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? 

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.

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. 

Bartok - String Quartet nr. 4

Despite the expanding scope of my excursion in the quartet repertoire, I haven't lost sight of Bartok. I'm planning to weave his six quartets in this continuing exploration. I revisited the Fourth Quartet which featured on my playing list already a few weeks ago, in performances by the Belcea, Juilliard, Keller en Vegh Quartet. This time I listened to the Zehetmair Quartett on ECM and the Takacs Quartet on Decca.

Returning to this particular piece after a string of other quartets, most of which have really pleased me, is a sobering experience as the scale of Bartok's accomplishment becomes even more abundantly clear. Maybe the only piece I recently heard that is able to provide some (emotional) counterweight to Bartok's musical equivalent of a supernova is Schnittke's Third Quartet. The Gorecki, which I listened to yesterday, is also a very fine piece of work and in its savage rusticity clearly has a kinship with Bartok's Fourth. But the point is that Bartok composed his quartet 60 years earlier than Gorecki. Kind of makes the point how visionary the former was.

The recording by the Zehetmair Quartett has met with considerable critical acclaim. It is indeed a ruthless reading of a ruthless piece. And yet it did not convince me. Allegedly the ensemble plays the piece by heart. And they play it brutally fast. The result is a performance with an air of frantic improvisation, as if we see an action painter at work. Maybe I was not in the right frame of mind, but for me it didn't work. I had the feeling to remain a fairly dispassionate onlooker at all these pyrotechnics. Another observation is that the recording of the ensemble is so sonically rich that it sounds more like a chamber ensemble than a quartet. I'll certainly give it another shot, but I am not at all sure it will change my assessment. The Takacs immediately sounded more to the point. Theirs is also a savage reading but I felt it to be more grounded and coherent. It does have its moments of unpleasant harshness though. Sampling the Belcea again, I find there the optimal balance between the Dyonisian and the Apollinian, between concentration and refinement.

Bartok - Sonata for two pianos and percussion

Yesterday another audition of Bartok's Sonata in the Argerich/Bishop version. I've listened to it 6-7 times over the last couple of months but it continues to be an elusive piece. The overall idea seems to be clear enough: an introductory movement full of nervous tension, a mysterious slow movement and a boisterous, almost circus-like finale. But there is so much going on, both architecturally and texturally, that I never seem to be 'getting' it. The experience with Prokofiev - much more expansively lyrical and loosely woven - is obviously different. Even his most complex sonatas and symphonies fit snugly. I feel I know my way around them. But I'm not giving up on the Bartok sonata. I'll continue to chip away at it.

Dutilleux - Piano Sonata/Keuris - Piano Sonata/Bartok - 4 Dirges/Franck: Prelude, Chorale and Fugue

Tonight a mixed piano recital with strong French connotations. The Dutilleux Sonate to start with. Dating from 1947, it's effectively his opus 1, written for and premiered by his spouse Geneviève Joy. It's modernistic, but accessible, with jazzy overtones (particularly in the first movement) and intimations of early Messiaen (in the impressionistic Lied). The final movement is a fine chorale and variations. Brian Ganz, who in 1991 won a third prize at the Elisabeth Competition, plays well enough but he his not helped by the Accord engineers who produced a very annoyingly boxy and lifeless sound for this recital. (At barely 40 minutes for the Sonata, the Preludes and the Resonances it's also a frightfully short disc).

The Keuris Sonata is a short piece (8') composed in 1970. I really can't find a sonata structure back in this jumble of disjointed and improvisatory themes and rhythms. Harmonically, though, it sits quite comfortably next to the Dutilleux. The reading by René Eckhardt (who is with Asko/Schönberg) manages to keep the attention throughout. An excellent recording it is too.

The Bartok Dirges (op 9a, from 1910) are curious pieces. Apparently based on Romanian mourning songs, they seem to have a lot of Debussy too. Alexei Lubimov plays one of the four pieces on his ECM recital "Der Bote". A beautifully evocative reading. I also listened to György Sandor's 1963 recording on the Vox label as part of a super-budget 5CD set. The transfers have not been terribly successful, with significant distortion and a rather boomy bass. But Sandor's conviction and artistry shines through, nevertheless.

