Enescu: Violin Sonata nr. 3

I keep piling discovery on discovery. In the wake of the recent concert with Patricia Kopatchinskaja and Fazil Say I started to look around for some of their recordings. I didn't fall for their Kreutzer sonata, assuming that it would be too extreme in its manner of presentation. But this short Youtube video made me think that the recording Kopatchinskaja made with her family might be fun and interesting to listen to.

I zeroed in immediately on the most substantial piece on the CD: Enescu's Violin Sonata nr. 3 'Dans le caractère populaire roumain' (1926). And wow what an amazing piece of music this is. It seems to transport us back to the beginning of time, when singing was hardly more than wordlessly mimicking the sounds of nature. The music is thoroughly rhapsodic in character. It sounds like improvisation start to finish. And still, it feels like a sonata too, where the whole is more than the sum of the parts. Another 'atavistic' feature of this music is its suggestion of an exploratory pedestrianism, of a nomadic impulse that connects us to the earliest days of civilisation. Oh, this is gipsy music alright.

If I was still looking for proof of Kopatchinskaja's artistry, then this is it. Her violin sounds like a human voice, chanting. There are confused interior monologues, shouts, prayers and laments. The expressive gamut traversed by her instrument is truly astonishing. The first movement - Moderato malinconico - sounds like a long journey through a windswept, inhospitable land. The Andante sostenuto e misterioso is a true night music. Not as 'polished' and composed as Bartok's but visceral and raw. Kopatchinskaja and her formidable partner at the piano Mihaela Ursuleasa create an inky darkness from which spine-tingling shrieks and hisses strike terror in our hearts. There is a more animated middle section and then the music sinks back into its brooding atmosphere. The finale is a gipsy dance that Kopatchinskaja takes at a moderate tempo. It ends in utter disaster. This music is dark matter. It reminds me of Shostakovich's gloomiest moments. As far removed from the breezy exoticism of Enescu's orchestral rapsodies as you can think off.

Over the weekend I picked up another version of this very sonata in the bargain bin at Fnac. A recording (on the Fuga Libera label) by two young musicians residing in Belgium: Lorenzo Gatto (violin) and Milos Popovic (piano). It took me only one or two minutes to appreciate the vast chasm that separates their reading from Kopatchinskaja's. Clearly, the latter has the music in her veins. Technically she seems to stand miles above Gatto. As a result, the Gatto partnership doesn't even seem to scratch the surface of this wild, apocalyptic vortex. Nevertheless, I'm planning to give it a fair hearing.

Boulanger: Psaume 130 - Ropartz: Psaume 136 - Schmitt: Psaume XLVII

This trio of psalm settings from three fringe composers confirms the remarkable variety and quality of the musical scene in turn-of-the-century France. Truly, it's amazing that these works are hardly ever performed.

I've been listening a couple of times to Ropartz' setting of Psalm 136 (in the Greek numbering) and the work continues to grow in stature. It's the earliest of the three pieces, composed in 1897. Ropartz makes skillful use of the chromatic, Franckian idiom. The 15 minute piece is clearly structured in three parts: a slow introduction built around a beautiful, doleful theme that is evocative of the yearning of the Jewish people in exile. Follows an animated and fugato middle section that introduces a suitable element of monumentality. A short, quiet coda brings the work to an end. It's a thoroughly worthwhile listening experience and certainly the best work on this CD. It encourages me to seek out Franck's magnum opus Les Béatitudes which was finished in 1879 but publicly performed only in 1891. This was also the work that Ropartz conducted when he took his leave from his public duties as administrator and teacher at the Strasbourg conservatory in 1929.

Florent Schmitt is a composer that is as good as unknown to me. Years ago I listened a few times to his Mirages for piano which I quite liked. But I never ventured any further in exploring this body of work. In my mind the name is associated with exoticism and excess. Quite a surprise to learn then that his setting of Psalm 47 (or 46, depending on the numbering) is such an approachable work. In fact, in a way it exhibits the most conservative idiom of the three works assembled here. It was written in 1904. On the surface it sounds like a barbaric paean with blistering fanfares and heaven-storming tutti. But the harmony is reassuringly diatonic, reminding me of Berlioz, Bizet and, most of all, Rimsky's Sheherazade (1888). In its compact, exultant writing for the full orchestra and chorus it points to the Veni Creator Spiritus in Mahler's Eighth, to be composed two years later (1906). Anyway the modernism seems to be more pose than substance here. It's hard to believe the story that Stravinsky was so enthused about Schmitt's work (not only the Psalm, also his Tragédie de Salomé) that he leaned on it whilst writing the Sacre. Schmitt's Psaume XLVII certainly makes for an enjoyable audition, but to my mind it's not particularly great or subtle music.

