Hartmann - Adagio/Henze - Barcarola/B.A. ZImmermann - Symphony

Hartmann's Miserae set me on track towards another one of his enigmatic compositions: his single movement Symphony nr. 2 - Adagio for large orchestra, from 1946. A strange work, indeed, and I don't know what to make of it. The title suggest a broadly flowing Brucknerian adagio but it is not. The piece adheres to what seems one of Hartmann's fondest formal principles: a fast movement (or section) flanked by two slower ones. We had that in the Fourth Symphony and in the Miserae as well. Dibelius tells us there are less than 20 bars in this work that really bear the adagio tempo marking, at the beginning and at the end, respectively. Formally he sees it as a Rondo with a theme that comes back in various guises and more freely composed sections in between. There's quite a bit of Ravel in this piece, both in its formal layout (La Valse) and in the odd, orientalising shape of the main theme (Ma Mere l'Oye?). But then this seems to mix uneasily with Hartmann's undeniably teutonic idiom. I listened to Metzmacher's reading and was unconvinced. Then the Conlon version with the Gürzenich Orchestra and this fares hardly better. The vision is different, to be sure. Consistent with his take on the other works on this CD - the Fourth and the Concerto Funèbre - Conlon takes a very broad approach in the outer sections so that the overall impression is not one of progressive quickening and intensification but of a very loud allegro outburst in a sea of relative calm. Here too I remained rather unimpressed. I don't think this is a work I will return to particularly often. But I still need to listen to Kubelik's version in the Wergo set.

Then onwards to another icon in post-war German symphonic history: Bernd Alois Zimmermann's Symphony in One Movement, from 1951. This too is a short, dense piece of symphonic writing, in an abrasive, ruthlessly expressionistic idiom. It has seen very little recordings. I am happy to have a version included in the Junge Deutsche Philharmonie's Jubileum Set. It is, remarkably enough, conducted by Witold Lutoslawski. And he seems to ride this whirlwind very capably.

Zimmermann was 33 years old when he wrote the Symphony and his own notes have been inserted in the CD's inlay booklet: "I wrote my Symphony in 1951, after much deliberation with regard to symphonic form. This is not a work which strings together several movements, played through from beginning to end without a break (in contradistinction with the traditional symphony) using intermediate linking structures. Instead, it is a musical structure out of whose basic material a basic form is developed and which in this way undergoes a process of expressive transsubstantiation. The single-movement quality of the form is postulated by the monistic tendency of the musical structure. Here, unlike the traditional symphonic form, thematic material is not expounded from the start but, in conjunction with various forces, develops from the amorphous state of the musical germ, from the seeming chaos of this basic cell to the organic structure of the whole. It does so in sweeping arcs, vacillating from apocalyptic menace to mystical absorption and being, in this process passing through all the stages of musical development, subject to fierce dynamic evolution until, at the end of the work, the 'thematic' conclusion is drawn, repeatedly breaking through in ever new ways during the course of the symphony and, in the middle of the work, for the first time reaching a climax after deriving impetus from an extensive preparatory build-up."

I'm hearing here echoes of Webern's Urpflanz-theory, Schoenberg's 'developing variation', of Bartok's musical germ-driven monothematicism, of the modernist avant garde's preoccupation with 'hidden themes'. But then what? Beyond classical sonata form we are at sea, it seems. Anything goes. What I would like to see, if it exists, is a typology of beyond-sonata-formal-solutions to help navigate this complex territory.

The Zimmermann piece is quite stirring. The atmosphere is charged, gothic even. The basic Gestalt is that of an über-Mahlerian, frenetic march. Glissandos, strings sul ponticello, muted trumpets, blaring brass and pounding percussion make the day. But nothing we haven't heard in Bartok's Mandarin! However, the Symphony deserves to be better known than it is. A symphonic spectacular if there ever was one. I would love to hear it in the concert hall. As far as I can see, there is currently one version readily available: a 1987 recording as part of Hänssler Profil's Wand Edition. That must be good. But I'm very happy with the present version where the JDP, predictably, play their heart out under Lutoslawski's stoic baton.

The most impressive part of this post-war German symphonic trilogy is Henze's Barcarole per grande orchestra, from 1979. With 21 minutes it's also the longest piece. It's a lusciously scored, unabashedly Romantic symphonic poem, drenched in glowing, dark colours. Amazing piece of music which, again, deserves a much more prominent place in the catalogue and concert programmes. This connects back to late Mahler, early Schoenberg and, in a concert, would make a perfect complement to a Pelleas und Melisande. I have been listening to the 1992 live recording by Rattle and the CBSO which is superb. I've heard it only twice and plan to return to it very soon.