Then onwards to Franck's Prelude, Chorale and Fugue (1884), a marvelous piece from the late romantic piano repertoire. I have a Nimbus recording of the late Cherkassky (recorded in 1987) in my collection. The purist single microphone recording technique makes for quite a shock after all the close miked stuff. It's very resonant and one has to concentrate to picture the piano in a large room to make the sound palatable. There seems also to be a muddying of the sound picture in the lower-mid frequencies. That being said, I love this reading of a grand piece which must have fitted the abilities of the ageing virtuoso hand in glove. I also listened to the chorale and fugue as played by Kissin who convincingly spans a broad canvas of almost imperial grandeur and devotional lyricism.

Bartok - Piano Works

I returned to the Bartok recital by Claude Helffer. My first impression was confirmed. It's a fabulous recording, and likely the most compelling survey of key Bartok piano works I've come across. Helffer certainly trumps Perahia who seems to play all the notes but stays aloof to the spirit of these magnificently earthy works. The glassy digital sound doesn't help either. Kocsis puts some amazing pyrotechnics on display, and he is well recorded by the Philips crew, but his youthful exuberance leads him to gloss over some of the darker shadings. Helffer plays with a lot of panache too. There is tremendous energy and fire in the music's percussive outbursts. But everything remains impeccably controlled and clearly contoured. His colouristic palette is richer than either of his colleagues, particularly towards the more somber end of the spectrum. The piano sounds more grainy and less generic than in Kocsis' recordings.

The recital is superbly paced, chronologically sequenced and contains key milestones in Bartok's pianistic output. At 49' duration it is great pity it was not possible to add the early Bagatelles or at least the Three Studies from 1918. Anyway, it starts out with the set of Popular Romanian Dances (1915) fresh as dew. The short Suite (1916) gives already an inkling of the darker powers that will be unleashed later in the program. Helffer makes a tremendous case for the Improvisations on Hungarian Peasant Songs from 1920. This is the time of the Mandarin, and you can hear it. I must say this is a collection that up to now I had overlooked but after hearing it from Helffer's hands I dug into the Bartok Companion to which Paul Wilson contributes an interesting essay on the pivotal role of these short pieces in the process of Bartok's compositional maturation. Out of doors strikes with full force in a savage, lugubrious reading. The Sonata (1926) is if anything even more impressive in the percussive wildness of the allegros. In the eery, rythmically and harmonically unsettling middle movement one can hear indeed how this was distilled from the even more experimental Sostenuto rubato (dedicated to the memory of Debussy) from the Improvisations.

Bartok - String Quartet nr. 3

I've been listening another few times to Bartok's Third Quartet. I must have heard it at least 30 times since I started to dig seriously into the quartets. It's a wonderful piece. Amazingly dense and varied, and explosive in its energy, like a musical cluster bomb. And given the variety of moods and its position as a stylistic hinge between the earlier, more romantic work and the dark expressionism of the mid-twenties, it is a good reference to gauge how ensembles tackle these quartets.

I have now two additional complete sets of the quartets in my collection: a re-issue on the Newton label of the recordings with the Hagen Quartet on DGG (1995, 1998). And the celebrated Takacs Quartet on Decca. They both make for quite compelling listening. It seems to me now that quartets position themselves along two key variables vis-à-vis this body of work: either they opt for a neo-classical vs a folk-dominated approach, and they adopt an international style vs a more Hungarian sounding idiom. The two dimensions seem to correlate, and they effectively might, but at this point I'm not so sure so I keep them separate.

Clearly, the Takacs occupy one end of the spectrum. Their approach is very visceral, agressive even, stressing the gypsy-elements in the music, at the expense at times of clarity of line. The Hagens are at the other end with their very finely etched, cosmopolitan, even intellectualised sound. The Belcea are somewhere in between. I think they provide a very modern reading, not at all rustic, but it's very dynamic and does not shirk from the music's folksy roots. The Keller Quartet has a strong Hungarian pedigree but they adopt a more restrained, neo-classical approach. I still wonder whether it works. The Vegh, finally,  are admirably earthbound: the epitome of Hungarianness. But stylistically they hover somewhere between a strong folk-dominated approach and a more balanced classical approach. I can't say much about the Juilliard, as their 1981 digital recording which I have been listening to is hardly their best effort. But I believe they side more with the Hagen Quartet.

I'm not sure whether the above makes at all sense, but it helps me to navigate this fascinating terrain. There is still a long way to go before I will have surveyed all six quartets.