The genuine masterpiece amongst these three works is Lili Boulanger's Psaume 130 Du fond de l'abîme. Truly an amazing work that took me by complete surprise. The CD was part of an eclectic, boxed collection that the Chandos label put on the market a few years ago to celebrate their 30th anniversary. I had listened to this particular recording before and knew it contained some very good music. But now that I've been focusing on this particular work I understand what a treasure it really is. The story behind the music is very moving too. Lili Boulanger has been labelled the first female composer to be reckoned with by her gifted sister Nadia Boulanger. And rightly so as Clara Schumann and Alma Mahler were never able to let their gift really flower. Lili's very short life was marked by tragedy. When she was six her father, Ernest Boulanger, collapsed and died whilst he was having a conversation with her. She was diagnosed with Crohn's disease which made her life miserable but was unable to extinguish her creative impulse. Quite to the contrary, it seemed to have spurred her on to put the last ounce of energy in her work. In 1913 she won the Prix de Rome with her cantata Faust et Hélène (also on this CD) which made her the first woman to do so. Du fond de l'abîme dates from 1917, a year before her untimely death at 24. It's a wonderful composition, deeply tragic, very free in form but truly symphonic and in a genuinely modern idiom. I'm thinking of some of her pioneering contemporaries here, such as Scriabin (who died in 1915), Sibelius (particularly his brooding Symphony nr. 4, written in 1910-11) or Rued Langgaard (who wrote his astonishing Music of the Spheres in 1918). One can also readily appreciate why Arthur Honneger was so taken by Boulanger's music. The Psalm sounds like the work of a very mature composer. In its mere 24 minutes it really creates a very distinctive world and sometimes it is indeed as Mahler said of his own Symphony nr. 8 that you can see the 'planets and suns coursing about'. One can only wonder what this brave woman would have been able to produce might she have lived on another decade or so.

Debussy: Etudes, Images - Bartok: 3 Studies, Improvisations - Haydn: Piano Sonata nr. 20

More great and hitherto unknown music is coming my way. Yesterday we went to another concert at the Conservatoire in Brussels featuring Jean-Efflam Bavouzet on piano. Bavouzet has recently made a name for himself with a series of Haydn and Debussy recordings on the Chandos label. Particularly the Debussy recordings have met with critical acclaim. The programme for this concert was most judiciously put together. First a 'Sturm und Drang' Haydn sonata (nr .20, from 1771), followed by Debussy's brief Hommage à Haydn on a BADDG (= HAYDN) motif. Then Book II of the Images for piano. After the break a switch to two works from Bartok's violent middle period: the Improvisations on Hungarian Folk Songs, and the Three Studies. Back to Debussy with a selection from the late Etudes. Altogether a very challenging programme, certainly for the performer but also for the listener.

Earlier in the week I had prepared for the concert somewhat as I had never heard the Etudes. HVC had recently drawn my attention to them. Prior to our conversation I didn't even know they existed. But once I realised that they sprung from the same miraculous 1915 summer in Pourville that yielded the Cello Sonata and the Sonata for Flute, Viola and Harp, I looked forward to getting to know them with keen anticipation. There are not that many recordings around and I settled on the celebrated 1989 performance by Mitsoku Uchida. I was immediately struck by the immense power that radiates from the music. The Etudes' surface is all glitter and charm, but as in all the late works there is a steeliness and stoicism at the core that is humbling. The spirit of Chopin hovers over this whole work, which is not surprising as Debussy had been trying to deal with his own creative impasse and depression (due to illness and war) by working on an edition of the former's work. In the Etudes his affection for the Polish master blends with his reverence for the French baroque tradition. I'm only at the beginning of getting to know this impressive body of work. It's all one can wish for in a piece of music: complex, layered, abstract, truly epic. From what I have heard it may well be Debussy's very best work. In my mind this man continues to grow and grow in stature. 

I have also been listening to the Images, but only briefly. Book I, with its more abstract qualities (Hommage à Rameau, Mouvement) seemed to be more interesting to me than Book II which leans more towards the impressionist Preludes.

