpsichordist Blandine Verlet (she of the fine Louis Couperin recordings, among other things) recorded some of his music, I figured his music was worth a shot.

On the evidence of this disc, Mr Froberger’s music is not really for those wanting showy, bombastic music. Granted, the title ou l’tranquillité doesn’t promise the most extroverted works, but the style of writing present here, which includes excerpts from larger suites, is very much of a personal, introspective nature. The music practically begs the listener to kick back, relax (but not too much), and simply get lost in the slow, delicate, intricate, and quite intimate musical ideas. No Big Bang, no Flash, no Dazzle. Just fine music. Now, some may find such sustained intricacy and intimacy boring or hard to get into, and this certainly isn’t a disc I’ll just plop in for easy thrills, but if you’ve got a hankerin’ for this type of music, this disc seems quite a fine choice. Perhaps Froberger’s other music is more obvious and extroverted, though what I’ve read about him doesn’t lead me to believe he’s another Scarlatti, but I rather fancy this music. It’s refreshing in a way.

Ms Verlet’s playing is superb – nuanced, precise but not at all clinical, and imbued with life, all without any overstatement. Or understatement. Sound quality is top notch, too, and one gets some fine accompaniment from some birds in this springtime recording.

 

[Todd]

Another entirely new composer for me, though the music on this disc sounds suspiciously familiar. Boris Tishchenko lives and studied in Russia, and studied with Shostakovich himself. It rather shows, at least here. That’s not to say that his music is completely derivative, but it seems to be heavily influenced by his one time teacher.

The symphony on this disc is a big, long, at times loud affair, but it is also accomplished and varied. Abandoning traditional notions of using descriptive labels for movements, Tishchenko instead labels the movements I-V, but much remains familiar. The opening movement starts off with some rather playful winds dancing over pizzicato strings, but even amid the jollity one senses something a bit darker. Not sinister really, just darker. Time and time again, this darkness comes to the fore, especially with loud, astringent string writing, and in the grotesque, circus-like music in the latter half of the movement. The second movement continues with this duality as the music sounds bold, boisterous, and clangorous, with seething rage all but erupting into the open. All the while, a peculiarly happy veneer remains. The third movement is the slow movement, and it is characterized by a slow, introspective, woodwind-led sound that rather reminds me of the slow movement of Suk’s A Summer’s Tale. The fourth movement begins a return to the music that came before, with edgy strings, a purposefully blatty sound to the tuttis, and an at times “cartoonish” sound. It’s ironic and eerie and bitter, yet it pulses with life. The closing movement opens with peculiarly quiet tom-toms underpinning a vibrant, melodic piccolo and orchestra exchange. As the movement progresses, it maintains a happy-but-not-really sound as the music evolves into a cacophonous, tension-filled series of climaxes.

In some ways in almost sounds like Shostakovich’s 16th or 17th symphony. There is enough stylistic uniqueness here to make sure one knows it’s not DSCH, but the influence looms large. The colorful, varied orchestration; the superb section writing; the seamless transitions and fluid development: Tishchenko is quite a skilled composer, there’s no doubt. I’m actually interested in investigating more of his music to see if he’s more original elsewhere in his output. Even if he’s not, there’s enough there to tickle one’s ears.

Dmitry Yablonsky and the Moscow Philharmonic do an outstanding job, and the sound quality is superb. In fact, I neglected to read the notes prior to listening and was thus surprised to hear the audience applauding at the end. Slips and noise are kept to a minimum. More good stuff.

 

[Todd]

How much more exotic than a blend of East and West can one get? (Perhaps Mongolian throat singing or Gambian folk music I suppose.) Surely then Tan Dun should be worth a listen. I mean, I inaugurated this thread with a recording of similar (well, not really) works by Huang Ruo, so another success should be assured.

Such is not the case. The disc Bitter Love, which is a series of extracts from Tan Dun’s opera Peony Pavilion, is the first flat out dud I’ve come across in my current exploration of new music. Only a few things work – but more on those in a bit. Pretty much everything else is bad. Horrid at times. The midi “horns” certainly fall squarely into the ‘horrid’ camp, as does the nonsensical caterwauling by some tortured male singer that pops up from time to time. (I guess it may not be nonsensical to Mandarin speakers, presuming the words are in Mandarin, but screeching in English can kill even Shakespeare, so text quality matters not a whit.) The baritone chorus, with its Gregorian chant informed sound, adds a measure of New Age-y sound that almost induces snickers. Alright, ignore the word ‘almost.’ The spoken parts – they’re dreams, you see – are just shy of being horrid, but not by much. There are also long stretches of songs and music that annoy fiercely.

