Der Bote - A Lubimov recital

Listened twice this week to this wonderful recital recorded by Alexei Lubimov. Why don't we have more of these intelligent and adventurous compilations, rather than perennial rehashes of the core repertoire? I'm transcribing Lubimov's own liner notes here:

Melancholy - that is the title one might give to this programme. Nostalgic pictures, some will suggest, and others: quiet meditation. Music written for oneself, one might also think; like a diary not meant for publication, in which you note down only what is most personal, what is memorable for no one but you and yet says a great deal.
Whatever else these collected pieces may be given, one or two words are not enough to show why these unpretentious masterpieces from three centuries so smoothly gather into a single strand that unravels a bundle of associations and memories so dear to their performer. Within these composers' works each piece holds a fairly modest place: in most cases it is but a marginal note in a long novel. However, linked together here by their unassuming, meditative poetry and the deeper inner impulse of their creators, who are not inhibited by any commission or external circumstance, they convey a particular significance to me - and to my listeners too, I hope - with its own logic and atmosphere. Thus what we have here is the story of a sort of journey, each stage of which is meant not so much to reveal the composer's soul as to bring us gradually closer to that essential source from which all these musical compositions draw their kinship and to which they owe their inner unity.
Then it no longer seems strange that Silvestrov's Messenger (Der Bote) should sound as if it had come straight out of the 18th century and C.P.E. Bach's Fantasia should appear nearly the most modern piece in the programme (Cage's In a Landscape); that the gentle wistfulness of Glinka's Parting (La Séparation) and the almost Brahms-like bitterness of Chopin's Prelude Op. 45 should have as their perfect counterparts the aloofness and chaste restraint of the elegies by Liszt, Bartok and Debussy; that Mansurian's Nostalgia and Silvestrov's Elegy should point regretfully to the fact that even the radical changes that followed Webern have vanished in a nostalgic past; and that the most avant-garde composer of the 20th century - John Cage - should present us with a most delicate and poetic flower, a genuine East Indian lotus flower floating away on a sea of oblivion ... Oblivion? - There is no such thing as oblivion, Silvestrov says with his Messenger; it is enough to fling open a window, to strike a match, to look at a cloud, to hear a triad, for memories - not only ours but also those, unknown to us, of all these messengers - to start working a miracle.

Brad Mehldau - Live in Tokyo

I've been listening on and off to this treasured recording for almost a week. Likely it's one of my desert island discs. Having listened to it by now maybe hundreds of times, the music has seeped into my bones.  I remember very well how I stumbled into it whilst on holiday in Italy, five or six years ago. That whole week in the Marche got drenched in the tremendous artistry, energy and concentration of this formidable piano solo live concert. It may not be the most subtle piano playing around (in the sense that Shostakovich is likely not the most subtle symphonist around) but there is a no-holds-barred, joyful reverence for the sheer beauty of music that touches the heart. Nietzsche might have liked this kind of 'mediterranean' inspiration. It is the perfect blend of improvisational dash, wistful lyricism and hymnic exuberance that gets me enthralled every time again. I just love those rapturous, meditative, chiming chordal waves, those daring modulations in harmonic hyperspace, those complex contrapuntal textures (often including three separate lines) and also those fragile, sparse right hand musings. I have two versions of this recital: one featuring a selection only issued as a single CD, and another one (Japanese import) with the complete recital on a double CD. I almost always prefer the single CD version as the pacing and sequencing of the tracks is just perfect, starting from the disciplined but intriguing impro on Nick Drake's Things Behind The Sun, momentary settling down in Gershwin's Someone To Watch Over Me, onwards to the ever more dense and dazzling textures of Porter's From This Moment On and the riotious energy of Monk's Dream to culminate in the jaw-dropping, 20 minute long meditation on Radiohead's Paranoid Android. Then there is a lull, with Gershwin's sweet How Long Has This Been Going On?, only to launch into Drake's River Man as a rousing, exalted finale. What adds to the excitement too is the generous acoustics of Sumida Triphony Hall - with audience's intrusions adding to the atmosphere - that have been wonderfully captured, allegedly by a simple set of overhead microphones. It's a shame that Nonesuch seems to prefer a much drier and less involving sound for its other Mehldau recordings. For me, this is the provisional high point in Mehldau's output. I am curious to hear his next solo installment, but having heard his rather unfocused live concert earlier this year (in Hasselt) I am not hopeful it will upstage the Tokyo disc. Doesn't really matter. This one has brought me already so much pleasure, and will continue to do so for a long time.

