CD Review: London Nights (Franziska Lee, piano) Capriccio C3010

Capriccio clearly appreciate that the largely German-trained Korean pianist Franziska Lee is an artist worth nurturing. It is also evident that Franziska Lee has a particular penchant for twentieth century repertoire. Following a well-received recording of French composers, the present release sees her attention turned to five English composers. The next release will focus on Italian composers including Gian Francesco Malipiero, Luciano Berio, Luigi Dallapiccola, Bruno Bettinelli and Ildebrando Pizzetti. Certainly, this format of ‘national’ repertoire collections is distinctive. It has the potential to keep going as long as Lee has the imagination and determination to forego mainstream repertoire in favour of interesting and less travelled paths.

Someone usually very knowledgeable about music once asked me – somewhat tongue in cheek, I hope! – “Is there such a thing as English music after Purcell?” The answer, of course, is yes. Were I asked to produce a single recording to illustrate the point, then Franziska Lee’s release would do the job admirably. Even today in the UK, the keyboard music of the composers included here is too little appreciated and played.

Michael Tippett’s Sonata no.1, in the revised 1942 version of the 1935-37 composition, is played straight, without any hint of anachronism. Tippett, being Tippett, of course takes the listener on a journey that has some serious things to say. At times perhaps there might have greater economy of expression, particularly in the first movement’s flights of fancy, but it is good this was not achieved at the expense of an infusion of jazz and blues influences. Franziska Lee traverses the range of expressions easily and clearly delights in the opportunities this affords her to show her mettle. But is it a sonata I will return to often? I am not so sure I will – it just lacks enough focus to make it a really compelling experience in performance.

Arnold Bax’s single-movement Sonata no.1 in F sharp minor, if anything, has Lee taking things to another level. Her playing takes Bax’s instruction of “Not too fast and very decisive in rhythm” at its word. I have long enjoyed Ashley Wass’ playing of Bax’s piano output (Naxos), but in this sonata Lee puts up a creditable challenge, even if Wass wins the head-to-head by a whisker, as his interpretation sounds just a little more spontaneous.
There’s more humour in Benjamin Britten’s Holiday Diary, 1934, than is often the case in his music. It is a characteristic that Lee emphasises wilfully. Overtly programmatic in character, Lee’s playing captures they boyish fun in these early vignettes that take you to the Suffolk coastline.

John Ireland’s Ballad of London Nights paints the scene of a rather bawdy and occasionally discordant nocturnal stroll through England’s smog-filled capital, taking the listener from a Soho club to the rather more refined environs of Chelsea. That we have this score at all is down to a lucky find in a desk drawer after Ireland’s death.  Franziska Lee’s super-confident realisation of this 7 minute score takes it almost beyond the confines of time and a single instrument, such is the palette of colours that she employs with the deftest of touches.

The middle movement of Frank Bridge’s Three Sketches (1906), Rosemary, is the best known of the three pieces. A passable recording of it is included in Lotusland, an interesting anthology of English piano music, by pianist Kumiko Ida on the Japanese Mittenwald label. Franziska Lee plays all three sketches with moving tenderness. They fully illustrate the romantic air that pervaded Bridge’s writing before he embarked on a more radical and modernistic path.

The recording sound quality is excellent, with the Steingraeber instrument captured faithfully whether in the most delicate passages or in forte. It is a shame that the liner notes do not extend beyond a biography of the pianist in English, German and Korean. Given the repertoire, I suspect that many prospective listeners would find an introduction a useful addition to an otherwise excellent and most recommendable recording. Maybe Capriccio could seek to plug this gap within future releases.

CD Review: Enescu / Lipatti / Dinescu songs (Markus Schäfer, tenor; Mihai Ungureanu, piano) Dreyer Gaido CD21132

This release, titled Hommage à Dinu Lipatti, aims to present a new viewpoint on the great Romanian pianist. Lipatti was also a prolific composer and his output has been slowly achieving more attention. This is thanks to a few historical recordings of his piano compositions by Lipatti himself, or more recent accounts by Mario Vincenzi (Dynamic), Matei Varga (Sono Luminus). My recommendation, however, is to head straight for Luiza Borac’s 2CD set (Avie). The present release is the first time on disc for one of Lipatti’s two song cycles, presented in the context of two compatriots, George Enescu and Violeta Dinescu.

                                           

Enescu’s Sept Chansons de Clément Marot is the only work on this release to have been recorded before that is commonly available.
 
In writing notes on these songs for the Enescu Society in London, I observed that, “In 1898 Enescu’s style was still developing, but when he wrote Sept Chansons de Clément Marot a decade later it had fully matured. Having heard “a little improvised mélodie by Enescu dashed off in Fauré's class” at the Paris Conservatoire, classmate composer Charles Koechlin stated “George Enescu has an affinity with the French language that we natives might dream of.” Clément Marot (1496-1544) was a rhétoriqueur whose style combines stilted language with allegories. Enescu's genius was to take Marot’s texts and evoke a sixteenth-century French spirit without recourse to laboured pastiche, even if the piano emulates a lute occasionally. Each song possesses an individual character.” This led Enescu to claim that he thought of them as a collected set, rather than a cycle in the strict sense, as Jörg Jewanski refers to them in his notes accompanying this release.
 