I don’t want to be purely negative. As stated before, there are some good things about the recording. The soprano Ying Huang is one of them. She has a very lovely, soft, airy, feminine voice. If I can’t imagine her as, say, Salome, she did make me dislike the recording less when she was singing. Another good thing is the pipa playing of Min Xiao-Fen. She adds a fluidity to her playing that I’ve not heard before. (Okay, my exposure to the pipa is very limited, but still.) And some of the “Eastern” sounding music does sound compelling from time to time. Perhaps the most striking thing about this recording is the sound quality: It is simply amazing, demonstration quality stuff all the way. Sort of. Timbral accuracy, detail, and scale are absolutely amazing – instruments sound life size for sure – but it’s also obviously processed. The soundstage literally expanded beyond the boundaries of my rear and side walls. This should be used by hi-fi dealers to demo gear.

But a good singer, good instrumentalist, and world-class sound cannot save this recording from being a world-class dud. I suppose one might conclude that I’m just not open to different cultural influences, but my positive experiences with Huang Ruo and Bright Sheng lead me to a different conclusion: Crap knows no international boundaries. Blech.

 

[Todd]

When I first learned that Naxos had commissioned ten string quartets from Peter Maxwell-Davies several years back, my curiosity was piqued. I’d never actually heard anything by the composer, but some new string quartets seemed a fine idea, even if a record label commissioning them seems a bit commercial. (Oooh, commercial – bad!) It’s been a few years since the first disc was released, and I just got around to trying it. It ain’t half bad.

The very first quartet isn’t really what I expected, though I wasn’t sure precisely what to expect. At some level, I expected an avant-garde work – something Ligeti-like, perhaps – but what’s on offer is a bit different. The opening Adagio is lovely and appealing in late-19th / early-20th Century sort of way, an obvious homage to times past, but things pick up quickly and change with the Allegro, which is possessed of forward drive, tangy dissonances, rhythmic concision, broad dynamic and expressive range, and an admirable directness. It’s more modern, but not hard to listen to modern. Hints of Haydn and Bartok seem buried in the music. The music bleeds right into the slow, slow Largo which manages the neat trick of sounding both lovely and challenging. Piercing violin playing continual pops up, and a rather twisted dance theme shows up around 5’45” to add a bit more color. The Allegro molto closer is brief and light and mostly very quiet, ending the work with haunting, whispered pianissimo playing. It’s a very obvious homage to the end of Chopin’s second sonata (and by extension, perhaps LvB’s Op 26?), and works quite well. A fine work.

The second quartet opens where the first left off, with an almost devout Lento distinguished by gobs of delicately variegated quiet playing. The following Allegro is fast, dance-inspired, but also “angular,” which is to say spicily modern. But it’s not too hard to listen to. The Lento flessibile (I love the description) has searing, dramatic, pained playing, which is followed up by an Allegro that sounds grotesquely playful. It’s vividly varied in terms of both dynamics and texture. The ending Lento flessibile portion opens slowly and quietly, with an endlessly (well, almost) repeated two note pattern carried on in different registers by the different instruments. The repetitiveness creates an aura of abstract pensiveness, while fitful, intense, brief outbursts offer contrast throughout. Another fine work.

I like this disc. The quartets are obviously very “modern” works, but I find them immediately accessible if still tastily complex. While I was initially expecting something different than what I got, I don’t mind at all what I heard. My guess is that these works, while perhaps not as monumental as Beethoven’s quartets, will yield more secrets upon more repeated hearings. I should probably try some more.

 

[Todd]

A few years ago I picked up a fine disc, from Naxos, of decidedly obscure music. It’s entitled Norwegian 20th Century String Quartets – see what I mean about obscure – and has four surprisingly good works on it. The first composer represented on the disc is one Klaus Egge, and since his work left a good impression, when I saw that Naxos recently opted to release a similarly themed disc, this time as part of the 20th Century Norwegian series, with more works by Mr Egge, I jumped. It was a good call.

The disc opens with a non-20th Century work by that most famous of Norwegian composers, Edvard Grieg. The reason is pretty clear when one considers the programming. The miniature that opens the disc is from Grieg’s compilation of 25 Norwegian Folksongs and Folkdances, and is based on the theme from Solfager og Ormekongen, or Sun-Fair and the Snake-King. Since Grieg made such a specialty of piano miniatures, it’s not at all surprising that this work sounds wonderful. It also leads right into the next work: Klaus Egge’s second piano concerto, Op 21, from 1944, which is alternatively titled Symphonic Variations and Fugue on a Norwegian Folktune. The same folk tune that Grieg used. But one wouldn’t really be able to tell short of reading the score, because the music is decidedly different. Both the soloist and band alternate between neo-romantic lyricism and (almost) lushness and craggier, spikier, more modern music more of its time. The work winds through the variations quickly and tautly – the whole piece is around 20’ – and the concluding fugue is possessed of intense energy and virtuosic but not flashy playing from all involved. It’s a fine work.

The next work continues on with the folk music inspired theme, which is the overriding theme of the whole disc, with a first of the Op 12 piano pieces from Mr Egge. This work is called Halling Fantasy and it is quite appealing. It’s knotty and craggy and most decidedly vigorous, with independent rhythmic patterns for each hand. It sounds rather like Bartok had a long-lost cousin up north who was pretty much as adroit as he at writing gnarly folk-inspired pieces.

