Debussy: La Damoiselle Elue

La Damoiselle Elue is a ravishing piece which is often overlooked in Debussy's output. He wrote it when he was 'doing time' at the Villa Medici in Rome, as winner of the Prix de Rome, in 1887-88. It's a short cantata (19', but it sounds longer) for orchestra, choir, soprano and alto set to Dante Gabriel Rossetti's famous poem The Blessed Damozel.

I know the work well as I used to listen to it quite often in a CBS recording featuring Frederica von Stade and the Boston SO led by Ozawa. However, I have no idea where that LP or CD is now. It's not in my collection anymore. My father doesn't have it either. Maybe it was one of the few LPs I sold in the early 1980s when I switched to the CD format. Pity as it now has disappeared from the catalogue. The recent Sony boxed collection of Debussy works sadly features the version with Salonen. Meanwhile I ordered a cheap second hand copy of the LP online.

Anyway, with the Orfeo recording I'm quite sure to have a very good version on hand. It's a 1981 recording with the Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart led by Gary Bertini. Ileana Cotrubas' fragile and silvery soprano is well cast as the Damozel. The little known Glenda Maurice takes a rather grand view of the reciter's role (there is a very nice testimonial by Maurice about the 'forced detours' in her life here). The recording offers all one could wish for in this piece: restrained and stylish but lively orchestral playing, a great key soloist, a good choir and a more than decent sound.

The same can't be said of the Salonen version, which I find dull and laboured. Tempos are misjudged as too slow. Salonen spotlights the many felicities in this score as a pedantic schoolmaster. Paula Rasmussen as reciter is a small disaster because she seems unsteady and shrill. Dawn Upshaw is not able to save the house. She goes along in Salonen's didactic approach, robbing the piece of its peculiar, antiquish freshness. The choir sounds stodgy and uninvolved. The recording, finally, is texturally boring, colourless and constricted in dynamics. All in all a CD that I wouldn't recommend as neither the Nocturnes nor the symphonic fragments from the Martyre are able to tilt the balance.

The DGG Debussy Edition also includes a version of La Damoiselle Elue. Interestingly, it's a version for piano and voices, recorded in 1994, that DGG licensed from Ades. Philippe Cassard is at the piano, Véronique Dietschy sings the Damozel and Doris Lamprecht is the reciter. I didn't expect too much of this recording as it seemed irresponsible to rob this piece from its superb orchestral garb. But it turns out remarkably well. The start is not very auspicious as Cassard plays the long instrumental introduction at a tempo that seems as ponderous as Salonen's. But the liveliness of the small, very present choir and the stylish, serious voice of Dietschy provide sufficient counterweight for the measured tempo. Lamprecht's contribution is, unfortunately, not very memorable. I have not been able to find a lot of info on Veronique Dietschy but she seemed to have been a striking artist (she pops up in cameo roles for a number of 1980s movies as well). I look forward to listening to the CD with Debussy's songs (Mélodies), also included in the DGG box. Altogether this is a very interesting recording of this Poéme lyrique to which I will gladly return.

Händel: Harpsichord Suites HWV 427, 429, 430, 433

A few months ago, ECM issued a double CD with recordings of Händel's Eight Great Suites for harpsichord, played on a modern piano by Lisa Smirnova. I had never heard of this artist before. Her discography is apparently very limited. But according to her website she was barely 20 when she played in Carnegie Hall. And in 1993 she was awarded the Brahmspreis with which she is in very illustrious company indeed. These suites have been recorded over the years 2007-2009.

I've listened to the first disc of this collection numerous times over the past few weeks, in the car and on the speakers, and I must say that I'm not terribly captivated by it. To be sure, the playing is accomplished and tasteful and provides a perfect aural backdrop for all kinds of mundane tasks that do not ask for too much concentration. But there is to my mind nothing that seems to probe a little deeper and forces the listener to sit up and pay attention. And that's sadly about all I can say about it. 