The concert itself did maybe not totally fulfill the expectations. It did not produce the sense of occassion experienced, for example, with the Belcea Quartet recently. Bavouzet is no doubt a fine pianist and technically up to the formidable task he set himself. But what I missed was that clarity of line and sharpness of contour that I think is needed in these three composers. In my experience the whole programme coalesced somewhat into a blur. Whether it was early Haydn, middle-period Bartok or middle or late Debussy did not seem to matter too much. Overall there was this sameness of feeling, a certain lack of structure and relief, a homogeneity of texture that kept us, listeners, from getting to that point where you can see the music as it were from above, in three dimensions. We didn't get there this time. But it's always enjoyable to spend an evening in the Conservatoire. The acoustics are good, the seats comfy, the hall suprisingly well heated, the audience always attentive. This time the hall was only half full. Amazing, isn't it? 

Ropartz: Psaume 136, Le Miracle de Saint Nicolas and otherv vocal works

Joseph-Guy Ropartz is a composer one is bound to bump into when exploring turn-of-the-century French music. As Magnard he was an outsider, spending his time in the province (Nancy, Strasbourg) as a teacher and administrator. But despite those time-consuming duties he had the drive to accumulate a very extensive musical oeuvre, including six symphonies. I've always been intrigued by his reputation as 'Celtic bard' due to his allegiance to his Breton roots and I imagined him as a French pendant to Arnold Bax. So lately I decided to try my luck with a cheap Naxos CD collecting some of Ropartz' vocal works. My overall assessment is that it is certainly skillfully composed music that merits more attention than it gets nowadays. The style is derivative, which didn't bother Ropartz who once mused  that "if the originality of a composer dwells much more in the way of feeling than in the manner of expression, it is permissible for him to clothe his thoughts in traditional forms, without losing in any way his true quality". The earliest work here, Psaume 136 (Super flumina Babylonis; from 1897) is clearly indebted to Franck. (I am starting to get an idea by now how massively influential this Franco-Belgian composer has been). There's also a whiff of Berliozian monumentality, very apt given the psalm's subject matter. It's a tightly composed piece, suitably polyphonic, that shows a good command of the orchestra. The language is, as already said, conventional but there are a few striking harmonic moves nevertheless. This merits repeated audition.

The longest piece on this CD is Le Miracle de Saint Nicolas, a legend in 16 short tableaux that tells the lugubrious story about 3 boys that were killed and pickled by a butcher, but after seven years resuscitated by Saint Nicolas (with appropriate punishment for the butcher). The musical language is simple, deliberately so no doubt, lending the piece the character of a mystery play for amateurs and communities (similar to Britten's Noye's Fludde). Musically, it reminds me more of the young Debussy (a watered down version of La Damoiselle Elue) rather than Franck. The piece is scored for string orchestra with continuo parts for organ, piano and harp. There's a choir, children's voices and solos for a narrator, the butcher and Nicolas. All in all it's a quite atmospheric piece, maybe just a tad monotonous.

The three remaining shorter pieces are attractive works for choir and orchestra. Nocturne and Les Vêpres Sonnent date from the late 1920s, Dimanche from 1911. Again the style seems to orient itself quite emphatically to Debussy. Celtic echoes I didn't hear anywhere on this disc.

All in all a worthwhile release that didn't bowl me over but provides incentive enough to seek out a recording of his Third Symphony which is said to be Ropartz's masterpiece. There happens to be a new recording on the Timpani label, remarkably enough conducted by Jean-Yves Ossonce who did so well on the Hyperion release of Magnard symphonies.

The performance by the Orchestre Symphonique et Lyrique de Nancy led by Michel Piquemal is serviceable. The recording is unexceptional. 

Haydn: String Quartet op. 77 nr.1 - Beethoven: String Quartet op. 95 'Serioso' - Schubert: String Quintet D 956

We were really spoiled this week as on Thursday we had the Belcea Quartet performing at the Brussels Conservatorium. Personally I feel this is one of the finest chamber ensembles around. They didn't disappoint in this choice Viennese programme. The Conservatoire was packed but as is customary this was a very disciplined audience that seems to know why it is spending time in a concert hall. The rapt concentration and the relatively small hall created an ambience of wonderful intimacy. The Haydn quartet (which I hadn't heard before) came off very well. What struck me was the relaxed, almost friendly energy that radiates from the group. The music seemed to emerge almost effortlessly. It sounded like the image that is projected by a Zeiss lens: there was wonderfully luminous microdetail, clearly etched but soft contours and a holographic sense of musical lines meshing with one another. It's not spectacular but musically deeply satisfying. Corina Belcea leads as a genuine 'primus inter pares' (and a ravishing appearance she is too). Her violin soars but not to put her colleagues in the shadow but to stretch a broader canvas for them. This is quartet playing as it should be.

