Hoddinott - Symphony nr. 6; Lanterne des Morts

Another work that I was reminded of when listening to Petrassi's Secondo Concerto is Alun Hoddinott's Sixth Symphony (1984). I got to know this via a Chandos CD I added to my collection maybe 15 years ago. I relistened to this moody 20 minute-work but have to conclude that it inhabits a quite different musical universe. There is something of a neo-classical restraint and mellifluousness in the symphony, but overall it's a more romantic conception, richly harmonised in a very attractive clair-obscur. Although it features some exciting fast music, it basically comes across as a single arched adagio. It's a lovely composition which bears repeated listening, particularly on these kinds of gloomy winter days as we are currently experiencing. The disc features a number of other works, notably the symphonic poem Lanterne des Morts, op. 105, nr. 2. This is a stunningly atmospheric work that takes its cue from a monolithic stone tower in the French town of Sarlat (in the Dordogne). 'Lanterns of the dead' can be found in several places in the South-West of France. Although as a rule they are located in the immediate vicinity of a cemetery, no satisfactory explanation has been found as to their functioning. Legend has it that the souls of the deceased transmigrated out of these towers as pigeons. That is the image that Hoddinott has been able to musically evoke in a quite marvellous way. Qua atmosphere the work connects seamlessly to the symphony. The scoring is ravishing, with muted trumpets, darkly intoning trombones, glockenspiel and wind machine adding to the brooding atmosphere. There is a daring but quite successful quotation from the Romanza in Vaughan Williams' Fifth Symphony transporting us to the latter's luminous mysticism.

Hoddinott was a prolific composer who left a significant oeuvre, including 10 symphonies, 5 operas, more than 10 concertos and 10 piano sonatas. Most of it has not been recorded. Pity Chandos or Naxos have not yet picked up the gauntlet. Lyrita has a few recordings in their catalogue that are likely worthwhile to collect. To be continued.

Petrassi - Secondo Concerto; Honegger - Symphony nr. 4

I've been listening patiently to Petrassi's Secondo Concerto per Orchestra, a composition from 1951. The music is not that difficult but it does show a certain measure of abstraction and hence it takes a while to get a feel for the overall structure. The idiom clearly connects to the Primo Concerto, although the stance is somewhat less heroic. The work is also more transparently scored, and sounds more genuinely as a concerto for orchestra. Once you get into the music it is very atmospheric and Petrassi conjures some wonderful textures from the orchestra. The work it reminded me most strongly of is Honegger's Fourth Symphony, 'Deliciae Basilienses' (1946). Incidentally, both the Petrassi Concerto and the Honegger symphony were commissioned by Paul Sacher. This is a name that continues to pop up once one starts to dig into the neo-classical modernists' repertoire from 1930s to 1950s. The Honegger symphony is in a still more relaxed and narrative vein than the Concerto. But the airiness of the textures and the general harmonic feel do overlap a lot. It was a pleasure to relisten to the Honegger symphony in a truly excellent version by the Bournemouth Sinfonietta led by Tamas Vasary (another pianist-turned-conductor; recording is still available in the Chandos catalogue). Vasary's choice of tempo is just right and he coaxes beautiful playing from his wind soloists and trumpets, suffusing the work with a melancholy light and a bittersweet tone that is quite unique.

Lutoslawski - Concerto for Orchestra

I hadn't listened to the Lutoslawski Concerto for Orchestra for ages. Truth be told, for me Lutoslawski's music starts to be really interesting only from the late 1960s onwards when his mature style flowered into arresting compositions such as Livre pour Orchestre, the Cello Concerto, Les Espaces du Sommeil and Mi-Parti.

On the one hand the Concerto is an approachable symphonic spectacular; the music is pleasingly angular, athletic and colourful. So it's certainly not a burden to listen to. On the other hand I find it lacking in a coherent overall structure. Particularly the finale fails to convince on this account. And that's a pity as it is longer than the first two movements combined.

I followed the music with Charles Bodman Rae's analysis (in The Music of Lutoslawski, Faber and Faber, 1994) in hand. The finale starts with a Passacaglia, the theme of which is 8 bars long and is repeated 18 times as it passes from the basses to the highest registers of the orchestra. In counterpoint with the Passacaglia there is a sequence of 13 episodes - mostly also 8 bars long - with contrasting material. For the most part they do not overlap with the beginning or end of the Passacaglia theme (an early example of what Lutoslawski later would call his 'chain' technique). These episodes are not variations as there is not really a relationship between them. After the Passacaglia follows a bristling Toccata, driven forward by very energetic brass. This gives way to a chorale, first in the woodwinds, then in the brass. Afterwards, the Toccata picks up again leading to a final section in which the chorale reappears fortissimo in the brass. A fast coda ends the work. One problem seems to be that there is  an abundance of thematic material in this 15 minute movement. Furthermore, the different sections - Passacaglia, Toccata, Chorale - seem to be disconnected; they come across as a sequence of brilliant but unconnected vignettes. Interestingly Bodman Rae also observes that in the Concerto only 76 of the work's 956 bars are not in some kind of triple meter. I think one can sense this rhythmic monotony over such a long musical structure. Paradoxically it may add to the sense of disjointedness.