Hartmann - Miserae

From the luminosity of Toch's Fourth Symphony back to the doom-laden atmosphere of Hartmann's Miserae (1934). It was the composer's first symphonic work: a single movement, 14 minute long symphonic fantasia that was listed as his Symphony nr. 1 until 1950. There are very few recordings available. Apart from the Metzmacher recording I have listened to, there is a Telarc recording conducted by Leon Botstein, and that's it (here is a very complete and up to date Hartmann discography as part of a larger project on documenting 'entartete musik' in fascist Germany and Italy; an amazing job).

It's an intriguing work, as often with this composer it seems. Formally one struggles to get a grip, as I did in the case of the Fourth Symphony. Despite its modest duration, it's a sprawling musical edifice. In language and form it reminds me of the Shostakovich of the 1930s and the latter's almost exactly contemporaneous Fourth is a good reference point. Both pieces display a highly fragmented, violently expressionistic musical process, a mix of bathos and dark forebodings.

The piece starts with a short, quiet prelude - scored for a small chamber-like ensemble - that features a very gripping section. It's basically a casual, almost jaunty march theme which transforms into a chilling death chamber with a muted trumpet and exhausted brass figures hovering over a pppp single note in the very low strings. An amazing effect which does not return later in the work but which casts a long, dark shadow behind anyway. The extended middle section is a maelstrom of vulgar marches and coarse jokes. One can almost see fat Nazi bellies groping under waitresses' skirts at a Munich biergarten. There is a kind of a drinking song - full of malicious, adolescent braggadocio - that returns a couple of times, fortissimo, as a motto theme. The party gives way to a pensive lament on the bassoon with klezmer overtones. But soon it's bulldozered by the mischievous party-goers and, after another attempt of the bassoon to assert itself, the work ends with a short, ferocious coda.

It's certainly a compelling work. It sounds undisciplined to me, but it testifies of a fascinating musical imagination nevertheless.

Very problematic is the whole political framing of not only this work but of Hartmann's oeuvre as a whole. This is another, extra-musical, parallel with Shostakovich. Can we only make sense of this as 'Bekenntnismusik'? Hartmann himself supported this way of approaching his music. However, we quickly get into an ugly ideological debate. Alex Ross, in his 'All the Rest is Noise', casts doubt on the sincerity of Hartmann's intentions. The dedication of Miserae to "my friends, who had to die a hundred times over, who sleep for all eternity" allegedely was only known to the conductor of the premiere, Hermann Scherchen, not to the wider public. And apparently Hartmann had not been averse to giving the Nazi salute during the war. It's an endless back and forth between sceptics and supporters that cannot be resolved and arguably has nothing to do with the music itself. Today I can only approach the music at face value. What I hear is a musical process that keeps me highly involved. Let's keep it at that, for the time being .

Hartmann - Concerto Funèbre

Yesterday I listened for the first time to another Hartmann composition: the Concerto Funèbre for violin and orchestra. First the version by Poppen and Isabelle Faust on ECM, and then a recording with Spivakov as a soloist accompanied by Conlon's Gürzenich Orchestra. It's early days but, wow!, I was immediately gripped by this very bleak and moody work. At least in the ECM recording. Faust and Poppen make a brilliant case for what must be one of the most impressive violin concertos from the last century. What a strange mix of tradition and novelty! What strange panoramas unfold before the listener's eye! The ECM cover image wonderfully captures this sense of mystery. As far as I can tell, the Capriccio recording is much less successful. Conlon and Spivakov don't seem to have a clue. They wander aimlessly around, squeezing every drop of mournful sentimentality from the score. As a result this wonderful concerto is reduced to salon music. Faust's rapturous and steely rendition of the solo part is of an altogether different world. I hanker for more. To be continued.

Hartmann - Symfonie nr. 4

In the last couple of weeks I have collected a number of different versions of Hartmann's Fourth Symphony and as a result I have gone through it maybe as often as 15 times. And still I do not have the feeling of having grasped this work. Although I haven't heard anything else by Hartmann up to this point, his music seems to share this elusive quality with Petrassi's Concertos, which are also very difficult to pin down. But there is no doubt that both are major discoveries for me that will keep me busy for a long while.

Judging from the different readings I have heard, it seems Hartmann's Fourth is not only difficult for listeners but also for conductors to get a hold on. One senses that quite intuitively. The overall shape of the work remains nebulous in all but the most successful readings. The caesura between the second and third movement (the latter having been composed to it after the war) eludes most of the interpreters I have heard. Despite these formal shortcomings it remains a very compelling work, uncompromising, deeply felt, written in an idiosyncratic language and full of remarkable inventions.