The Beethoven quartet came off slightly less successfully I thought. I have the more assertive (maybe even aggressive) rendition of the Artemis Quartet in my ears and for this 'angry' Beethoven piece this is perhaps more appropriate than the somewhat softer grained approach of the Belcea. Anyway, we were listening to what is still a very good performance.

After the break came the Schubert String Quintet in C, with Valentin Erben (ex-Alban Berg) taking the second cello part (as he did on the Belcea's 2009 recording of this piece). Again, I didn't know the Schubert so I had to listen with unprepared ears. Schubert is a composer I still have to discover. Certainly, I have an inkling of what Schubert stands for and it is not an idiom that I am immediately attracted to. There is a simplicity at the heart of Schubert's music, it seems to me, that attracts and leaves me cold at the same time. I love an architectural conception of music. Music that is 'durchkomponiert'. That's why I like Bartok. That's why I am intrigued but also suspicious of Debussy who made it look like his music was not 'composed' at all whilst lavishing the greatest care on the most minute detail of its architectural conception. Schubert throws a single chord at you and immediately one is taken off guard by a complex emotional vista. The Quintet is no exception. It's a very late piece, in fact the last chamber composition Schubert was able to finish two months before his untimely death. It has an otherworldly atmosphere similar to the late piano sonatas. As in those sonatas, Schubert takes the time to develop his musical material: the work takes over 50 minutes! The work didn't strike me as difficult, however. There's a lot of repetition so it's easy to follow (compared to the Beethoven Serioso where there is no repetition at all). The cumulative impact of this long piece, however, is quite extraordinary. One really has the experience of a journey to the edge. It is often said that the quintet's finale, with it's earthbound, schmaltzy character, doesn't seem to belong. It most certainly does belong and the merrymaking is all the more poignant given the seriousness of what went before. Yves Knockaert thought in his spoken introduction before the concert that Schubert grasped back to Haydn in this finale. But I don't hear Haydn; I hear Mahler there, and certainly Bruckner, and in the final bars we are getting a glimpse of the territory that Mahler reconnoitered in this valedictory symphony and that was further explored by the Second Viennese School. In that sense the Belcea's reading was certainly revelatory. I was so impressed by their maturity and humanity. This is true, timeless artistry.

Bartok: Contrasts, Suite from The Wooden Prince, Dance Suite, Piano Concerto nr. 2

I've been writing so many reports (and other stuff) over the last two weeks that my head spins. So I want to be brief in catching up with the blog. The past week I was lucky enough to attend two live concerts. First, on Tuesday, there was the Philharmonia Orchestra led by Esa-Pekka Salonen in a full Bartok programme. I was able to attend courtesy of HVC who passed on his ticket to me as he is spending time abroad. Remarkably, the Bozar was not at all packed for an evening that was dedicated to some of the best music written in the whole of the 20th century. The programme started with a performance of the Contrasts (1938), featuring the orchestra's Hungarian concertmaster, its first clarinet Mark Van De Wiel and Yefim Bronfman, the soloist for the concerto, at the piano. A fine performance but I would have loved to swap the rather sedate violin for Patricia Kopatchinskaia who would no doubt have pulled out all the stops. Then the long suite of the Wooden Prince (1921). It was the first time I saw Salonen on the rostrum and it is a delight to watch his precise and athletic beat (the orchestra I have heard live before, led by the late Sinopoli). Salonen comes across as quite modest and self-effacing too (but no conductor is like that, of course). The suite was most expertly played, stretching a shimmering arc from the Rheingold-like opening murmurings to the manic concluding dance. The Philharmonia mustered gorgeous, almost Scriabinesque colours. After the break followed the Dance Suite (1923), one of my favourite Bartok pieces. I have Solti's blistering account in my ears and Salonen did not quite bring the same level of energy to bear. But it was a genuine pleasure to hear this wonderful piece nevertheless. To cap it off the orchestra and Bronfman offered a monumental and spectacular rendition of the Second Piano Concerto (1931). At first sight it is maybe strange to end a programme with a concerto but in this case it was totally appropriate. In a live performance it is obvious how difficult it is for the orchestra and soloist to jointly pull this off. For the soloist this must be like climbing K2 or so, but Bronfman worked his way through it without as much as raising an eyebrow. He was even gracious enough to offer, in a mock gesture, a hanky to a member of the audience who sneezed in between movements.