Bartok - Concerto for Orchestra/Brahms - Symphony nr. 4

I was terribly lucky to end up at the Kultur- und Kongresszentrum Luzern just when the Lucerne Easter Festival was in full swing. The building itself is a monumental, pharaonic contraption by Jean Nouvel which I didn't like at all. But there is an awful lot of good music on offer. I was thrilled to see that just that afternoon Bernard Haitink was concluding a 3-day masterclass with a bunch of young conductors. So I bought a 30 Sfr ticket and sat in for the final 2-hour session. The orchestra was the resident Lucerne Festival Strings and guests, working through Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra and Brahms' Fourth Symphony.

It was a sensation to sit on the first row, just a couple of meters from Haitink and the conducting rostrum. It is difficult for me to judge to what extent these kinds of coaching sessions reflect the genuine work of a conductor. Or what stage of the work it represents. From what I experienced there it is a surprisingly mundane business. First and foremost it is about keeping the orchestra together. That's partly a technical business ("do I beat this in two or in four?") and partly a communicative challenge. The latter has less to do with words then with an authoritative and clear body language and stick technique. One of the aspiring conductors held his left hand continuously limp which led Haitink to remark that he created a distance between himself and the orchestra, as a result of which the musicians played too cautiously. Others failed even to give a clear downbeat. The kind of downbeat - energetic or soft - communicated to the orchestra how they should attack the music. All of this seemed to be fairly elementary stuff to me, which didn't even start to come near something we could call a genuine interpretation of the piece. I've heard before that orchestras bristle at conductors who lecture too much, but in this session the communicative bandwith between orchestra and conductor was truly minimal. None of the participants to the masterclass explained their intentions. They just started to beat and numbly tried to incorporate Haitink's suggestions. Only once Haitink himself extemporised a little about the biographical circumstances in which Bartok wrote the Concerto in order to frame the bittersweet character of its Intermezzo interrotto.

So I wonder now whether it is possible to really come to the kind of otherworldly interpretation that Ivan Fischer and his BFO have recorded of this piece. There every detail seems to have thought through, and polished, without forgetting about the macro-structure. Or was this just a process of establishing a connection between conductor and orchestra and putting in place a foundation of what might later flower into something truly creative?

Truth be told, the level of the participating young conductors significantly differed. Two of the four would, I think, never make it into a genuine conductor. The two others seemed to have much more experience and flair in dealing with the orchestra (one of them, the American Joe Tafton, is pictured above).

All in all it was a very enjoyable and unique experience which gave me plenty of food for thought.

Bartok - Piano Works

A parting shot before I'm leaving on a 10-day study trip devoted to urbanistic projects in Switzerland and surroundings. I picked up this CD quite unsuspectingly. The name Claude Helffer rang only the dimmest of bells. But given how hard it is to find really satisfactory Bartok piano recordings I thought it was worth taking the chance. Well, after a first, cursory hearing this sounds like a genuine winner. Helffer, a champion of avant garde music, was 60 when he recorded this stellar program with some of Bartok's most intimidating works for the keyboard. He sounds supremely confident in this music. The playing is gutsy and muscular, dark and full of malice. It reminds me of some of Liszt's 'diabolical' pieces. The 1982 recording is splendid, with a full-bodied, earthy but lean piano tone. I look forward to listening more carefully to this recital upon my return. I have the Belcea's quartets on my Sony mp3-player. I suppose that will keep me busy.

Bartok - Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion

I've finally started to approach of what is billed as one of Bartok's most masterful compositions: the Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion (1937). It's a work that I do not know well at all. I listened to it a couple of times a long time ago. As it struck me then as intimidatingly sparse and angular, I didn't return to it until now.

I have four recordings in my collection: Perahia/Solti with David Corkhill and Evelyne Glennie; Argerich/Kovacevich with Willy Goudswaard and Michael De Roo; Frid/Ponse with members of the LSO and conducted by Antal Dorati. These three are on CD. Then there is Ranki/Kocsis with Ferenc Petz and Jozsef Marton on an Hungaroton LP.

I have listened to them all, most intensely to the Argerich/Kovacevich. It seems this is the recording that has most to offer. The CD transfer of the analogue recording (1977) is very good and the interpretation has reference qualities. Switching to the Perahia/Solti immediately afterwards is like a cold shower. I've commented on the sterility of the CD transfer in a previous post. It's really lethal, whatever the qualities this quartet of musicians brings to bear. The Mercury Presence recording, part of the Dorati set, is really very good. I need to listen to it more closely. Finally, the Hungaroton recording with Ranki and Kocsis is not to be discounted. It's a very tempestuous reading, which is not surprising given the youthfulness of the interpreters (there's no recording date, but judging from the pictures in the lavishly produced booklet Kocsis can't have been much older than 20). The recording is rather bright, with the pianos a little recessed. But the percussion sounds livelier than on any of the CDs.