I listened to different recordings, the most successful of which was taped by Christoph von Dohnanyi with the Cleveland Orchestra in 1989 (Decca, no longer available). It's a very taut and objective reading, the dryness of which is reinforced by a bone hard, close-miked recording from the Masonic Auditorium. Nevertheless, it's not unpleasant to listen to. The tight control suits this brilliant, sprawling music very well. The reading by Yan Pascal Tortelier with the BBC Philarmonic initially convinces, not in the least because of the attractive, meaty Chandos recording. The Intrada and the scherzo-like second movement come off really well. But sadly Tortelier is not able to keep the finale as convincingly together as Dohnanyi. I also listened to Lutoslawski's own recording, made in the late 1970s with the Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra (Katowicze). It's a fine recording that is in itself not particularly illuminating, however. His orchestra also lacks the sparkle of their Cleveland counterparts.

The Decca recording is coupled with Bartok's Concerto (which I still have to listen to) and the question poses itself as to how the two compositions might be related. There seems to be little agreement on this issue. Paula Kennedy writes in the liner notes for the Dohnanyi recording: "However, the main influence on the work is indubitably that of Bartok. This can be heard both in the clarity and directness of the musical language, and also in such structural details as the arch form of the first movement and the chorale of the last movement (in its manner of presentation, this chorale bears a striking resemblance to the one which occurs in the second movementof Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra). The economy with which musical ideas are developed also owes much to the example fo Bartok." On the other hand, Simon Ravens in the notes accompanying the Chandos disc finds the similarities more cosmetic than real. (However, he makes the rather surprising assertion that whilst Bartok generally tried to be faithful to the character of his folk material, Lutoslawski used folk themes as merely raw material to build a large musical form. I think this is disputable). Bodman Rae essentially agrees with the observation that there is no dominant and direct influence of Bartok in Lutoslawski's Concerto: " ... if one were to draw a meaningful parallel with Bartok, it should be with Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, rather than his own Concerto for Orchestra." Pity he doesn't elaborate this connection. Personally I would also side with the latter viewpoint. Apart from the orchestral brilliance and some anecdotal correspondences (I think most chorales resemble one another) the two compositions seem to inhabit rather different spheres of the musical continuum.

Comment: Kennicott on active listening

In the February 2010 issue of Gramophone magazine there was an unusually perspicacious column by Philipp Kennicott, culture critic for the Washington Post, in which he captured very well what 'active listening' would ideally be about:

I'm interested in a listening device that actually helps one listen. We've had a century of remarkable progress in machines that reproduce music but most of those machines explicitly aimed to mimic the concert experience. I'm interested in machines that would enhance or develop the concert experience into something entirely different. First order of business: I want a device that can scroll the musical score as the music is playing but not require that I sit at a computer screen. I want to see the music passing by no matter where I'm listening — lying down, sitting on a train, jogging. This may mean projecting it onto a screen, or some kind of invisible screen, or maybe even using holographic technology. Now, if I'm feeling lazy, or lend my new device to someone who isn't proficient at score reading, I want the option for the score to standardise.

We're not through yet. Given the advances in video game technology, perhaps we should have another option that represents music in sculptural form. The listener will pick the basic shapes — Euclidean solids, cloud forms, fractal patterns, Henry Moore statues — and the computer will use them to represent the basic elements of music. This should be sophisticated enough that I can turn it on, project it onto a table top and leave it playing alongside the music, like kinetic sculpture.
And while we're at it, I may desire to hear certain inner lines more clearly than the musicians are projecting them. It would be nice if, when I reached out and touched them (either in the score or in their sculptural analogue) they would become more prominent. Thus I could listen to the performance much more interactively, more like a conductor than a mere audience-member.

It should also be wired into a huge musical encyclopedia and database, complete with a catalogue of thematic material that allows the listener to stop the music and say, hey, isn't that like a theme I know from Mahler? I want the answer to that question, and I want it now. Of course, we're going to want some default switches on this device, so that it's absolutely clear when the listener is interfering with the "truth" of the recording. And as with all new gizmos, the more options the better, so if I want to use the machine like an ordinary DVD player, I can turn off the "extras" and simply watch the musicians perform.

I'm not holding my breath. The technology is probably the least of the problems. The main issue is that this fantasy listening device fills a need that not many people recognise: to listen more actively. Listening generally falls into the category of entertainment, and technology often assumes that what people want (in addition to listening) is distraction. Most of the half-hearted attempts to create classical music video tend towards this direction — visual fantasies that seem almost apologetic about the music they supposedly serve.