The last work by Egge is a biggie: the first piano sonata, Op 4. Once again the folk element pervades, and once again the music is tastily modern. The work is based on the Draumkvædet, or a folk tale about a lengthy dream that leads a young lad through heaven and hell and such forth. The opening Grave is thus dark and brooding and boasts potent, thundering bass at times. The Allegro moderato seems perhaps more Allegro than moderato, what with its flowing cascades of notes, delivered both smoothly and with a sense of urgency. The Adagio ma non troppo is a bit slower, though hardly truly slow, and possesses a somewhat sharp edge to the sound, and discordant rhythms aplenty. The music remains dark and assumes a ruminative tone to boot. And that’s just in the opening couple minutes, because after that, at just after 2’, the music becomes fiery and stinging for a brief while. It settles back down, though it remains just a bit unsettled. The third movement is labeled Scherzo infernale, and it sounds rather like Grieg-meets-(diabolical) Liszt. It’s beefy and bold and driven, if not quite up to the same dizzying level as Liszt’s most over-the-top concoctions. (Some may say that’s a good thing.) The concluding Allegro in halling is more upbeat – almost celebratory – as it seems as though the imaginary protaganist is emerging from the long, intense, frightful dream in overjoyed fashion. The music and playing have an effortless, slipstream quality to them, and ends the work in a most satisfying manner.

The disc winds down with three miniatures by three different composers. Sverre Bergh’s Norwegian Dance Number 2, Gamel-Holin is another folk-based work, and it sounds unfailingly lovely, delicate, and light. Alf Hurum’s Aquarelles, Op 5/2 is a vigorous little work, with a really vibrant middle. The final work on the disc is Geirr Tveitt’s Brudlaups-Klokker, or Wedding Bells, which was written on the afternoon of a colleague’s daughter’s wedding as a wedding present. For something written on the spot, it actually sounds quite lovely. It’s sweet, wistful, gently melodic, and most beautiful. A fine present indeed!

I like this disc quite a bit. No, none of the works ranks among the best examples of their respective genres, but there’s more than enough there to come back to again and again. And I think this definitely indicates that I should sample more of Egge’s music. (Tveitt’s, too.)

The pianist for all the works is Håvard Gimse, a pianist I’ve neglected for too long. I’ve mulled over buying a few of his other discs, and now I think I’ll have to reprioritize some of my future purchases. The man has a superb technique, can extract a broad tonal palette from his instrument, and has a wide, powerful dynamic range. I definitely would like to hear him in Chopin, Schumann, Liszt, and Debussy. The Trondheim Soloists, conducted by Håvard’s younger brother Øyvind, acquit themselves nicely in the concerto.

SOTA sound all around, though the concerto, which was recorded earlier and with a different engineer, has some analog hiss, or something that sounds just like analog hiss, running throughout. It’s only audible during the quiet passages, and even then it’s very low in level, but it seems that an analog tape was used somewhere in the recording and/or mastering process. No matter, a fine disc.

 

[Todd]

When Rzewski Plays Rzewski first came out early this decade, I was interested in getting it, but for some reason I never quite got around to it until now. In some ways I can’t say that the wait was such a bad thing. Sure, Frederic Rzewski keeps alive the whole pianist-composer thing, but that really works only if the pianist’s compositions are really compelling. Other pianist-composers of the recorded age have apparently recorded relatively little of their own works. (Horowitz- and Volodos-like transcriptions not included.) Kempff, Casadesus, Schnabel – to name just three – all focused their recording efforts on more standard fare. Perhaps for good reason. (The little I’ve heard from the latter two hint strongly at them being better pianists than composers.) Rzewski, though, was afforded the luxury of recording seven discs worth of music by Nonesuch. Was such a luxury warranted?

The first disc seems to indicate it was. The disc is given over to music inspired by North American folk music, and here Rzewski’s obvious penchant for improvisation, or composition closely mimicking improvisation, really pays off. The North American Ballads sound like folk-music that has gone through an intellectual’s mental meat grinder and come out quite well. Whether playing with heavy, droning ostinato, or dark, hardened boogie-woogie, or a throbbing, brittle rhythmic sense, the music jumps from the speakers. The Housewife's Lament , the disc’s closing work, has moments of beauty, though it more or less carries on in the same style as before. The set starts off strongly.

The second disc is nearly as good. It opens with Mayn Yingele, a set of variations that sounds rather like Beethoven-meets-Schoenberg. Gnarly and knotty much of the time, Rzewski still manages to leave room for some passages of outright beauty. The music also seems to wander almost aimlessly at times, and it certainly seems as though at least some of the music is truly improvised. Based on Rzewski’s own ideas, the long cadenza certainly seems made up on the spot. The work ends with an industrial strength trill variation. It’s good, and worth several listens. The next work, A Life, is a work of around 4’33” that was written as a memorial to, not surprisingly, John Cage. Knotty, again, and chaotic, it is a fitting tribute. The disc ends with Fouges, a collection of 25 Schoenbergian miniatures, with all that implies. Those wanting endless streams of lovely melody need not listen. More adventurous souls will find to more to enjoy. Alas, this is where something that pops up over and over through the rest of the set also appears: the use of non-musical means to convey ideas. Here that means Rzewski banging on something with something else. (Hitting the piano with a stick?) That doesn’t get me worked up.