I'm going to take my time with this. Interestingly, the music doesn't strike me as harsh or severe. It's eminently approachable. I must have assimilated some of Bartok's idiom in this exploration. But on the other hand, something in this whole endeavour is driving me crazy. Contrary to, say, Mahler or Beethoven with whom you can develop a certain familiarity as a result of a lot of listening, Bartok remains a very elusive composer. It's not only the complexity of the music (of which I only have faint intimations). There is something unfathomable about both the music and the personality behind it. The more I listen, the weirder it gets.

Bartok: Piano Works/Stravinsky: Symphony in Three Movements

I wanted to re-explore some other works by mid-career Bartok. 
This album represents one of the very few forays of Murray Perahia in 20th century repertoire. It could have potentially been a great disc but the spoiler here is the close-miked recording and an inadequate remastering of the original tapes (via Sony's DSD system, whatever that may be).The earliest recordings (the Sonata (1926)) date from 1973, shortly after Perahia's first prize at the Leeds piano competition. They sound dated, boxy and clangy at the same time. It doesn't get better as the program progresses with the simpler Improvisations on Hungarian Peasant Songs (1920). The cheap, metallic sheen over the piano sound distracts and is curiously at odds with the rustic ambience of the music. Is that what keeps me from being convinced by what sounds otherwise as quite exceptional piano playing? Recordingwise the short and pugnacious Suite (1916) fares slightly better. One is reminded immediately of the Wooden Prince's sound world. Out of Doors is spectacular in a way. The Drums and Pipes sound like Blitzkrieg. The Chase is equally brutal. In the Barcarolla and the Night's Music Perahia's control and sense of colour is in evidence. But again, the muffled quality of the sound on the one hand, and the metallic, wobbly harmonics significantly compromise the listening pleasure. The CD is complemented with a Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion where Perahia is joined by Georg Solti on another keyboard. I will keep that for later.

After the Bartok I felt like listening to a good old LP. I reverted to the Stravinsky album I discovered a few months ago: Silvestri conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra in the Symphony in Three Movements. What a relief! With the listening seat positioned in an equilateral triangle with the speakers, one has a wonderful sense of space with the orchestra occupying the full width of the room and instrument groups nicely terraced towards the back. And the liveliness and vivacity of the sound! This is so much better than all of this multi-channel and surround bogus. Gosh, what a hoax. A stellar recording and performance this is. Muscular in the opening movement and surprisingly playful and tender in the central, classicist slow movement. The finale mixes a little of both. I used to prefer the Symphony in C over the one in three movements, but I have the impression that this is changing.

Bartok - String Quartet nr. 4

I continued with the Fourth Quartet in the 1981 performance of the Juilliard Quartet, which I didn't like at all. It sounds dry and disjointed. I don't think I'll spend more time with this set as it is so disappointing. Then the 1970s Vegh recording, which is a good deal better. As in the Third, the Vegh strike me as robust, earthy and very authoritative. But I must say I still prefer the pyrotechnics of the Belcea (say "Beltsja"), which really make the most of this quartet. I listened again to their version as well and it is a thrilling performance, savage at times but without roughing the beauty of the melodic lines (when they're there). I already look forward to their take on the late quartets.

Bartok - String Quartet nr. 4

I dived back into Bartok's universe with his Fourth Quartet. After all the easily digestible stuff: what a meaty piece of music this is! It's Bartok at his most uncompromisingly modernist. But just as I love the jagged Third Quartet I find this an unbelievable rich musical adventure.

This is likely the Bartok I love most. The lush and opulent romanticism of his early work and the poised neo-classicism of his final years is attractive enough. But the work of the mid-to-late 1920s - (the Sonata, Out of Doors, First and Second Piano Concertos, Third and Fourth Quartets, and I'd also like to include the slightly earlier Dance Suite) stands apart in its volcanic energy, textural sophistication, architectural originality and emotional complexity.