My device would be completely different, using the emergent gaming technology and video wizardry entirely in service of the score, the performance and the listener's curiosity about the construction of the music itself. Which is why I'm not expecting to see it on the market any time soon. But if it arrives, and prices come down to reasonable levels, I'll put it straight on my wish-list.

Petrassi - Primo Concerto

A couple of years ago my friend HK demoed a snippet from one of Goffredo Petrassi's Concerti per Orchestra. It took a long while to follow up on his suggestion but now I'm happy to have the full set of 8 Concerti on a double CD issued by the Stradivarius label. The Netherlands Radio Symphony Orchestra is conducted by the redoubtable Arturo Tamayo - for whom I have great respect since his traversal of Xenakis' complete symphonic oeuvre on the Timpani label.

Petrassi's Primo Concerto makes for a very promising start. It's a very muscular three movement work - Allegro, Adagio, Tempo di Marcia - lasting just over 23 minutes. Rhythmically and harmonically it has Hindemith written all over it, but then it's a more sanguine and athletic version of the original. Not surprisingly, one is also reminded of the Walton of the First Symphony, as well as of the 'angry' Vaughan Williams of the Fourth and Sixth symphonies. So, it's the kind of taut, epic and rather abstract symphonic music that goes down extremely well with me.

Again, it's rather amazing how this body of work is able to lead such a peripheral existence. Likely, Petrassi has a big reputation in Italy but beyond its borders he must be very little known. His discography is very spotty, with some of his alleged masterpieces - Coro di Morti, Noche Oscura, the operas - unavailable. Chailly, for example, recorded the complete Varese and the Hindemith Kammermusiken, so why didn't he go on and recorded the Petrassi Concerti? Anyway, let's see where this leads us. The Secondo Concerto follows 17 years after the first so we may be in for a very different experience.

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.

Lutoslawski - Chain 1-3

The recent acquisition of a CD issued by Naxos with Lutoslawski's last recorded concert - October 24, 1993, barely three months before he died of cancer in February 1994 - was a good opportunity to relisten to some of his late masterpieces. I selected the three works that go under the name of Chain:

• number 1 dating from 1983 and written for a mixed chamber ensemble of 14 instrumentalists, 
• number 2 dating from 1985, a 'dialogue for violin and orchestra' (dedicated to A.-S. Mutter), 
• number 3, from 1986, for full orchestra.

The Naxos recording is a re-issue of a disc that has been in (limited) circulation for a while. It was taped in Toronto during a concert with the New Music Concerts Ensemble and independently issued. Now Naxos seems to have purchased the rights.

Without wanting to connect everything that I listen to Bartok, one can easily intuit a kinship between the work of these two composers. Both reflect an artistic integrity that led them to develop a highly sophisticated musical language, innovative and uncompromisingly modernist but without pandering to the tastes of the contemporaneous avant-garde. Both have something of a musical watchmaker, setting great store by harnessing the visceral energy of their musical ideas with a formal equilibrium and almost neoclassical poise of their compositions. Without being able to substantiate it, I also seem to feel an harmonic likeness between the two, perhaps reflected in their focus on integrating diatonicism and and chromaticism in a single framework and their pechant for darker colours and night musics.

Anyway, the Chains are masterpieces of the late Lutoslawski. Despite their sequential numbering they do not form a cycle. The formal principle that ties them together is that of partially overlapping sections, differentiated by harmony, melodic line and texture (there is a good deal more to be said about this). My favourite is Chain 3 which despite its limited duration (a good 10 minutes) has an impressively epic sweep and monumentality. (Sibelius' Tapiola is the archetype of these kinds of works with an apparently very high specific gravity). There is a fantastic recording of Chain 3 on another CD which has been branded as Lutoslawski's final concert on the obscure label KOS Records Warsaw. It dates from a Warsaw Autumn festival concert late September 1993.

For Chain 2 we are still best served by Lutoslawski's DGG recording with the work's dedicatee as a soloist (despite a rather fat recorded sound from Walthamstow Town Hall). But Mutter's playing has tremendous fire and the BBC Symphony Orchestra is in great form. A good second is Isabelle van Keulen's rendering with the Philarmonia under Heinrich Schiff (Koch-Schwann, coupled with the Schnittke Viola Concerto). The recording on the present Naxos disc is, I am sorry to say, not up to the same standard. The soloist is not in the same league and the performance lacks forward momentum.

Chain 1 has been recorded less often than either of the other works. It's the more uncompromisingly avant garde of the three, and leans qua spirit most towards the mildly surrealist atmosphere that characterizes some of Lutoslawski's other late works (notably Chantefleurs et Chantefables).
My favourite recording is one with the Norwegian Chamber Orchestra under Daniel Harding, issued in 1996 on the Virgin label and long since disappeared from the catalogue. Another very lively performance has been recorded by the Junge Deutsche Philharmonie, led by the composer. Again, the Naxos recording is not a worthy competitor I find.

There's a charming documentary on Lutoslawski - made on the occasion of this visit to the School of Music at UCL in 1985 - here, here, here and here.