Debussy: Violin Sonata - Cello Sonata - Sonata for Flute, Alto and Harp

 It's not that Debussy has disappeared into the background. A few weeks ago we spent a day in Paris, visiting two exhibitions that throw an interesting light on the man and the city and culture in which he lived. At the Musée de l'Orangerie, a subsidiary of the Orsay museum, there is an elaborate exhibition on the relationship between Debussy and the visual and literary arts of his times ('Debussy. Musique et les Arts', running until June 11th). On display are a rich collection of works by painters such as Degas, Redon, Vuillard, Munch, Klimt, Turner, and many others. In addition: japanese prints and objects from Debussy's own collection, his writing desk, manuscripts, letters and notes. I didn't buy the catalogue as Jean-Michel Nectoux' Harmonie en Bleu et Or covers more or less the same terrain. Another exhibition is on display at the Musée Carnavalet, the museum of the history of the city of Paris. 240 prints by the Parisian photographer Eugène Atget cover the time frame (1880-1920) in which Debussy lived in the city. Fascinating to see how different and yet how similar the city presented itself. The street vendors, shops, bars, courtyards, marble statues etc we can easily picture in the contemporary city as well. Atget's provides a microscopic, highly textured view of the city. The great urbanistic movements (the vast increase in the number of cars, the construction of the metro, the improvement of sanitary infrastructure, the rise of good quality social housing etc.) are not captured by his lens.

In addition, I have been reading up on French history from the Franco-Prussian war onwards. Mary McAuliffe's Dawn of the Belle Epoque provides a disjointed but ultimately interesting narrative of the turbulent times of the war, the ensuing revolt of the Commune and the uneasy political and cultural climate that dominated the decades up to the First World War. At this point I'm reading Ian Ousby's impressive book on the battle of Verdun (where we were just a week ago) which frames this cataclysmic event in the political and cultural climate of the interwar years. All this underscores how complex and layered the setting is in which a composer such as Debussy emerged.

At the occasion of the 150th anniversary both Sony and DGG have issued attractive box collections that span a great swath of Debussy's oeuvre. I have just relistened to the three late sonatas which originally triggered my interest in this composer. In the DGG box, the Violin Sonata is performed by Augustin Dumay and Maria Joao Pires. It's an intensely romantic reading which is to my mind a little bit too polished. Isaac Stern, in the Sony collection, provides a startling contrast. He performs the music as a genuine 'war sonata' with a clenched teeth kind of fervor. Maybe just a touch of poetry would have been welcome to soften the hard, angular lines, but all in all it's a great reading that will count amongst my favourites. Let's not forget that 1916 was Debussy's 'annus horribilis': he was recovering from the surgery to cure his rectal cancer, causing him debilitating pain during the first months of the year. Meanwhile, the war was raging at its most blindly destructive (Germans unleashed the Verdun attack on February 21st 1916). And Debussy was struggling acutely with financial worries and a lack of elementary provisions (such as coal). The correspondence of those early months in 1916 reveal the difficulties with which Debussy wrestling and how close he must have been at times to killing himself. Stern's uncompromising reading seems to adequately reflect the deep despair of those days.

In the DGG Cello Sonata we hear Argerich and Maisky. I've heard this recording before and didn't like it. Indeed, it's a far too self-indulgent performance, particularly on the part of Maisky, who seems only intent on showcasing his capacity for expressive extravaganzas. To be avoided. Again, the recording in the Sony box is preferable (and in this case vastly so). Lynn Harrel and James Levine (on the piano) provide a rather soft-grained but very tasteful reading of the sonata. Maybe not a recording that raises eyebrows but I could imagine living with it.