The third disc is devoted to more traditional compositions: a Fantasia and a Sonata. The Fantasia is a modern day take on the old stand-by, and Rzewski’s is heavy and blocky and thick and spiky. Again, it sounds improvised at times, and it makes for a stimulating listen, if not a very relaxing listen. The Sonata is even harder going. Truth to tell, I find it too long. The opening movement is over 25’ in length, and while one can enjoy the alternating harsh, pounded out notes and the rounded chords and the slower music with snatches of fun and melody, it just doesn’t seem to end. The second and third movements are shorter, but are still long, and how much a variations on Taps can one take? The concluding Agitato is yet another set of variations, here 27 of ‘em, and again, how much is enough?

The next two discs are taken up by the first parts of an on-going composition called The Road. And here’s where my patience wore thin. The piece opens with the recorded sound of the pianist walking to the piano, and it concludes with him walking away. In between, one hears long stretches of hard, dissonant, clangorous music interspersed with somber, barren slower passages, as well as some more lovely passages, and everything in between. But one also has to sit through humming and banging and scraping and thumping and moaning and other non-musical, or rather, non-pianistic sounds. The recitation of the last part of Gogol’s The Nose is an interesting conceit (I love that work), but in delivery it just doesn’t float my boat. I’m all for adventurous art, but there comes a point where it just ain’t working. The Road has a lot of these points. Which is a pity, because some of the music is truly excellent and compelling.

The sixth disc contains Rzewski’s take on his 36 variations on “The People United Will Never Be Defeated!” , based on a song by Sergio Ortega. In some ways this is the modern equivalent of the great Diabelli Variations by LvB himself. The song, while nice, isn’t quite up to what follows, as Rzewski unleashes a torrent of emotions and pianistic techniques. The variations vary widely, from lyrical to introspective to depressed to fiercely defiant, with the most heated music delivered with a most robust cutting intensity. The two cadenzas do seem improvised on the spot and sound very much informed by his mood while playing. The final restatement of the theme has an intensity and vitality that one may not have expected upon first hearing it. Rzewski interjects some whistling here and there, and while I could have done without it, the work and the performance are still quite fine.

The set closes with the comparatively brief De Profundis, which includes lengthy spoken parts, with the text provided by Oscar Wilde in the form of a long letter he composed while in prison. Again, random noises pop up all over, and again I just couldn’t derive much pleasure from them. But when only the piano or the piano and text are mixed together, there are some fine things. Wilde’s text, while a little incoherent at times as presented in the snippets here, have not a little power, and Rzewski’s music seems quite in tune with the spirit of the text. Alas, when a bicycle horn is added to the mix, the demented Marx Brothers effect ruins the music. Strip out the non-musical extras, and one would have a more compelling work.

What to make of this set? The purely musical aspects are often, though not always, quite compelling. Some works are too long, some too intense for extended listening sessions. (I don’t think I could ever finish this set in less than two-three weeks.) And Rzewski’s playing is quite good; he seems to have the inside scoop on the music, though he’d no doubt be the first to admit that there’s no “right” way to play his music. But the non-musical aspects of the set bother and annoy and detract from the overall achievement, at least for me. I simply don’t want to list to grunts and scraping sounds. This doesn’t get added to the frequently played list.

Sound is dry and close but excellent.

 

[Todd]

I figured it was time for another “exotic” import from the East, because such imports are always exotic to Western ears. Or perhaps not. The nice little Naxos disc of three works by Korean composer Isang Yun can expose one to something new, but not too un-Western.

The disc opens with Chamber Symphony I from 1987, and it’s a fine chamber symphony. I came to the piece expecting, well, I don’t know what, but I got something that’s decidedly “modern” and familiar. The winds add the strongest hints of “Eastern” sound, and some occasional string passages do too, but I hear what sounds to be the influence of DSCH, perhaps some modern Germans, and a Western-trained sensibility. The piece seems to be a chamber orchestra fantasy, meandering through a maze of most appealing music, with taut writing and delivery, and bright, blaring brass to perk up one’s ears. Monumental? Nah. Quite good.

Next up is Tapis pour cordes, also from 1987, and here in its string orchestra guise rather than its string quintet guise. It’s compact, tense, and terse, with more obvious Eastern influences thrown together with a Bartok-cum-Lutoslawski sound that is searingly intense at times. The blend works very well.

The disc closes with Gong-Hu for harp and strings, which sounds similar aurally to Tapis (ie, more Eastern), but is broader and more leisurely. There’s still some bite at times, and here it is the harp that adds the most non-Western sound to the music. Of course, the harp isn’t the most enthralling instrument, so this may never make it into either the core repertoire or even my collection of frequently spun works, but it’s nice to hear.