Chausson: Symphonie - Magnard: Symphony nr. 3

Last week I spent largely listening to two lesser well known turn-of-the-century French symphonies: Chausson's Symphony in B flat, op. 20 (finished in 1890) and Albéric Magnard's Symphony nr. 3 in B flat minor, op. 11, composed in 1895/6.

Impressed as I was by Chausson's Chant de l'Amour et de la Mer, and noting that I hardly knew any other music of his, I thought it worthwhile to investigate some of his other symphonic and chamber output. Recordings of his only symphony are far and few between so I settled on a Chandos disc with a performance by the BBC Philharmonic led by Yan Pascal Tortelier. The symphony is a late romantic extravaganza, richly harmonised, opulently scored and infused with an 'art nouveau' like melos of endlessly flowing lines. Wagner's chromatic footprint and somber (Tristan-inspired) orchestral colours are omnipresent as is César Franck's organic conception of symphonic form. Despite the evident architectural and atmospheric qualities of the music, the work did for me not really catch fire. Allegedly Chausson complained that during composition he agonised over each and every bar and in a way that struggle is transmitted to the listener. Every bar taken in isolation seems to have jewel-like qualities but the whole loses shape and turns into a big  fortissimo blanket of suffocating ecstasy. One can also understand why Debussy mischievously (as was his custom) referred to Chausson's output as 'prison music'. It's altogether not a surprise why it hasn't found a more prominent place in the repertoire.

The highlight of this disc is, however, a delightful tone poem with the rather lapidary name Viviane. It's Chausson's op. 5 and effectively constitutes his symphonic debut. The young composer wrote it in 1882 in homage to his wife-to-be Jeanne Escudier (who bore him five children). The story that inspired the work is drawn from Arthurian legends (Chausson must have been fascinated by them as later on he wrote an opera on the subject: Le Roi Arthus). Viviane was a mistress of the sorcerer Merlin, who used one of his spells against him. Chausson provided the following synopsis at the head of the score: "Viviane and Merlin the forest of Brociliande. Love scene. Trumpet calls. King Arthur's messengers search the fortress for the sorcerer. Merlin remembers his mission. He wants to flee and escape Viviane's embrace. Enchantment scene. To retain him, Viviane puts Merlin to sleep surrounded by flowering hawthorns." All this is most colourfully and delicately evoked in a score that is appropriately Wagnerian in inspiration but musters perfect poise and restraint in the use of symphonic resources.

Soire de Fête, op. 32 was composed in Italy a year before Chausson's death (1899, in an unfortunate bicycle accident). Here one feels how he was loosening Wagner's grip and moving towards an idiom that leans towards Debussy. The tone poem is a study in two contrasting moods - festivity and contemplation - and in the livelier part it seems to connect to Debussy's Fêtes (from the Nocturnes; completed in 1899 and premiered only a year later; however Debussy and Chausson knew each other very well and Chausson must have been intimate with the Nocturnes' long gestation period). That being said, Soire de Fête has as much from Tchaikovsky (Capriccio Italien) and altogether it didn't make a big impression on me.

Onwards to another composer which up to this point had been all but unknown to me. Well, not really unknown as the name 'Magnard' has been floating around in my subconscious for a long time. I can readily picture the sleeves of the LPs that were recorded in the 1980s by Michel Plasson and his Toulouse orchestra. Likely the proximity of 'Magnard' and 'Mahler' in library and CD shop racks has something to do with it. But whilst I knew the name I hadn't heard anything by Magnard. Recently I bought a double CD straight from Hyperion with all four CDs in the composer's output, performed by the BBC Scottish Orchestra led by the Jean-Yves Ossonce. The conductor's website learns us that he works primarily with third and fourth-tier orchestra in the French province and that he specialises somewhat in late 19th century French repertoire (Massenet, Ropartz, de Séverac). He has since 1997 made no other recordings with Hyperion.