The recordings that I have listened to are: Bamberger SO/Ingo Metzmacher (EMI), Gürzenich Orchestra/Conlon (Capriccio), Bavarian Radio SO/Kubelik (live radio tape, Wergo, both CD and LP), and Münchener Kammerorchester/Poppen (ECM). There is also a DGG LP with Kubelik and the same orchestra but a different recording. I've only heard that cursorily. It's now being cleaned on the KM.

All of these recording have their merits. I don't think there is any that deserves to be binned. But clearly these are all different interpretations. Comparative timings reveal part of the story:

• Metzmacher: 14'54"/10'40"/7'22"
• Conlon: 16'27"/10'02"/7'59"
• Kubelik: 14'32"/9'40"/7'29"
• Poppen: 15'38/8'32"/7'45"

In an earlier post I remarked that I found the differences in tempo between movements in the Metzmacher reading less stark than the indications might lead us to expect (lento - allegro - adagio).  Poppen takes a very different view,  with a deliberately paced introductory movement and a very fast Allegro. I think both approaches can work, but one cannot escape the impression that Metzmacher's take at times seems a little sedate and longish and that Poppen's tempo is a little breathless. Also, I don't like how the latter seems to slightly and intentionally blur the contours of transitions in tempo and dynamics. In both interpretations it is difficult to adjust to the final slow movement and one feels there is a lack of continuity in the overall architecture. But both recordings have also plenty of nice things to offer. Once more the ECM shines because of an uncommonly vivid and translucent sound.

Conlon is consistent in the slowness of his reading. The first movement is delivered as a genuine threnody. The fast middle movement is a little ponderous. The finale does work better here, but at a cost of some excitement. The whole thing tends to get a slightly saccharine taste by the end. A very good point for the Conlon, however, is the surprisingly accomplished playing of the Gürzenich Orchestra and the excellent, very rich recording.

The most accomplished reading here is, it seems to me, the Kubelik. I feel he has cracked the code of this ambiguous work. In his hands it appears as a truly symphonic, tightly woven musical process. Ulrich Dibelius makes a case in a lengthy essay accompanying the Wergo LP set for the essentially symphonic character of Hartmann's oeuvre, and he singles out the Fourth as emblematic. I think this is somewhat of a stretch. The symphonic nature of this work is revealed only in the most capable and empathic hands. Kubelik must have worked hard on this symphony. In the first movement his timing coheres with Metzmacher's but his approach is much more plastic and imaginative, letting the slow sections breathe and baring his teeth in the fast music. The Allegro is truly brutal and bitter, but more poised than in the ECM recording. And he extrapolates this rather ascerbic take in the concluding Adagio in the most satisfying way. Kubelik eschews the comfortable and lush romanticism of the Conlon and Metzmacher readings. Instead we have a harsher and more expressionistic view which likely points ahead at Hartmann's famous Sixth Symphony. I must say that the playing of the Bavarian Radio SO does not show the polish of the orchestras on the more recent recordings. The sound quality is surprisingly good, given that we are dealing with live radio tapes of unknown date. However, a side by side comparison reveals that the vinyl does sound better than the CD, even with the 32 minute work confined to one LP side. The latter suffers from a rather closed sound with a glassy upper edge, not untypical for CD transfers.

Anyway it was great to take a deep dive into this work. Time to move on now.

Hartmann - Symphony nr. 4

I'm still travelling more or less close orbits around the work of Bartok with whom I haven't finished yet. I'm halfway the Petrassi Concertos now. And one of the branches that is luring me temporarily away from the Italian leads to K.A. Hartmann. It's particularly the connection between Petrassi's Quarto Concerto and Hartmann's Fourth Symphony - both for string orchestra only, both premiered by Hans Rosbaud - that has kept me involved with the Hartmann symphony over the last week or so. I've now listened to it 7 or 8 times, casually initially and increasingly concentrated as I grew more familiar with this new idiom. It's heartening that after 30 years of intense listening one is still able to discover completely uncharted territories in the classical repertoire. On the other hand, what does it mean when a major 20th century symphonist is living such an ephemeral existence in the record catalogues and in concert life? What else are we missing? Why are contemporary conductors spending lavish care on second rate composers such as Rautavaara, Vasks, and, say, Corigliano? Meanwhile, major figures such as Petrassi and Hartmann are falling by the wayside. The same could be said for Schnittke. I'm also thinking of some of the great Brits, such as Rubbra and Simpson, who have not exactly been overrecorded. In all of these cases we have to rely on having just one complete cycle (almost two in the case of Schnittke, on BIS and Chandos respectively; in the latter the Ninth is missing). In case of Hartmann, we have to thank EMI and Ingo Metzmacher for taking the risk and doing the diligent effort to keep this music alive. Truth be told, there is also a cycle available on Wergo. These are radio recordings with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted for the best part by Kubelik, with some of the gaps filled in by Leitner, Macal and Rieger. Both sets have received favourable reviews throughout. Here is a review of the Metzmacher cycle and here and here are reviews of the Wergo set. I have had the EMI discs in my collection for a long time but had postponed an audition. Further, I have another Metzmacher CD shared by music of Dallapiccola and Hartmann (the Canti di Liberazione and the Gesangszene and Miserae respectively). And then recently I was able to lay hands on an LP with the Fourth and Eight symphonies by Kubelik, also with the Bavarian RSO (but altogether different recordings than featured in the Wergo box).