Yun’s music offers some fine listening – enough, perhaps, for me to consider his symphonies next. Conductor, band, and sound are all up to snuff.

 

[methodistgirl]

I may not have a picture of the album but I used to perform while in
high school with my glee club and numerious other high school choirs
to form this massive choir to help out the Owensboro symphonie
orchestra in Owensboro, kentucky with George Gerswin's Porky & Bess
opera and I had a ball that night. I remember this night very well.
I do know of a picure on an album cover like everyone elses and that
is Days of Future passed by the Moody Blues. That's all that I know
about this kind of classical music.
judy tooley

 

[Todd]

After three successful discs in a row, I figured I should go with a proven winner and try another disc of music by Leonardo Balada. How about a nice, big choral work? I asked myself. So I went with his “agnostic” requiem, No Res, written in memory of his mother, along with Ebony Fantasies.

The disc opens with No Res from 1974. I’ll get right to the point: I don’t like this work. It’s not terrible, mind you, and it’s expertly crafted, but I just don’t like it. Balada, per his notes (it’s always helpful to have notes written by the composer), was angered as well as saddened by his mother’s death, and this work is a protest against death itself. An interesting, potentially powerful conceit, but the specific devices here don’t work for me. The piece is augmented by taped sounds throughout; indeed, it opens with the sounds of howling dogs. The rest of the first part of this two-part work includes excellent choral singing that alternates between haunting and eerie, and is delivered in a smooth or blocky style, as the text and music requires. Random, bizarre sounds appear and disappear throughout, and then there’s a narration that uses multiple languages. Anger, confusion, bitterness, sorrow: all shine through at times, and at times the piece is effective. But at other times it is not. The disjointed feel just doesn’t jell, though clearly it is intentional – this is an angry, very personal requiem, after all. The text ain’t the hottest, either. The second part of the work is slightly better. Informed mostly by rage, and displaying greater drama and vigor, it sounds more compelling, though the tape sounds detract from the piece, at least for me. There are many fine moments and devices in the work, and some may very well like it much more than I do, and I can understand why, but this just won’t get too many spins around these parts.

The second work, Ebony Fantasies from 2003, is much more to my liking. Balada resets four well known black spirituals to superb effect. The set opens with Nobody knows the trouble I seen in a setting that doesn’t resemble the original at all. It’s snappy, boisterous, and curiously uplifting and upbeat, with copious hints of jazz sprinkled throughout. I got a crown follows, in a decidedly modern setting, with quasi-aleatoric “form” and an almost chant-like quality. Were you there? opens with dark, elongated playing by the low strings, and the chorus sings in a very slow, somber, but ultimately touching manner. It is haunting and beautiful. The piece closes with War no mo’, which sounds vibrant and rhythmically alert and decidedly “modern,” though its message is timeless (and timely, I suppose). Balada has written several times of his respect for spirituals and jazz, and his respectful, brilliant treatment of such music backs up his words. A fine work indeed. I hope to hear it in concert someday.

So, a mixed bag, with a hit and a miss. Fine sound, fine conducting, and fine playing throughout.

 

[Todd]

I’ve always had a weak spot for 20th Century string quartets. Bartok’s supreme masterpieces were among the works that got me seriously interested in classical music to begin with, and since then I’ve acquired a reasonable collection of recordings spanning the whole of the century. So why not try someone new? So I settled on Marek Stachowski, a composer new to me, and the Dux recording of all of his works written for string quartet through 1995.

The disc opens with his first string quartet from 1963, and the piece sounds of its time. It’s very avant-garde. The opening Animato is comprised mostly of flitting figures and not-too-harsh dissonance delivered in a lively, um, animated fashion. The Tranquillo opens with the cello laying on some thick glissando (though not Gloria Coates thick) before the other instruments fade in and out. It’s tranquil, yes, but also a bit eerie at times, with controlled outbursts to pierce the nearly pervasive tranquility. The Scherzando is brief and puckish, yet serious, or at least seriously constructed. It’s tight and dense and gnarly. The concluding Risoluto is likewise tightly structured, and some music literally scraped out. It’s a nice, vibrant, somewhat inaccessible work.

The second string quartet from 1972 is, if anything, even harder to get into. The single movement, amorphous, mostly quiet blob of sound of a quartet is interrupted at times by ruder, rougher outbursts to add contrast. It sounds quasi-aleatoric, and it seems that Mr Stachowski was impressed and influenced by Ligeti’s second quartet. Simply reinforcing this is the round-robin pizzicato playing, which sounds new yet familiar. For the rest of the work, the piece develops along similar lines. It’s not bad, but it’s not as compelling as, say, Ligeti’s second quartet.