Paolo Fresu 5ET - Incantamento

I'm getting behind with documenting my listening trajectory. During my stay in Stockholm I listened to just two discs on my Sony mp3 player. Easy listening fare, to chill a little bit after the rather strenuous thinking at the architecture school during the day. Incantamento is one disc in a series of five that Paolo Fresu and his quintet have been recording since 2005 for Blue Note, at the occasion of their 20-year existence (without changing their lineup!). Each of the titles is dedicated to original compositions of one the band members. In Incantamento saxophone player Tino Tracanna had a free hand. It's a beautifully crafted, suave recording featuring strong, but rather diffident compositions and superbly polished playing. Fresu himself is curiously reticent on this recording. It's all very enjoyable but maybe a little too polished for its own good. Most of these recording have already disappeared from the catalogue, I notice, but there is now a 2-disc collection that features the highlights from Fresu's Blue Note years (he is with ECM now).

The other audition was a rather less pleasurable experience. Jan Garbarek's In Praise of Dreams, an ECM production, brings together a star cast with Kim Kaskashian on viola and Manu Katché on drums. But musically it's a disappointing affair. Whilst the Fresu disc may not be very demanding either, there is the feeling of genuine musical invention. Here Garbarek leans a little too much to mindless new age schlock for comfort. I found this really getting on my nerves.

Berg - Wozzeck

On Tuesday I attended a sparsely attended performance of Berg's Wozzeck at the Royal Opera in Stockholm. It's a production that has been running for years. Naxos recorded it, with another cast and conductor, in 2001. Now it was Andreas Stoehr in the pit. Gabriel Suovanen sang the title role and Sara Olsson was Marie. Despite the rather dated concept, I found it a satisfying performance with strong voices and a refined orchestral contribution. Stoehr, a baroque specialist, projected the score in a very lyrical and transparant way. One hardly noticed that the music is atonal and supposed to be difficult. I didn't get that last ounce of atmosphere out of this performance, however. Maybe it was the rather empty hall, the severe ambiente of the Stockholm opera building or simply the fact of being preoccupied after a long day of work. I'm planning to return to Berg and the Second Viennese School once I am through with Bartok.

Ralph Towner & Paolo Fresu - Chiaroscuro

I (we) had 48 hours of almost non-stop engagements: 4 appointments on Friday, then friends based in Jerusalem visiting us on Friday evening and Saturday, other friends on Saturday evening. This morning I started with a sloshy run through the forest (met two deer!), then breakfast, doing the dishes and then I settled down for a while with a wary eye on the melting snow that fell from an ash-grey sky. Time to gather around a musical fireplace - listening couch snugly lined up in an equilateral triangle with the speakers - with a marvelously intimate and moody ECM disc.  

Chiaroscuro features Ralph Towner on guitars (classic, 12 string and baritone) and Paolo Fresu on trumpet and fluegelhorn in a series of mostly Towner's compositions. Fresu caught my ear several years ago on Ornella Vanoni's Sheherazade with his sensational, super-cultivated solos. Since I have collected several of his Blue Note recordings with his own quintet. It's great to see him join the ECM roster. Together with Enrico Rava and Tomasz Stanko they now have a superb lineup of brass players. It was Kris Duerinckx who introduced me to Ralph Towner via his 1978 album Batik (he wanted to draw my attention to JackDeJohnette's remarkable contribution to it). Since I added his Anthem to my collection but there is a whole series of ECM discs I have yet to discover.

Already the cover of this CD transports me back to that morning roughly 20 years ago when we were making our way to the Geisspfadpass on the Swiss-Italian border. We set off from Alpe Devero and headed to the northeast hitting the shores of the Lago di Devero by mid-morning. The sun reflected in dramatic chiaroscuro on the lake's surface. A timeless spectacle. It must have been a moment close to perfection as I can recall it so very vividly.