The Fourth Quartet packs quite a punch in its 21 minutes. Striking is, of course, the rigorously symmetrical groundplan, radiating out from another of Bartok's eerie night musics. The central Non troppo lento strongly reminds us of the ghostly slow movement in Out of Doors, which in itself is a locus classicus of musical modernism. There is nothing straightforward in this quartet but the outer movements come across as particularly challenging. There is no way I can start to make sense of Eliott Antokoletz's detailed discussion of the Fourth Quartet in the Bartok Companion (he wrote his PhD thesis on this very work back in 1975) but what I seem to understand is that in this composition Bartok has been able to creatively merge elements of conventional tonality and meta-tonality, of chromaticism and diatonicism, of folk music and art music, of organic development and classical balanced forms. It's a significant departure from the thematic-motivic construction of traditional sonata form,but not as disruptive as the wholesale move to serialism. It's a creative and idiosyncratic fusion that only Bartok has been able to achieve.

I have been listening to two versions of the Fourth Quartet: first the Kellers which confirmed the impression I had from listening to the Third Quartet, namely a rewarding reading but at times strangely vaccilating or hesitant, and captured in a lacklustre recording. The Belcea Quartet offers tremendous excitement. Again, as in the Third, it's an stupefyingly virtuosic and kinetic rendering, with a palpable sense of playing at the knife's edge. But unlike the Emersons, for example, I find the result never harsh or overblown and always musical (I don't have the recording with the Zehetmair on ECM but judging from what I hear on Youtube it sounds like a brutal performance, and over the top). And the Belcea's EMI recording is truly first class. I'd like to listen to a few other versions - Vegh II and Juiliard II - before I move on.

Bartok - Sonata for solo violin

I was reading Don Delillo's craggy Point Omega. It's about a man living in the desert. I wondered what music would go with this? I put on Bartok's sonata for unaccompanied violin. It certainly didn't disappoint. I think this is Bartok conversing with the cancer in his body.

"The simple, concentrated clarity of the sad yet peaceful theme in the Melodia contrasts with the glissandos which create spaces of indistinct tonalities and immerse the listener in a sonic landscape of unique calm. In the middle section, played with mute throughout, the evocation of absolute silence, made still more palpable by the resemblance of the trills and glissandos to birdsong heard from afar or the buzzing of insects, attains a degree of intensity which sends shivers down the spine: our gaze is directed towards the void." - Jan Wolfrum

Bartok - Contrasts

After the expressionistic excesses of the previous week, it was refreshing to return to the relative clarity and intimacy of Bartok's chamber music. Contrasts (1938) is likely not one of his strongest works, but it is one of the chamber pieces I listened to regularly before the present listening campaign. The first two movements have a strangely laconic quality, with unremarkable, even lacklustre thematic material. The fiery final movement brings a welcome contrast indeed. Nevertheless, as a whole I find it a compelling piece. The listening pleasure is certainly enhanced by the excellent Naxos recording with Pauk on the violin, Jando on piano and Berkes on clarinet. I also listened to the historical, so-to-speak definitive recording (also on Naxos) with Bartok himself playing the piano, Benny Goodman (who commissioned the work) on clarinet, and Joseph Szigeti (who instigated Bartok to write it). The recordings date from April 1940. Honestly, I can't make much of it. The piece falls completely flat due to the poor audio quality. I'll have the modern recording any day. 

Malcolm Gillies, in the Cambridge Companion, compares three late chamber works - Divertimento, Contrasts and the Sonata for Solo Violin - and writes an interesting summary that resonates beyond these compositions. It's worth quoting: "Once we look within these large-scale structures, we find a composer obsessed with exploiting all the potential of variation techniques. In Bartok's hands, the music is forever in a state of transformation. (...) But he manages to maintain a superb sense of unity to the music through limiting the number of his themes or motifs and ensuring that, whatever processes of transformation they are subjected to, they retain their essential identity. Underlying scalar structures are liable to be expanded or contracted in whimsical ways. The various phrases of his themes rarely involve exact repetition, either rhytmically or in pitches, but take on a life of their own as soon as they have started. Bartok spins the musical texture within the divisions of his musical forms largely through relentless employment of imitative strategies, with a brief motif frequently generating five or ten bars of music through its varied reiteration in close proximity in any number of parts."