The next work is Quartetto da ingress from 1980. Again, Stachowski favors a quiet overall sound – all the better to emphasize dynamic contrasts. This piece is also a single movement work, and it too unfolds continuously, with fine unison writing and appealing tremolos and glissandi and even hints of tonality thrown in. It lacks traditional melody, of course, so it might be very rough to get into; indeed, this isn’t going to be plopped in my CD player for any easy listening sessions.

The next work is the third string quartet from 1988. Again, the music starts off slow and quiet, and very slowly develops with terse outbursts piercing the somewhat static soundworld. But here the style is more accessible, closer to tonal. The second movement has tons of fun pizzicati before moving on to the third movement which sounds quite a bit like the first.

The disc ends with Musica festeggiante per quartetto d’archi from 1995. Another single movement work, it unfolds in a fast-slow-fast fashion, with the same basic approach and devices mentioned previously.

While this disc is a success overall, I have to admit that there is a certain sameness to the music. Stachowski uses the same devices over and over, and while his music does demonstrate progress, I was hoping for greater stylistic diversity. Still, I’ll keep the disc and spin it on occasion. The Jagiellonian Quartet is more than up to the challenge of the music, and the sound is spacious and metallic, though I wouldn’t doubt if that merely reflects on the music itself.

 

[Todd]

I find Einojuhani Rautavaara a reliable composer. I’ve picked up a number of recordings of his music over the past five or six years, and with the exception of his dull opera Rasputin, I’ve always like what I heard. So I picked up the Naxos disc of his second and third piano concertos and the small orchestral work Isle of Bliss with relatively high expectations. I was satifisfied.

The disc opens with Isle of Bliss, which is based on a poem by the Finnish poet Aleksis Kivi. (The inspiration for one of Rautavaara’s finest works, the opera Aleksis Kivi.) The compact tone poem opens vigorously and joyously, and quickly segues into a lush, dreamy, and appropriately slower sound world, with the winds carefully and delicately evoking bird calls, something so dear to this composer and critical in this work, what being based on the poem Home of the Birds. As the work continues to unfold, the work seems to take on a calm, and, well, blissful feel. It’s a fine work, and almost strikes me as something a cooler Richard Strauss may have written had he been informed by 1990s ideas.

The next work is the third piano concerto, Gift of Dreams, originally dedicated to Vladimir Ashkenazy, who has recorded it. Here the pianist is Laura Mikkola. Anyhoo, the opening Tranquillo, as the title suggests, opens calmly, with lovely, soothing string playing of a New Age-cum-Romanticism sort – but in a good way. The piano enters gently, with sparse notes, but then it picks up until a long run ushers in the winds then brass. I detected the rather obvious influence of Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto (a very good thing!) and even hints of Rachmaninov. (It was written for Ashkenazy, so that only makes sense.) The piano writing becomes dazzling, though never over the top. The Adagio assai is slow, calm, and a bit cool at the open, with the pianist this time coming right to the forefront. In such an environment excess would not do, so excess there is not. As the movement progresses the music becomes more vigorous, with especially tasty swirls in the high strings and drive in the lower strings, with rumbling timpani helping to ratchet up the intensity in the middle. Then it calms down a bit, revealing a conservative overall structure. The concluding Energico is more, um, energetic, with both the soloist and band getting to let loose a bit. With drum thwacks aplenty, and pulsing string playing, and virtuosic piano writing and playing, the work ends with a standard concerto finale, though one that fades away nicely at the end. All the while the work possesses that unique Rautavaara sound, with lush sounds informed by prickly compositional devices, all merged into a most satisfying package. Having heard all three of Rautavaara’s piano concertos, I must say that I like this one the most.

The disc closes with the fine second piano concerto. The opening In Viaggio starts of sparse, with a bass emphasized orchestra underpinning shimmering piano figurations that continue while the whole orchestra begins to play. The first solo part for the pianist isn’t much more than a continuation of the opening material, though as the orchestra reenters and the whole work develops, the piano part also develops. The orchestral writing itself becomes more potent, with prominent percussion and swelling strings. A nice, beefy opener. The Sognando e libero opens with comparatively gentle, ruminative piano playing and orchestral playing to match, though the strings sting a bit, hints of unease in the air. Then everything speeds up, building to a powerful climax before subsiding. The concluding Uccelli sulle passion finds Ms Mikkola playing knotty, almost neo-Schoenbergian piano music solo, and then when the orchestra plays, it’s in a gliding, undulating fashion, with the strings notable again for their beauty and bite. The piano plays in a similar fashion throughout, in what sounds to be challenging writing. It’s hard to tell if the soloist is now the accompanist at times, but both band and soloist take to the fore from time to time. Rautavaara’s distinctive wind writing (usually ascending solo bursts) pop up here and there, and the whole thing fades away to nothingness. This is a very knotty piece, but it’s also very approachable.

Indeed, that may be the key to the success of this disc and of Rautavaara generally. His music is both modern and respects (and borrows from) tradition. He’s not afraid to write something dense, gnarly, and rigorous. But he’s also not afraid to write beautiful music. And he has the ability to make even serial music conventionally beautiful. These three works all reinforce his talents. That’s why I find him to be one of the greatest of composers active in the last two or three decades.