Finally, there is the elusive Sonate en trio. Both collections provide us there with excellent readings, with the DGG ensemble (Wolfgang Schulz, Wolfram Christ, Margit-Anna Süss) capturing the dreamy atmosphere to perfection. In the Sony box it's James Galway who is taking the flute part, complemented by Marisa Robles on harp and Graham Oppenheimer on viola. Remarkably enough the booklet lists the sonata as being 'arranged and orchestrated by James Galway' and supported by the Chamber Orchestra of Europe. I can hear the orchestra clearly in the following Danse Sacrée and Danse Profane, but not in the Sonate en trio which seems to stick to the original.

Wagemans: De Zevende Symfonie

I've been listening to Peter-Jan Wagemans' marvelous Seventh Symphony on and off for over two months. Now it's time to summarise my impressions.

I discovered Wagemans a few months ago via Dutch radio 4's on-line Concerthuis. His 'Dreams. (What did the last dinosaur dream of?)' struck me as a serious and accomplished piece. A little bit of internet research led me to a very complimentary review of Wagemans' Seventh Symphony by a serious German listener. This piece seemed worth a little gamble. And how it has paid off!

Wagemans (born 1952) is a composer that has sought a middle way between abstract modernism and the trappings of all kinds of vapid post-minimal-/ modern-/ romantic-isms. It's the kind of 'third way' that I personally, as a listener, am also most interested in. I'm seeking out contemporary music that in some way connects to the great symphonic tradition of the 18th, 19th and 20th century as, for me, intuitable architecture in music is paramount. I'm still wedded to the idea of music as 'tönend bewegte Formen' (Hanslick) that I can try to grasp. I don't mind these forms being disjointed and layered. Quite to the contrary, this makes the process of internalising a work all the more interesting. But somewhere I need to be able to detect that epic sweep that is so fundamental to the conception of symphonic form that has been transmitted to us. In that sense Wagemans' idiom speaks very eloquently to me. On his website the composer writes that his aim has always been to write music that intellectually and emotionally would be graspable by someone who is thoroughly familiar with Mahler's Sixth. His Zevende Symfonie is an impressive testimonial of his ability to achieve this goal in a masterly fashion.

De Zevende Symfonie is a big symphony, in conception and duration. The live performance taped for this Etcetera CD runs to 52 minutes. There are five movements, all of them with suggestive titles that help us to trace out the cultural and philosophical ambit of this formidable work:

1. Über 'm Sternenzelt (a reference to Beethoven's Ninth) [15:04]
2. Het zwarte licht en het heldere duister [08:47]
3. Mehr Licht! (allegedly Goethe's last words) [13:06]
4. De toekomst bedrijft sodomie met de hoornen van zijn eigen herinnering (a reference to a Dali painting) [13:06]
5. Het grote lied [12:55]

A sentence from Louis-Ferdinand Céline's novel Mort à credit (1936) is inscribed at the head of the symphony: "There is no tenderness in this world, only legends, all kingdoms end in a dream." This ambiguous mixture of transgression and transcendence puts us in the right mood to dive into the piece.

I'm taking an awful shortcut by suggesting that, musically, the symphony is some sort of 'Messiaen meets mature Mahler'. But in contrast with Tyberg's Third, for example, Wagemans' idiom doesn't strike me as derivative. It sounds distinctively like his own. Nevertheless, the spectre of Messiaen and Mahler does hover over the vast musical expanses of this symphony. The mixture of Latin wonderment and Germanic Angst is, however, very compelling.

Formally, the 5-movement structure confronts us with a puzzle. Is it a traditional 4-movement symphonic structure with a short interlude (4th movt) opportunistically thrown in to psychologically create more space between two big movements? Or is it something more sui generis that doesn't orient itself towards the traditional schemata? For example, we might consider the work as one large slow movement (an Adagio, if you will, spanned by movts 1, 3 and 5) punctured by two noisy interludes (2nd and 4th movts). The more I'm listening to it, the more the latter approach strikes me as the most satisfying.