Bartok - String Quartet nr. 3/Ligeti - String Quartet nr. 1

I gave Bartok's Third Quartet another go. It's an explosive, fascinating piece that packs a dense musical process in a mere 15 minutes. First I listened to the Keller Quartet, which impressed me less than during the first audition. The recording is strangely muffled. That may have something to do with it. They try to invest the music which a certain lyrical quality, which only partially works. I do not have the feeling that the tectonic complexity of the music has been fully done justice. The 1970s Vegh is an eminently satisfying reading, earthbound and forthright. Despite its plainness, it has a monumental character. The Belcea Quartet offers a more modern interpretation. The playing is breathtakingly accomplished and their blended voices strike me as almost symphonic. It is a reading of almost terrifying ferocity. I love listening to it. Maybe the virtuosity will wear off after a while? Time will tell. It's certainly good to be able to return to the more levelheaded Vegh whenever needed.

I followed up with an audition of Ligeti's First string quartet: 'Métamorphoses Nocturnes'. Ligeti wrote it in 1953-54 for the bottom drawer in a Budapest that was still in the iron grip of Communist dictatorship. In the liner notes to the Sony recording (with the Arditti Quartet) the composer writes: "I was inspired to write String Quartet nr. 1 by Bartok's two middle string quartets, his Third and Fourth, although I knew them only from their scores, since performances of them were banned. In the present instance, 'métamorphoses' signifies a set of character variations without an actual theme but developed out of a basic motivic cell (two major seconds, displaced by a minor second). Melodically and harmonically, the piece rests on total chromaticism, whereas, from a point of view of form, it follows the criteria of Viennese Classicism (...) Apart from Bartok, Beethoven's Diabelli Variations were my 'secret ideal'." As a double homage to Bartok, the conjunction of a variational principle and a nocturnal mood is certainly apt.

According to Richard Steinitz in 'György Ligeti - Music of the Imagination' (Northeastern University Press, 2003), Ligeti submitted the work for the 1955 Queen Elisabeth Competition for string quartet. However, I have not been able to trace this back in the Competition's on-line archives. In any case, the quartet was not withheld, and didn't even figure amongst the top 10 as it was likely deemed 'too traditional'. Well, I don't find it quite traditional, but it is indeed not a very strong work. Certainly compared to the astonishing density and intricacy of Bartok's Third Quartet it does not compare favourably. Apparently the work did not come easy to Ligeti. It was the first time he projected on such a large canvas. So there were numerous false starts and dead ends. One can still sense that in the final composition which betrays a stylistic heterogeneity and an uneveness of invention.

The quartet is a succession of 8 short quasi-movements. At first these movements are still clearly separated from one another and one still has a feeling of thematic development (although there strictly speaking no theme). Indeed, there is a lot that reminds of Bartok. But as the work unfolds, Ligeti moves into more abstract - texturally exciting, but musically less satisfying - sonoric experiments. There is an occasional, not too subtle, wink. A lot of the music is harsh, prestissimo pounding of the strings. Steinitz sees in the quartet 'a taut, logically argued composition, a single movement of almost symphonic dimensions' but that was not what I picked up. That doesn't mean that the music is not fun to listen too. In fact, it is. I find it even more easily accessible than the Bartok which was written almost thirty years earlier.

Maybe I was too close with my nose on the music, as I listened twice in short succession with the headphones. I will certainly re-listen on the speakers to check whether a little more distance allows me to better appreciate the overall structure of the piece.

Bartok - String Quartet nr. 3

I've been tiptoeing for a while around Bartok's quartets. Supposedly they count as the pinnacle of his impressive oeuvre. And I am not very familiar with them. So there was some apprehension in attacking this musical Everest. But the happy discovery of the Maconchy quartets made it somewhat easier to shunt to the Bartok series.

Just as Maconchy's Third Quartet (1938) is a rather short work (even taking into account that none in her series extends beyond 20 minutes), Bartok's Third (1927) is a dense and concise statement. Well, talking about density: compared to the Bartok quartet, Maconchy's sounds positively rhapsodic! Despite its short duration Bartok's quartet is a musical splinterbomb that explodes with a dizzying fury of ideas. It very much shares the charged energy and kaleidoscopic fabric of the First Pianoconcerto which immediately precedes it (1926). Just as in the concerto, Bartok works with ultra-reduced musical cells as the basis for a dense process of thematic expansion and variation. As a result it sounds defiantly strident and modernist.