The music on this recording is wonderfully euphonious. Only a hint of improvisation. A tastefully placed dissonant here and there. But otherwise it's just an opportunity to indulge in a series of richly harmonised, almost romantic vignettes. The atmosphere is wistful and mysterious, darkly shaded by the lush timbre of the bariton guitar and the mellow fluegelhorn. Despite the music's accessibility, there is nothing 'easy' or new agey about it. This is superbly tasteful musicianship displayed in an unlikely but remarkable symbiosis of two very different voices. On the B&W 804s it just sounds gorgeous. You can hear the music between the notes. The disc's centerpiece is a track called 'Sacred Place'. The deep sensitivity and reverence that speaks from the music belies the rather grandiose kitschiness of the title. The chokingly beautiful theme is first elaborated by Towner solo in a very classic, restrained way. But every notes plumbs great melancholy depths. Later on there is shorter reprise in which the guitar is joined by Fresu's supremely polished and reflective fluegelhorn. It's just the kind of thing I needed today with that melting snow falling out of an ash-grey sky.

Bartok - The Miraculous Mandarin

The last couple of weeks I have had precious little time to listen to music. I have traveled abroad, mostly on short trips, leaving the Sony player at home.  And work days have been quite long with hardly any opportunity to switch off. So by last Sunday I started to feel quite starved of auditory input.

Meanwhile, I have been conducting this little experiment of keeping a listening diary for a while and my assessment of the experience is very positive. There is something paradoxical about the wish to spend more time documenting listening experiences when professional and other obligations leave so little time for relaxation. But maybe unconsciously it is exactly the lack of time and concomitant pressures that lead me to do this. When the going gets tough I need to replenish myself. Music in its most basic impact is energy. And through this diary I have clearly experienced how rewarding and nourishing it is to attend in a more disciplined way to the listening experience. Also I have the feeling now that I'm really 'in' the music of Bartok. It's not an issue of just 'liking' it anymore. Reading up on the music and life of Bartok has been very stimulating too. I'm certainly happy to have the Cambridge Companion at my disposal which is the most complete and thorough study available.

The only piece I have been able to really listen to is The Miraculous Mandarin. No, not true! Before I left on my trip to France, almost two weeks ago, I had sampled a movement from the Concerto for Orchestra, the 'Giuco delle coppie', by Fischer's Budapest Festival Orchestra. Right in the middle of that movement, after first round of five sections devoted to pairs of instruments (bassoons, oboes, clarinets, flutes, muted trumpets) there is a wonderful chorale-like passage in the brass (tuba and trombone), childlike in its pentatonic naiveté. (From a 1959 Reclams Konzertführer I picked up in a second-hand bookshop: "Urplötzlich dann - über synkopischen Rhythmen des Schlagzeugs - in majestätisch harmonisiertem Blechsatz ein profunder Choral, ernst, klar, brucknerisch.") The BFO musicians play this most deeply-felt and beautifully. I have not been able to get that passage out of my head for almost a week.

The Mandarin, then. I am not finished with it yet. I listened to three different versions: the Fischer/BFO (Philips, 1997; for which they got a Gramophone Award), the Abbado/LSO (DGG, 1982) and the Dorati/BBC SO (Mercury Living Presence, 1964). All of them are most excellent. It would be hard to choose amongst them. Abbado offers the most brutal view (in a cold, biting sound), Fischer the most symphonic (in a transparant but pleasingly grainy sound) and Dorati the most graphically descriptive (in a very meaty analog recording). No doubt the pantomime is a tremendous piece of symphonic writing. But it is a work that is maybe easier to admire than to truly love. It has a unique form and aural signature. Even in Bartok's oeuvre I feel it stands apart. It offers an odd mixture of the urbane, the cartoonish, the primitive and the romantic. A hybrid of Tom and Jerry and Tristan, as it were. When I listen to it, I am thinking of Berg and Gershwin at the same time. To be continued.

Bartok - Short Orchestral Works

Precious little time to listen these days. I am spending all my waking hours writing proposals. Meanwhile a 3-CD box arrived with Ivan Fischer's recordings of Bartok's orchestral works on the Philips label. These are recordings from the late 1990s, re-issued in 2006 as a Collectors' set. They quickly dropped out of the catalogue and are difficult to find today.

I just listened to the Dance Suite again and some of the shorter collections of dances. What I heard is very promising. Clearly, compared to the mid-1980s recordings of the piano concertos and the Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, the Budapest Festival Orchestra sounds like a more homogeneous and mature ensemble. The sound is also better. The older set was taped by Hungaroton engineers whilst this has been recorded by a Dutch crew at the Italian Institute in Budapest. The Suite sounds awesome. Really a rival to the Solit which is excellent. I look forward to discovering Fischer's Mandarin and Concerto for Orchestra as soon as I have the time, likely somewhere near the end of next week. There's some travelling to be done first.