The first movement is an intriguing curtain-raiser. The basic tempo is slow and the general mood is anticipatory. Abundant percussion (glockenspiel, and much more) and raucous, unisono strings and winds choruses remind us of Messiaen's sound world. But there are fascinating, fleeting intimations of a darkly hued, Wagnerian, pastoral world as well (Siegried's Waldweben come to mind, or Parsifal first act) pointing towards a deeply buried hymnic undercurrent which drifts stealthily by. One could listen to this as an oblique night music, with the energetic and bright percussion as celestial bodies careening in vast and dark expanses stretched out by the lower strings and winds. Formally, this first movement is the most challenging to get a handle on, I find. If there are references to Beethoven's Choral Symphony, I can't hear them. However, the writing is tremendously assured and this movement alone could stand a virtuosic symphonic essay.

The second movement is an explosive, unrelenting scherzo that seems to be propelled forward by massive, stuttering rhythms in the unisono brass (another Messiaenic fingerprint). Think Adams' Short Ride in a Fast Machine, but then bigger. As the movement progresses it becomes wilder and more disjointed until it runs itself aground in a sequence of colossal glissandos, like a dinosaur dying.

The third movement starts in an exploratory, disoriented way. Dreamy sections alternate with short, violent eruptions in the lower brass. At one point the music settles in a slow march with the lower strings lumbering menacingly along. This gives way to a spine-tingling passage with Wagner tubas chanting a dark chorale that is taken over by the full string and brass section. It's as if we have entered a gate into another world. Textures brighten and a high trumpet leads into a tranquil, paradisiac garden where only the very highest strings weave a solemn melody. We're not far from the otherworldly atmosphere of Mahler's Tenth. The movement ends in a mood of undisturbed, serious bliss.

The relatively short fourth movement starts as an Ivesian pastiche of children songs, festive band flourishes, and reminiscences of Isolde's Liebestod. Suddenly the music switches mood to an impassioned question, almost a plea, from the full orchestra. After that the jollity is more subdued.

The finale opens as a majestic chorale on unisono strings underpinned by lower brass and wind choruses. Again those typical, Messiaen-like stained-glass harmonies. It's achingly beautiful. The music becomes more animated but the darkly intoning brass keep proceedings in check. The mood of the first two movements, however, breaks through in a rambunctious and mocking angelic dance. There is a moment of collapse and one wonders whether the symphony will be able to get on its feet again. It does. The chorale, of otherworldly beauty (not saccharine, rather tormented) emerges again and Wagemans superimposes it with a cosmic, Mephistophelian laughter from the tutti. An angry fortissimo chord brings the work to an end.

This überdimensional 'Also Sprach Zarathustra'-like tone poem has captured my imagination. It's serious, audacious music that strikes out on its own path, seemingly undisturbed by ideological battles or market forces. The live recording (taped from a single concert) by the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra led by the young conductor Hans Leenders is astonishingly good. They seem to play it as if they have had the piece in their bones for ages. Technically, the recording leaves nothing to be desired. It sonically showcases this complex piece in the most advantageous way possible. Great work from all involved.

Nyman: MGV - Piano Concerto

This is the first thing I hear by Michael Nyman. However, MGV (Musique à Grande Vitesse: a rather facile word play on Train à Grande Vitesse) is a piece that has garnered rave reviews, also from experienced listeners. Another reason why I was intrigued is that Alexander Balanescu, leader of the eponymous quartet ensemble, has been the leader of the Michael Nyman Band. I will always cherish the recordings of Volans' and Bryars' quartets by these musicians. So I was happy to give it a go. The music has originally been recorded for an Argo release but apparently Nyman himself bougt back the rights and now they are distributed under his own label MN Records.

MGV is, as the name suggests, on occasional piece, written for the inauguration of the TGV North European line in 1993. It takes a high-speed train journey that moves through different regions as a suggestive starting point. The Piano Concerto is compiled from Nyman's soundtrack for Jane Campion's famous 1993 movie 'The Piano'. 