I first listened to Magnard's 37-minute Third Symphony in the car (which I rarely do but now it happened) on my way to and from Brussels. I was immediately captivated by the work's introduction of organum-like, solemn chords in the brass and winds. This sounded like something genuinely special. However, once the work got under way a certain disappointment set in. I was struck by the Schubertian insouciance of the work, by a certain pedestrianism in the choice of thematic material and the rather plain orchestration. True, there were some tantalising flashes that reminded of Bruckner (not surprising given the Schubertian echos) but the whole made a very uneven impression. However, since I have listened to the work five times and I must say it really got under my skin. It's a very peculiar and protean work. Now that I'm familiar with it it's much more the Franckian pedigree that comes to the fore (the cyclical form, the shape of the melodies, the church-like harmonies). And what is also striking is a certain limpidity that inevitably reminds me of Scandinavian music. One very remarkable instance comes at the end of the first movement which seems to come straight out of an early Nielsen symphony! Berwald is another composer that comes to mind. Whilst I can still see the occasional lapse into academism, the symphony as a whole now comes across as a coherent and inspired statement. One thing that continues to bother is the rhythmic and textural uniformity across the work's whole span. Not even the slow movement (Pastorale: Modéré) jumps out as its stormy middle section connects it with the introductory and closing allegros. But it's not a major detraction. Maybe the final movement is the one that has captivated me most. There is a very striking middle section in which the brass intone a mournful chorale, accompanied by very Brucknerian triplets in the strings, immediately followed by a mighty climax in the brass. This wonderful episode is repeated three times. Towards the end the mysterious introductory section returns providing a satisfying sense of closure.

I've also listened to the first movement of the Fourth Symphony and this sounds even more promising. It seems more tightly woven and the orchestration is somewhat denser and more exotic. I look forward to digging into that very soon (I also have a very nice copy of the Plasson recording on LP to compare). The Hyperion recording initially disappointed me. I thought the sound too reverberant, blunting the dynamics and bite of the orchestral playing. However, this is one of the cases where listening with my headphones proved to be a more satisfying listening experience. Altogether Ossonce did a very decent job with the BBC Scottish. There's also a bargain priced set on Brilliant around with Vänska and the Malmö Symphony Orchestra. It is said to be significantly slower than the Hyperion version and I can't see what would be gained by that but I'll snap it up anyhow when it crosses my path. Altogether an interesting discovery!

Debussy: Nocturnes, Pelleas et Melisande Symphonie

Sometimes there are CDs where one really doesn't have to spend a lot of time on. This Naxos specimen is a good example. I bought it for the rare 'symphonie', put together by Marius Constant, of the instrumental music for Pelléas. However, when I put on the Nocturnes, once again, I was in for a disappointment. The whole thing sounded curiously underpowered and anemic. As if the orchestra was recorded under a blanket. But it's not the engineering which is to fault (although it's hardly more than a thirteen-to-the-dozen digital product) but the playing. There is not a shred of sparkle in the Nuages. Textures are lifeless and matte. The orchestra sounds tentative, almost morose. No idea what this conductor was up to. The Orchestre National de Lyon does have a fine pedigree in Debussy, however. Baudo was at its helm for many years. He must curse when he hears this recording. Fêtes is slightly less flaccid but totally unexceptional. The Sirènes are sung in a weird, undifferentiated legato. It's as far removed of Van Beinum's sprightly rendition as you can think off. Here and there Märkl tries too hard to do something different. The result is highly contrived, even outright fake. I got the distinct impression that this is a conductor that has no ideas at all and seeks escape in watery colours, uniformily subdued dynamics and some trivial effects. The Pelléas symphony fares a little better, although we largely find the same approach. It's listenable, however. I didn't bother to spend time on the fillers. What a strange, amateuristic release. It's a mystery why Naxos decided to entrust a full 6-CD cycle of all Debussy's orchestral works to this combo. I won't investigate the other volumes, that's for sure.

Prokofiev: Scythian Suite - Szymanovski: Symphony nr. 4 - Shostakovich: Symphony nr. 5

Yesterday I had the opportunity to sit in at the rehearsals and attend a very special concert. The I, Culture Orchestra is a youth orchestra that has been put together as a flagship cultural project for the Polish Presidency of the EU. It assembles young musicians from the 'Eastern Partnership' (Georgia, Armenia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan, Moldova and Belorussia) and from Poland. Many of them are having their first experiences at playing in an orchestra. The project is the brainchild of two conductors: Pawel Kotla and Neville Marriner. I happened to meet the Pawel's spouse many years ago at a remote airfield in the Gabonese jungle. Recently she re-established contact and yesterday we had an enjoyable lunch in the company of her husband. Afterwards I was allowed to sit in at the rehearsals and later on I attended the concert. I,Culture brought a long and adventurous programme: the rarely heard Scythian Suite (aka Ala and Lolly), Prokofiev's op. 20, followed by Szymanovski's equally unfamiliar Fourth Symphony, op. 60 (Sinfonia Concertante). Shostakovich's popular Symphony nr. 5 completed the programme. 