As to the performers, Ms Mikkola does a superb job, and Eri Klas and his Dutch band far more than ably support her. Superb sound rounds out a superb disc.

 

[Corno Dolce]

*Galaxies* by Urmas Sisask:

http://www.ccnc.de/media/de/GALAXIES.html

 

[Todd]

I had immense success when I picked up the Naxos Nancarrow “sampler” and the complete works for player piano on Wergo, so I figured I might as well go for the new-ish disc of his string quartets (and other works) played by the Arditti Quartet on Wergo. While this is a fine disc it’s not quite as good as the other recordings I mentioned. The reason is plain enough; the bottom line is that Nancarrow was simply better at writing for the player piano and other small ensembles than he was at writing for the more conventional string quartet medium.

Don’t get me wrong: there’s plenty to enjoy. The music is gnarly and modern in a nice heavy duty way, but it also maintains Nancarrow’s generally lighter, sunnier overall feel. Competition for late LvB these works are not. Meticulous attention is paid to each instrument, and the musical arguments are dense. Some fun music pops up here and there – as one would expect from Nancarrow – but I guess I wanted more. The fillers, including arrangements of some of the player piano studies made by Nancarrow and others, fall into the same category. There’s a really nice, brief Toccata for violin and player piano which seems to jump to life a bit more, and the closing Trilogy for Player Piano shows where Nancarrow is most at home.

The Arditti play superbly, as one would expect, and sound is superb too. I definitely rate this disc a success and think that Nancarrow fans will like it. It just doesn’t match up to his (formidable) best works. That’s a tall order, though.

 

[Todd]

So far in all my listening I’ve heard very little Michael Tippett – only the symphonies. I wasn’t uniformly impressed, particularly with the one with faux voices or breathing or whatever in it. (It’s been years since I listened to it.) But I figured I might as well try something else, and this disc of two of the piano sonatas and the Piano Concerto was quite handy. I enjoy John Ogdon’s pianism for the most part, so I figured he’d make the most of the works here.

The disc opens with the first Piano Sonata, and it’s quite good in a generic, modernist sort of way. It’s complex and dense, with nice contrasts in rhythm and dynamics, along with some bite, yet it retains enough traditional melodic and harmonic elements (and four movement structure), or something approximating them, to be quite accessible. It’s not of Prokofiev quality, say, but it’s a nice listen. The next work is the second Piano Sonata, which is a more complex yet, more avant garde, with harsh dissonance and ragged rhythm. A less comfortable listen, and a bit less persuasive, too. If I go this route, I’m thinking Schoenberg is more to my taste.

The disc ends with the Piano Concerto, which is the best work on the disc. Again, it’s definitely “modern,” but it’s also approachable. The overall feeling is on the upbeat side, and there’s energy aplenty. Orchestration is handled deftly, with some nifty wind writing; some rather, well, British sounding brass parts (hard to describe, but I don’t think anyone would say some of the fanfares sound French); and string writing that is both attractive and piquant. In the opening movement one can hear the influence of Bartok in places, as well as some other composers, though the Hungarian’s influence is most audible. I’ll definitely give this work a spin in the future, but I must say that it’s not quite up to the Bartok and Prokofiev level.

The 60s era sound quality is very good, and Ogdon plays with notable command of the music. Colin Davis and the Philharmonia more than ably accompany in the concerto. So, a good disc, maybe a very good one, but really one for intrepid repertoire explorers.

 

[Todd]

Up until I bought this disc, I believe the only work by Jean Françaix I had heard was his Piano Concerto. A fine work to be sure, but surely there is more to the composer. There is! I’m not sure why this disc caught my attention – perhaps the bright colors on the cover, perhaps the unusual instrumental combinations (winds aplenty, strings, and piano) – but I’m sure glad it did because it’s one heck of a charmer.

Profound levity, that’s the best way I can describe the sound of the music on this disc. The four works – two long-ish, two short – all display the same traits: an irresistibly light, upbeat mood (for the most part); snazzy rhythms; beauty; grace; clarity; meticulousness; informal formality; and undeniable Frenchness. (No German or Briton could ever write this music!) Even the slow movements more or less convey the same things, just at a more leisurely pace. They are immediately and completely accessible works, yet they also scream out 20th Century. These could never have been written in the 19th Century, yet strident, hard, jagged music is nowhere to be found.

While all the works sound different, and all have different instrumental combinations, they all occupy the same overall sound world. There’s no sense of the composer rehashing the same ideas, though, not by any means. Some may find the music and ideas too trite, and this certainly isn’t chamber music of Beethoven/Bartok/Shostakovich/<add your favorite heavyweight here> caliber, but surely one can enjoy perfectly crafted musical bon-bons every once in a while.

The Gaudier Ensemble plays splendidly and Hyperion’s sound is top-notch.

A delicious disc.