I can be very brief about the musical merits of these compositions. Here we are on the bland side of minimalism. The propulsive rhythms and idiosyncratic orchestration (strings and saxophones, essentially) are fine for about 10 minutes but from that point onwards it becomes a very wearisome affair. MGV goes on for almost half an hour. Also the concerto shrinks to an undifferentiated blur of saccharine harmonies, melodic clichés and an impenetrable instrumental fabric within which an impossibly hectic solo voice is buried (bravo Kathryn Stott). The concerto takes an immodest 32 minutes to make its case. The programme is very badly recorded to boot, which surprises me as Argo has been a Decca subsidiary. The sound is shrill and thin and fatiguing to listen to at somewhat higher volume. A disappointment. I won't be quickly returning to this recording. 

Tyberg: Symphony nr. 3

Prior to this CD's appearance in 2010 in the Naxos catalogue, the composer Marcel Tyberg was a totally unknown figure in recent musical history. Tyberg was an Austrian of partly Jewish descent who sadly perished in Auschwitz on New Year's Eve in 1944. Shortly before his abduction by the Nazis he entrusted his collection of manuscripts to an Italian pupil for safekeeping. Nothing happened with them and they were transferred to the ownership of the pupil's son who settled in Buffalo as a medical specialist. In 2005 he contacted JoAnn Falletta, chief conductor of the Buffalo PO, who decided the music was serious enough to embark, with members of the orchestra, on a time-consuming process of copying out and correcting the parts of the Third Symphony. Eventually they were able to present the work for the first time to the world in 2010. Naxos was courageous enough to want to record it. The story can be read in somewhat more detail here.

The Third Symphony must have been one of Tyberg's very late works, written in the late 1930s. It runs to 37 minutes and is traditionally laid out in four movements - an introductory allegro, a scherzo, adagio and concluding rondo finale (full performance on Youtube here). The musical language is unabashedly epigonic, with constant reminders of Bruckner's and Mahler's idiom. The opening of the symphony features a solo tenor tuba which transports us right back to Mahler's Seventh or Third. The remainder of the movement sounds totally Bruckner (say Third Symphony) with characteristic organ-like orchestration, block-like architecture and rustic melodies. The Scherzo might have been lifted straight out of an as yet undiscovered Mahler symphony. The Adagio is likely the most distinctive movement of all. It's quite beautiful, elegiac movement that is quite effectively scored. If Tyberg would have made it to the US he might have cut a good figure as composer for the white screen. The finale is a boisterous rondo which breathes the pastoral air from some of Dvorak's furiant-based symphonic movements and dances.

The Third Symphony is perhaps not a mindblowing masterpiece, but that doesn't mean that it isn't a pleasure to listen to. In fact, it is thoroughly enjoyable. Despite its lack of originality the symphony comes across as a balanced whole, with well proportioned movements, adequately distinctive melodic material, dense but skillful orchestration and a pleasing (if not genuinely adventurous) harmonic landscape. I would put it a couple of notches under Magnard's Fourth and even a notch under Guridi's Sinfonia Pyrenaica and Biarent's Symphonie (to name a few examples of less well known symphonic repertoire that I've explored over the previous months).

The performance by the Buffalo PO led by JoAnne Falletta is thoroughly engaged. The Naxos recording lacks a realistic spatial perspective but is adequate.