Anyway, the Hartmann cycle took shape under extraordinay circumstances. Born in 1905 he was already a mature composer when the Nazis seized power. Hartmann went into 'innere Emigration', destroyed a lot of his works and after the war recreated his whole symphonic oeuvre from scratch based on material he wrote before and during the war. Despite the fact that these eight symphonies all emerged at a point where we might suppose an already quite settled creative outlook, they seem to harbour surprising diversity in form and language.

Hartmann seems to be described often as an eclectic composer. And this Fourth symphony seems to corroborate that assessment. In this work one hears echos from pretty much everything that mattered in early 20th century music: early Second Viennese School chromaticism (Verklärte Nacht, Lyric Suite), a Bartokian colour palette, Stravinskian rhythms, Hindemith's neo-classicist perkiness, Reger's dense counterpoint and formal historicism, late Mahler's bare bones orchestration and transfigured romanticism, Shostakovich's earthy humanism. And so on. One reviewer made an association with Tippett and even Nicholas Maw. Well possible as particularly in the Fourth I find there are distinctive echoes of Rubbra (roughly Hartmann's contemporary). Anyway, all these possible influences do not automatically imply the music is derivative. I have pretty much the same feeling when listening to Petrassi, by the way. And Hartmann's Fourth is certainly a piece that rewards repeated listening.

The Fourth consists of three movements, two slow movements enclosing an Allegro di molto, risoluto. I find the actual tempo differences less stark than those suggested by the score (lento - allegro - adagio). The introductory Lento is a long and complex movement, almost 15 minutes, and unfolds a musical process that varies considerably in tempo. I find it contains the best music of the whole piece. The beginning is startlingly beautiful. It opens with a very distinctive theme, noble and not without even a Copland-like sense of optimistic pathos, but moves very quickly into an anguished, expressionistic climax which pushes the strings into their highest registers. The climax dies down and soon (around 2'14") we are in a very different territory: a deeply melancholy theme over shimmering strings of Mediterranean warmth and opulence. This is a magical episode, oceanic in its suggestion of space, touching in its evocation of transience. The atmosphere remains dignified and somber throughout the ensuing episode. There is a fair amount of middle period Shostakovich here. From 6'40" onwards the music becomes much more animated and restless. It seems to me this latter part of the movement is also based on different, more strident and chromatically denser thematic material. The noble Shostakovich theme crops up again but is swept aside by the strident theme. Towards the end of the movement we are in for another surprise: a violin solo tries to hold its ground. Is this a quote from RVW's Lark Ascending? One would almost say so! The movement ends serenely with the solo violin reaching aloft above dusky strings. Describing it as I do emphasises the weirdness of this music. But despite the stylistic eclecticism and formal idiosyncracy this movement really does work.

The Allegro is a lively, masculine movement with a Toccata character. Difficult not to think about Bartok, Shostakovich and Mahler when listening to this music. But it's truly a great piece. I wonder whether it wouldn't have been better to have ended the symphony here, with a two movement layout. Apparently, that was also where Hartmann started from as the Fourth is a reworking of a two-part concerto for soprano and orchestra he wrote in 1938. Indeed, after this impressive allegro it seems difficult to adjust back to the doleful atmosphere of the Adagio appassionato. Or maybe it isn't and I need to spend more time with it.

This certainly is serious music that requires a certain commitment from the listener. As Rubbra, Simpson, Petrassi it is not really 'difficult'. We are essentially listening to quasi-tonal music embedded in idiosyncratic forms, albeit with recognisable links to tradition. And yet, these kinds of compositions reveal their secrets only slowly. I look forward to further exploring this ostensibly very interesting body of work.

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.