This was the orchestra's seventh concert, ever. The ensemble was established last August and spent the month in residence at Gdansk. Then there were a few more weeks through September and October in preparation of their European tour which started in Krakow. Then Stockholm last week. Transit to Berlin, where they played at the Philharmonie. Today Brussels and then onwards to London, Madrid and Warsaw. Unfortunately in Brussels they were offered the Conservatoire and not the Bozar as a venue. It's not a bad hall, but it has seen much better days and it is rather small for a 110-strong symphony orchestra. Pawel worked hard during the rehearsals to recalibrate the sound to the venue.

The rehearsals were promising. Pawel worked his way sequentially through the three pieces, selecting bits and pieces, spending most time on matters of ensemble and dynamics. In my opinion the first violins seemed the Achilles heel of the orchestra. I found them a little lacklustre during rehearsal and would have like them to dig a bit deeper in the strings. But otherwise the orchestra seemed to be doing fine. Brass and winds seemed to be in great form. I was very impressed by the first flute, a young lady that produced an impressively authoritative and silken tone.

Attending the rehearsals did not prepare me, however, for the concert itself. What I heard there was very much in another league. Of course, in one way or another you can tell that this ensemble has not had a lot of time to really gel. That being said, it is astonishing at what level these young musicians were playing. Clearly the whole ensemble, including the strings, gave themselves wholeheartedly to the task. There were a few blemishes with intonation problems in the first violins and one or two hickups with the first horn, but they were few and far between.

The Prokofiev Suite came off very well, suitably agressive and with a richly layered sound. I have always had the Abbado/LSO version in my ears and this performance certainly didn't pale in comparison. Here is a nice audio excerpt.

It was a long time since I have last heard the Szymanovski symphony. It is a very special work that combines a folksy, propulsive kind of energy and an angular neoclassicism with a rich impressionist vein. Debussy and Roussel come to mind more than once, particularly in the slow movement. The symphony-concerto was composed in 1932, roughly contemporaneous with Bartok's Pianoconcerto nr. 2. By that time Szymanovski was already wrestling with financial difficulties. Compounded with health problems they would lead to his untimely death just a few years later, in 1937. The music doesn't reveal anything about the challenging circumstances in which it was composed. It is vigorously animated and combines a collage-like structure with a genuinely symphonic undercurrent. Pawel Kotla quite successfully was able to align these different forces into a convincing whole. The rapport between orchestra and soloist Peter Jablonski seemed excellent to me (apparently that hadn't been the case in earlier performances). This is a work that I would like to relisten too soon.

As I didn't look too keenly forward to the Shostakovich, I assumed that the Szymanovski for me would be the 'pièce the resistance' of the evening. It's just that I'm out of the mood for symphonic Shostakovich for the time being. The early pages of the symphony confirmed this sentiment. Now that I'm so deeply into Debussy, the symphonic music of Shostakovich strikes me as simple, even primitive (I had the same impression when I returned to Shostakovich after an extended period of listening to Bach). But soon the performance started to grip me and I must say that by the end of the first movement I was captivated. The scherzo came off wonderfully, mixing a fairy-tale, Nutcracker kind of atmosphere with violent sarcasm. It was the first time I heard it this way. The Largo was taken slowly but very soberly, without bathos. The clean lines reminded me more of plainchant than Mahler. I think it was a considerable challenge for the orchestra but Kotla didn't compromise. In the finale then the spirit of 'thou shalt rejoice' was very convincingly summoned. All in all it was a very convincing performance that spoke to the heart without drawing undue attention to itself and without sacrificing the overall architecture. I think that is a pretty impressive feat for any orchestra. It's good that in times of financial austerity money continues to be available for these kinds of worthwhile projects. I wish Pawel all the very best with his project.

Ravel: Alborada del gracioso, La Valse - Debussy: Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faun, Nocturnes

I have some catching up to do. Trouble is I'm getting so circumspect in writing about my listening impressions that it takes ages to get it down on paper. Mr. Debussy himself has turned into a sirene that is hypnotising me! These days I'm obsessed by music, although I have precious little time to listen. But it's all whirling around in my head. In an ideal world I could start to listen and read and ponder and hypothesise for days or weeks on end. I've been reading up on Debussy and the more I learn the deeper the fascination gets. But I can't. I don't have the time. Professional obligations are eating me up. So I am staying hungry.