Horner: Film music

I've been relistening to a CD that has unintentionally migrated from my father's collection into mine. I really need to send it back to him. And I need to buy my own copy because this collection of film tunes is great fun. A tremendously impressive recording from the Telarc studios it is too. There are two highlights amongst these 14 tracks. I never seem to tire of James Horner's schmaltzy and elegiac music for the 1985 feature film Cocoon. Typical American Edelkitsch, likely, but its a product of great craftmanship (of a barely 30-year old composer). A beautiful theme, stirringly developed and brilliantly orchestrated (with a trumpet voice that reminds me of Hovhaness' Mysterious Mountain). Also his soundtrack for the second Star Trek movie (The Wrath of Khan) is always a pleasure to hear (with Leonard Nimoy voice-over). The other piece on this collection that I keep returning to is Bill Conti's march from his music for Philip Kaufman's 1983 epic The Right Stuff. I've always loved this movie (must have seen it at least four times) and Conti's radiant and soldierly music is the perfect foil for it. It craftily wraps a highly strung, jubilant theme (introduced in melancholy shades by a beautiful solo for cor anglais) in a no-holds-barred 'right stuffish' march.

There are more great tracks in this varied collection. John William's Planet Krypton from Superman is a terrific opener. Also Don Dorsey's all-synthesizer Dimensions is a great hifi demonstration piece. And then there is one track with live recordings of humpback whale songs which are eerily beautiful. All in all a delightful disc that doesn't wear thin.  

Haydn: String Quartet op. 64/5 - Janacek: String Quartet nr. 2 - Ravel: String Quartet

Yesterday it was Takacs Quartet's turn to perform at the Brussels Conservatoire. A splendid programme: Haydn's Lark Quartet, Janacek's Intimate Letters, and Ravel's masterpiece. The hall was full but the audience was dead silent. Yet again, and significantly more so than with the Haas Quartet, I was unable to stay with the music. I found the Takacs' playing less than compelling. There was a unfocused quality, a diffusion of energy that made the music sound muffled and uninvolving. The Haydn quartet was performed very leisurely, giving the impression of a laid-back rehearsal session. Pleasant, but hardly captivating. Janacek's quartet was a disappointment. I love the music, but this reading struck me as disjointed and contrived. Already the sul ponticello effects at the very outset of the piece annoyed me, as if what I heard was something fake, not the real thing. I lost interest somewhere halfway down the road. I drew most satisfaction from the Ravel, which received a solid and, yes, perhaps even good performance. All in all a not very memorable evening. I didn't wait for the encore.

Tchaikovsky: String Quartet nr. 1 - Shostakovich: String Quartet nr. 7 - Schubert: String Quartet nr. 14

On Thursday the Pavel Haas Quartet was passing through Brussels. I've been mightily impressed by their recordings of the Janacek and Prokofiev quartets. Together with the Belcea Quartet they count amongst my favourite ensembles. Although I really can't point out an obvious shortcoming from the Quartet's side, this concert didn't quite capture my imagination. Maybe I was preoccupied, maybe it was the uncharacteristically unfocused and restless audience, maybe even it was the Conservatoire hall's acoustics which are generally generous towards chamber ensembles but now seemed to rob the Haas from the filigree textures and wonderful plasticity I've come to expect from them. They didn't sound as softly grained as the Jerusalem, and not as marvelously layered as the Belcea. On the whole the Haas' tone struck me as full-bodied and virile, but also a trifle prosaic. Maybe it was also the dynamics amongst the quartet members, which didn't seem to communicate overly generously amongst themselves. Or maybe it was just the repertoire. The highlight was Shostakovich's Seventh Quartet (op. 108; 1960), which is sadly also his shortest. It is dedicated to his wife Nina, in memoriam. In its combination of terseness, wistfulness and violence it's characteristic for Shostakovich's later work. The Haas' X-ray like reading went to the bone, unlike the Jerusalem's more cultured and cosmetic approach to the Tenth Quartet a few weeks ago. Tchaikovsky's String Quartet nr. 1, op. 11 was the first piece on the menu. Although it's a lovely piece in its own right, it's not really the kind of music I'm now tuned into. But the first movement impressed me by its lyrical ebullience and it's hard not to fall, at least for a moment, under the spell of the warmhearted Andante cantabile. In the Scherzo my thoughts started to drift however, and they didn't regroup until the lacklustre applause at the end of the piece. After the break we heard Schubert's most loved quartet, his Death and the Maiden (D810; 1824). I must say it is a work that for some reason I have never been able to fully embrace. And that didn't change on Thursday night, whatever the merits of the Haas Quartet's performance. As an encore we were treated to the slow second movement of Dvorak's American Quartet.