 

[methodistgirl]

I have an album by the Moody blues similar to that.
judy tooley

 

[Todd]

Here’s a composer entirely new to me. Until I saw the Naxos disc of his complete solo piano music, I’d never even seen the name Dimitris Dragatakis. My curiosity was piqued, though I’m not sure why. So I have listened to the disc, and I must declare this a most exhilarating find!

The disc opens with a trilogy of shorter works from 1949 and before – meaning they’re “early” works. (The composer lived from 1914 to 2001.) They are all pleasant enough works. Nostalgia is a Greek-flavored, Iberia-esque piece, though not as complex as the Spanish masterpiece. Butterfly is a light creation featuring tasty irregular rhythms Little Ballade offers the first hints of what’s to come with a vigorous, intense, fiery, occasionally knotty and occasionally romantic sound. One can detect faint whiffs of Bartok.

The early works then give way to the meat of the disc. Dragatakis is revealed to be a thoroughly modern composer with a pronounced avant-garde streak, though he seems to be a few years behind the times with each work. The two Piano Sonatinas exemplify this. Written in the 60s, they are both angular, dissonant, driven pieces, and seem to hint at Prokofiev and perhaps Schoenberg. Then comes Antiques, a collection of eight miniatures from 1972 that are often austere, occasionally violent, and display hints of both Minimalism and Ligeti. The Anadromés are more austere yet, but somehow manage to maintain a rhythmic brio. The two Etudes carry on in a similar style. Inelia, from 1997, is a most fascinating piece. Dragatakis maintains a thoroughly modern style yet injects more accessible harmonic and melodic components in places. It’s a most remarkable piece. The disc closes with the 11-minute long Monologue No. 4, from 2001, which wasn’t premiered until after his death. It’s mostly a no-compromise type piece, knotty and occasionally unapproachable, but one hears wistfulness, and perhaps even bitterness and regret in a few spots.

Lorenda Ramou plays all of the works, and she is fully up to the challenge. She worked with the composer and premiered some of his pieces, and accordingly she seems to have the music down cold. She plays with impressive command and feeling, something not always expected in such modern works. Throw in fully modern sound, and this is one heck of a disc. If you like modern piano music – think Schoenberg, Ligeti, or Nono – then this may be one to consider.

 

[Contratrombone64]

Todd Hope you're well? By the way and thanks for your insightful reviews, I finally recieved my CD with the sonatas of Scarlatti - what a treasure trove.

 

[Todd]

I’m not sure why I decided to try this disc. It’s filled with pretty much nothing but miniatures – and transcribed miniatures at that. Sure, the transcribers in question have names like Heifetz and Perlman for most of the works, but they’re transcriptions. But why not?

Anyway, the disc opens with an original work by called Four Rags by John Novacek, Ms Josefowicz’s accompanist. It’s a pretty good throwback to the early 20th Century ragtime music the rest of the disc is devoted to. After that, things move back in time to works by Charlie Chaplin (!), Scott Joplin, George Gershwin, Stephen Foster, and Manuel Ponce (?). Most are mildly entertaining but fade from memory once the music stops. Even Heifetz’s arrangement of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair, interesting though it is to hear, isn’t exactly gripping.

There are a couple interesting works. Henri Vieuxtemps’ work Souvenir d’Amérique, a set of variations on Yankee Doodle, is great fun. The main melody is given the hyper-virtuoisic treatment and it works. The Porgy and Bess suite also works well as arranged. But these two works total about 20 minutes of a 60+ minute disc. That’s not enough.

Leila Josefowicz plays quite nicely, with a pleasant but not gorgeous tone, and a slightly small sound, at least as recorded here. Novacek plays his part superbly. Sound is major-label top-flight. Even so, this is lightweight disc that doesn’t seem to be something to listen to very often.

 

[Todd]

I’ve sampled a variety of lieder by a number of composers over the years, but until this disc I never got around to listening to the songs of Hugo Wolf. So when I stumbled on this old disc of an even older recital by that estimable duo of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Gerald Moore I figured it was time. The disc contains a recital from 1961 and has 20 of Wolf’s Mörike lieder, all penned in 1888. On the evidence of this recital, I really need to investigate more of Wolf’s music.

As I expected, Fischer-Dieskau and Moore work perfectly together, with Moore generally supplying the steady base from which Fischer-Dieskau can launch into interpretive flights of fancy. Many of the songs have a dark or somewhat dark mien, and they sound unusually rich. The texts are all quite good, and some more than that. And sometimes it’s the smaller works that hit hardest. For instance, Bei einer Trauung is extremely brief, yet it’s unsettling piano part and condensed verse describing an unhappy wedding packs a wallop. There are a number of other similar moments through the disc, and Fischer-Dieskau digs in. His mannerisms do show through here and there, and he is histrionic in the last two works in the recital (Zur Warnung and Abschied), so those who do not like him probably wouldn’t like this disc. Me, I do, and need to hear more.

Sound is definitely not modern: it sounds like a live recital recording from its time and the volume and scale of both singer and pianist varies a bit more than one would ideally prefer.