Yesterday I listened to two pieces by Ravel. Superb recordings by Karajan and the Orchestre de Paris, back in 1971, which were buried in that gargantuan EMI collection that appeared just a few years ago on the occasion of the maestro's 100th birthday. La Valse is gorgeous, with orchestral textures smooth as silk and hard as a bone, a mesmerising whirlpool of velvety shadows and blazes of light, collapsing in an appropriately manic finale. The Alborado is very fine too, delicate, even understated, with again those blinding flashes when Karajan whips up the tutti into a frenzy. The recordings captured in the Salle Wagram are full-bodied and clear as a bell.

Then back to Debussy. Van Beinum's Nocturnes with the Concertgebouw Orchestra are the finest I have heard up to now. Particularly the Nuages are captivating with such a delicacy and expressiveness in the phrasing; a most translucent sfumato is envelopping the music. No idea how they did it. The Fêtes is very accomplished but blends more into mainstream interpretations. The fanfare, however, is most beautifully done, with the trumpets positioned at just the right distance. The Sirènes then are extraordinary, as skittishly seductive as you will find them. All in all a beautiful reading. I look forward to La Mer (stereo) and the Images (mono) on the same disc (from the Australian Eloquence series).

I have been listening to the Prélude too: 6 versions and counting. I can't say there has been a really bad experience amongst them. I love Paul Paray with the 1950s Detroit SO (on LP). A quick and tempestuous reading that looks ahead at the marine expanses of La Mer. But timingwise (it clocks in at just over 8 minutes) it is very much in the spirit of the classic recordings by conductors who were Debussy's contemporaries: Monteux, Gui, Pierné and Ingelbreght. All of them hover between 8 and just over 9 minutes. Compare this to Haitink and Tilson Thomas who are a full 2 to 3 minutes slower! Haitink's reading is majestic and, though slow, superbly paced. MTT is good but sounds more anecdotal to me. Karajan (with the Berlin PO, 1977, on EMI) is maybe the most architectural of all. He seems to shape the archlike movement most convincingly. Then there is Jean Martinon with the ORTF Orchestra (on LP) taped in the mid-1970s: a very disciplined and taut reading that seems to connect with the spirit of Paray and the classics. Finally another athletic approach from Saraste with the Rotterdam PO which I thought was one of the lesser inspiring.

It's amazing how approachable this music is and yet, when you start to look up some analyses, it appears that nobody is able to explain how it really works. In it's bare 10 minutes (upon which Debussy spent almost a year's work) the composer throws a most intricate puzzle in the face of musicologists, an organically morphing mosaic of themes and harmonic building blocks that eludes formal analysis.

Beethoven: Sonata for Violin and Piano nr. 9 'Kreutzer' - Ravel: Sonata for Violin and Piano - Say: Sonata for Violin and Piano - Bartok: Romanian Folk Dances

I still have to report a live concert we attended Tuesday last week. Patricia Kopatchinskaja (violin) and Fazil Say (piano) came to Leuven with an interesting programme. I was particularly attracted by Prokofiev's epic First Violin Sonata but, to my considerable disappointment, the performance was cancelled at the last moment and the Beethoven Kreutzer Sonata came instead. But I guess that's part of the game when you want to hear and see these two 'enfants terribles' at work. Both Say and Kopatchinskaja have a reputation for waywardness. Their podium presence certainly confirms this. Kopatchinskaja plays barefeet. Say sways ecstatically behind his piano. Both bring visceral energy to their performance (the difference with the poised Ibragimova/Tiberghien duo I heard recently in Brussels is striking). But despite the fact that they must have performed this particular programme innumerable times (it already featured on their debut CD in 2008), the joint music making still sounded fresh and engaging. The Beethoven sonata did not disappoint. There was an electrifying sense of drama, particularly in the stormy outer movements, that for me threw a new light on this work. The middle Andante was slightly less successful. There it struck me that Kopatchinskaja's tonal palette seemed rather restricted, but that impression can also be due to the relatively poor acoustics of a large, new teaching auditorium. After the break came Say's own piece: an eclectic and derivative work that I forgot as soon as I had heard it. In Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances (an adaptation of the piano original by Zoltan Szekely) Kopatchinskaja could play out her eastern European pedigree to the brink. The music might as well have sounded on a dusty Moldovan village square a hundred years ago. The programme was brought to an end by a masculine and colourful rendition of the Ravel sonata. Some quirky encores (which certainly underscored the virtuoso capabilities of the duo) concluded an engaging musical evening. I must admit at being slightly skeptical when I went in, but I was won over by the ostensible honesty and musicality of what was offered. Kopatchinskaja's rough and visceral approach might smack of cheap sensationalism (and in this promo video it really goes over the top) but what I heard last week struck me as staying within the bounds of good taste and genuine musicality.