Nielsen: Symphony nr. 4

In the wake of Albéric Magnard's Fourth Symphony, which reminded me so much of Nielsen's symphonic work, I relistened to the latter's Inextinguishable. With around 15 versions in my collection I know the work well. This one - a 1974 recording with the Los Angeles PO led by Zubin Mehta - I hadn't heard before. It's not a total success. Although timings are fairly standard, Mehta's heavenstorming reading strikes me as clipped and breathless. There is hard-hitting energy but no sense of mystery. So, ultimately it's more Walt Disney than Somme or Verdun. The players of the LAPO are not to blame: their playing is very accomplished. Particularly the winds shine in the Poco adagio. Despite a brisk tempo this is the movement that probably comes off best. The reference recording for me is still the 1982 Karajan/BPO who turns this symphony into a veritable cosmic drama.

Magnard: Symphony nr. 4

A while ago I listened to Albéric Magnard's Symphony nr. 3, op. 11 (1896), which was for me a pleasant discovery of a composer who hides in the shadow of his more illustrous contemporaries Ravel and Debussy. Initially I found the work rather difficult to come to grips with but my intense listening sessions a few months ago have born fruit. Re-auditioning the work early this week I felt that I had a good grip on it and found the experience again very enjoyable.

Whilst the Third is a good, but rather uneven work, the Fourth (1913) is of a different calibre. This work strikes me, I am happy to say, as a very accomplished, and even truly great late-romantic symphony. It is more tightly composed than its predecessor and sweeps the listener along on a cogent, epic and colourful journey. Magnard's idiom is drenched in the stylistic conventions of early twentieth century, German-inspired music. Formally he orients himself to the cyclical procedures of the Franckian school. The first movement of this great symphony, with its spacious, densely orchestrated and richly harmonised main theme reminds me of Schoenberg's Pelléas und Melisande (1905), Szymanovski's 'Lied von der Nacht' (Symphony nr. 3, 1914-16) and Scriabin's Second (1901). The second movement, a scherzo, revolves around a rhythmically insistent theme that has a menacing will-o'-the-wisp quality à la Berlioz. This, however, alternates with a curious, rustic dance played on solo violin. The presence that suggests itself most forcefully here is that of Carl Nielsen. Already in Magnard's Third Symphony there were fleeting reminiscences of his Danish contemporary (in fact, it appears that Magnard and Nielsen were born on the very same day in 1865!). In the remainder of this work there will be plenty of rhythmic, melodic and harmonic fingerprints of the Dane. The Vif is followed by a beautiful and expansive slow movement (sans lenteur et nuancé) that captures something of the nobility of Elgar's First (premiered in 1908). I also recognised some typically Brucknerian figurations (also evident in the Third). The closing paragraphs of the slow movement are exquisite in their evocation of mournful grandeur. The finale (animé) is a powerful conclusion propelled forward by Nielsenian drive and counterpoint (it's really amazing how these stomping, fugato passages in the strings prefigure the Inextinguishable that would be composed a mere year or two later). But the music in this finale also evokes something of the elusive and uncompromising clarity of texture that I've always found so distinctive of Nielsen. The finale blossoms into a grand, heavenstorming conclusion that then movingly evanesces in a short coda.

The copious references to other composers perhaps suggest a terribly eclectic and derivative piece. If so, that was not the point because this work stands on its own as one of the early 20th century most compelling symphonic utterances. I would not hesitate to place it alongside Elgar's magnificent First, and that is high praise indeed. If Magnard composed it under the spell of deep depression, this is not at all obvious from the music as it presents itself with considerable vitality, led onward by a vigorous symphonic undercurrent. It's too bad that this music languishes at the fringes of the mainstream repertoire.