I listened to various interpretations in quick succession. First the recent recording with the Belcea Quartet. This is a very gripping interpretation, bold and very colourful and sounding as if the musicians are completely on top of their game. Then the New Budapest Quartet on Hyperion. A big disappointment. Small wonder these guys have never been really able to convince me of the greatness of these works. The performance is underpowered, uneven and hesitant, hinting only at the shockwaves that this music is able to generate. I have friends who swear by the readings of the Vegh Quartet. I have their 1970s recordings and indeed they are very good. Earthy and muscular but not quite as virtuosic as the Belcea. But I prefer them to the Juilliard Quartet on Sony whose reading is rather poised and urbane but lacks some of the Vegh's and Belcea's grit. The Keller Quartet on Warner then. Very persuasive reading. Though the reading sounds slightly more lyrical and relaxed than the Vegh and Belcea, there is certainly no lack of commitment and focus. Pity the recording is a little lacklustre. So, as far as I can tell the Belcea come out on top. But I am very happy to have the Vegh and Keller interpretations too. I will certainly return to the Belcea recording in the next couple of days. I am looking into the Hungarian and Hagen Quartet too (both available as budget re-issues). I will steer free of the Emerson and Takacs, which I suspect to be too much in-your-face.

Petrassi - Quarto Concerto/Bartok - Divertimento/Hoddinott: Scena for Strings/Martin: Etudes/Hartmann: Symphony nr. 4

We are inching our way through the Petrassi Concertos. The Fourth (1954) concludes the first CD. It's a weird work, written for strings only. Again, as with the previous two concertos it is not easy to put exactly the finger on what the weirdness is about. The musical idiom is approachable and relies on a loose and expressive twelve-tone technique. Formally, one senses an interesting combination of compositional rigour and improvisatory flair. The music commences somberly with a questioning, arch-like theme that seems to anchor a quasi-monothematic edifice. After a scherzo-like menacing 'allegro inquieto' the musical fabric starts to disintegrate until it is sucked up by a giant black hole, the 'lentissimo'. Here the musical process comes almost to a complete standstill. It's a night music of great intensity that explodes in an anguished climax. The finale is an energetic and tight-lipped 'allegro giusto' that towards the end returns to a serene reprise of the questioning theme with which the work started. All this is played without breaks between the movements. The overall shape of the work does remind somewhat of the Third Concerto, where the energetic opening also leads to a progressively more transparant and hesitant musical process.

According to Paolo Petazzi, who wrote the liner notes of the CD, the Quarto Concerto confronts itself with the model of Bartok. After having heard the Concerto five or six times during the last couple of days, I don't think that connection is obvious. In conjunction with the Concerto I listened in quick succession to a couple of other works for string orchestra: Bartok's Divertimento (1939), Martin's Etudes for string orchestra (1955-1956), Hoddinott's Scena for Strings (1984) and K.A. Hartmann's Symphony nr. 4 (1947-48). It's fair to say that there is something of all of these works in the Petrassi. I think Hoddinott's dreamy, shadowy Scena, Hartmann's somber, ruminative symphony and the dark slow movement of Bartok's Divertimento connect very well to the overall sense of deep and meandering meditation that pervades the Concerto. But there is neoclassical lightness and poise too, as in Martin's Etudes, and a sense of rythmic propulsion as in the fast movements of the Divertimento. truth be told, I think that amongst all of these works the Bartok Divertimento sticks out as the most accomplished achievement. It is such a wonder of balance, movement and colour. After having listened to it quite intensively a few weeks ago, it was refreshing to return to it once again. Now I listened to the phenomenal recording with Zehetmair and the Camerata Bern,on ECM.

Listening to the Hartmann symphony was a first for me. I had the full set of 8 symphonies with Ingo Metzmacher and the Bamberg SO already for a while but have not listened to it. It definitely seems worthwhile stuff, although I must admit to finding the Fourth rather longish. However, I am suspending judgment for the time being. Meanwhile I ordered the version on ECM with Christopher Poppen and the Münchner Kammerorchester to hear another take on this at first sight rather inscrutable work. Incidentally, Hartmann's Fourth Symphony and Petrassi's Fourth Concerto where both premiered by Hans Rosbaud.

Bartok - Piano Concerto nr. 3

On Monday I listened a couple of times to Bartok's final piano concerto (and basically his final composition, if we discount the controversial Viola Concerto) in the Kocsis/Fischer recording. Today I auditioned the Schiff/Fischer version. Both are great renditions, Schiff projecting the score in a slightly more 'feminine' way and with more depth of feeling, which is likely more in keeping with the spirit of the work (as Bartok wrote it for his wife Ditta).  It's a delightful score, easy on the palate, almost Mozartian in its sunny disposition and exquisite sense of proportion.