The performance by the BBC Scottish SO led by Jean-Yves Ossonce is very convincing. Technically the Hyperion recording doesn't shine. On my system it sounds too muffled and reverberant. Hence, I prefer to listen to it through my headphones. But qua intepretation there is absolutely nothing to fault. I also have a recording of this work on LP: an early digital EMI production (1983) featuring the Orchestre du Capitole de Toulouse and their chief conductor Michel Plasson. That too has a lot to offer. But I marginally prefer the more recent Hyperion recording because of Ossonce's brisker tempo in the scherzo and the overall cogency of his reading.

Reich: Drumming

On Friday I was truly wowed by listening to Steve Reich's Drumming. It has been ages since I really sat through the whole piece. But it was this Arte TV concert which gave me the appetite to do so.

One reason why I find this music so fascinating is because it is so radically simple. Basically it's built around shifts in rhythmic patterns and timbral registers. There's no melody, harmony, narrative programme or any other mesostructural device that make classical music so complicated. Well, there is harmony, of course, but it's static as the piece rests on just a few notes. There is also an overarching structure of four movements, and the notion of a finale in the traditional sense remains relevant to a certain extent. But that easily discernible structure reinforces the impression of simplicity that pervades the whole piece.

It's simple, but at the same time it's very complex too. Listening to this piece unfolding over considerable stretches of time (it takes just an under hour in this version recorded by Reich and Musicians in 1987) activates sophisticated pattern recognition routines in our mind. Whether we consciously want it or not, we start to discern ghost patterns in the harmonics swirling above the percussive plasma. Reich cleverly plays on this by inserting discreet voices or whistling in the dense textures. The timbral transitions between the main parts of the piece (drums, marimba, glockenspiel) can be gradual or sudden. In the former case they draw out our ability to anatomise colours and rhythms even further, in the latter they give us a adrenaline-rich jolt. As the piece progresses we lose our sense of time (good to turn the timer display on the CD off) and it is as if we are navigating a vast landscape. The finale is startling in its simplicity. Reich superimposes the three groups of instruments in a climax of percussive energy that is truly exhilarating.

What I also love is the theatricality of the performance. That is an element that is sadly absent when listening to the CD, but the Arte TV concert gives an idea of what is possible with good camera work. It's also tempting to supplement the music with creative visual elements, or with dance (as did ATDKeersmaeker). But simply looking at the musicians and imaginging how fiendishly difficult it must be to keep your wits about the subtle phasings (with players getting gradually out of sync until they lock into new patterns again) and the overall movement of the piece is already baffling enough.

When the final echo had finally died down I could not but exclaim 'what a great piece of music this is!'. A very satisfying listening session.

The Blue Nile: High

A few days ago High arrived. It's the fourth and likely final album of The Blue Nile in my collection. Released in 2004, there hasn't been any news from the Scottish band ever since. Although surprisingly enough a new solo album (Mid Air) has been announced from Paul Buchanan, the band's frontsman. I'll certainly follow that up.

High a fine album but to my mind not as memorable as Hats (1989) and Peace at Last (1996; probably still my favourite). The ambiente is rather relaxed with mostly downtempo, thoughtful tracks. In contrast with the earlier albums I feel that the songs are not as well crafted. A few come even across as perfunctory and underdeveloped. In any case, there is nothing that really jumps out, as did, for example, Over the Hillside on Hats or Tomorrow Morning on Peace. But there are plenty of good things on this CD too. Paul Buchanan is in fine form and his voice continues to mesmerise. The arrangements are tasteful, as always. And the recording quality is at the stellar level of the other albums (although it was not recorded by Linn, as were the earliest releases). It really sounds glorious. So all in all it's a good, but not too demanding album. Good for long rides in the car, or for drowsy late evening listening sessions.