There are recordings of worthy of attention going back to Enescu himself, who accompanied the Swiss-born soprano Sophie Wyss (Symposium Records 1409). Though Wyss’ occasionally unsecure pitch slightly takes away from the whole, this is balanced by the range of character and temperament that she brings to the individual songs. Enescu’s playing has a luminescent lightness of touch and varied about it that proves most involving. Canadian contralto Marie-Nicole Lemieux gives a rather more pared back reading with Daniel Blumenthal (Naïve), but her subtle vibrato is used to knowing effect. Ileana Cotrubas and Geoffrey Parsons (Chandos), Sarah Walker with Roger Vignoles (Unicorn-Kanchana) and Elena Mosuc accompanied by Sabine Vatin (Arte Nova, recorded using the composer’s own baby grand piano in Bucharest’s Enescu Museum) provide interpretations that at times seem intent in taking these songs beyond the confines of the duo form, with nods to the operatic experience of the singers concerned. The same can also be said of the recording by the Romanian baritone Dan Iordăchescu, who is partnered by Valentin Gheorghiu on Electrecord in an idiomatic reading that is dramatic yet full of vocal sensitivity. If each of these recordings miss one aspect of the set, it is that the text of each song infers suitability to either a male or female voice, as the soprano Nelly Miricioiu has observed. Perhaps a record label could seek to realise this approach one day.
 
The view taken by Markus Schäfer and Mihai Ungureanu on this latest release is markedly different from its rivals – though perhaps Marie-Nicole Lemieux is the closest to sharing their vision. Schäfer and Ungureanu remove almost every vestige of emotion from their performance, minded perhaps of the courtly propriety that shaped expressions of love in Clément Marot’s world. Rather that extrovert emotions, the focus is very much on the nuances evident within Schäfer’s voice, which is not to say that textual inferences are exploited. What is immediately evident is the evenness of tempi taken across the first four songs, which is at odds with the score and the other available versions. At times, in Estreines à Anne for example, the tempo is perhaps a touch too deliberate – Enescu livens things up considerably, as do other accompanists. The humour inflected by Dan Iordăchescu in Aux damoyselles and Changeons propos is absent. Although Schäfer and Ungureanu are convincing in other songs, their performance of Du conflict en douleur fails to fully hit the mark (well, for me at least that’s the case). Other people’s opinions may vary, and should that be the case, then that’s all to the good.
 
Regarding Lipatti’s composition style, Camelia Pavlenco has written, “His particular style brings together a mix of Romanian folklore elements, post-impressionist, neoclassical and neo-baroque echoes in a modern fusion, synchronized with the paths of his contemporaries. His music is sensitive, serene and unmistakable. Five songs on poems by Paul Verlaine, op. 9, are part of a rich thesaurus of Romanian songs written on French verses.” Maybe my lack of awareness of this repertoire inclines me to more receptive to the approach that Markus Schäfer and Mihai Ungureanu take, though the humour of Green is largely absent. The texts are projected clearly and the piano part appears one that would have suited Lipatti’s own playing style. Ungueranu’s innate understanding of Romanian musical forms such as the sorrowful doină and folk-imbued dance joc bring out much needed character in bitter-sweet longing of dor, all of which are likely to be a revelation to listeners unfamiliar with the core characteristics of Romanian repertoire.
 
The Four Melodies, previously recorded by tenor Valentin Theodorian with pianist Lisette Georgescu (Electrecord – but never available on CD), were premiered by the composer accompanying the long-lived French tenor Hugues Cuénod, whose tone was similar to Schäfer's. This set presents some of Lipatti’s most searching writing. It’s highly personal music as well, and perhaps indicates where his compositions might have ventured had he lived to write more. More than in the other set of songs, both roles are equal in their partnership; recording shows singer and pianist meeting the challenge of the work head on.

 
Violeta Dinescu’s sixteen minute long single-movement song tribute to Lipatti concludes the recital. Dinescu, like many of her compatriots, is a composer too-little-known outside Romania. Thankfully though there is a slowly growing discography of her works. In this work, the song tableau is given structure by the accompaniment – which contains its own references to the writing of Lipatti and Enescu. There is a vocal challenge in the writing, though undoubtedly the German translation of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy helps Schäfer deliver a performance that deserves wider appreciation. As so often the case for a first recording, one wonders what other performers will eventually bring to the piece, but for now this will do very nicely.
 
The recording places Schäfer’s voice forward of Ungureanu’s piano, which given his slender, lyrical tenor tone is no bad thing. Ungureanu’s playing is captured faithfully too. With a playing time of barely an hour, so it’s a pity that more material is not provided to fill out the experience still further. Enescu’s songs on verses by Carmen Sylva, Fernand Gregh, Jules Lemaitre and Sully Prudhomme might have provided rich pickings in this regard. Although recorded by Dan Iordăchescu (Electrecord), they are still all-but-unknown outside Romania and demand wider exposure. Maybe, being an enterprising label, Dreyer Gaido could consider them for a further release. My only other quibble is that texts and translations are not included in the booklet. Fortunately, Jörg Jewanski’s note is highly descriptive of the works and incorporates some insights from the performers.
 
A few rather personal niggles aside, there's no denying the seriousness of intent behind this enterprising recording. For anyone wanting to explore some lesser-known yet finely crafted song-writing in performances that have to be taken on their own terms, this release is recommended. 

Concert Review: Alda Dizdari and Maria Gîlicel, violins / Mellos Ensemble (Southwark International Music Festival)

The opening concert in any new music festival with aspirations to become an annual event needs to immediately create an impression and, hopefully, carry with it the portent of great things to come. By launching with a programme entitled ‘Genius’ the Southwark International Music Festival, brainchild of violinist Alda Dizdari during lockdown last year, sought to do just that by finding synchronicity of purpose with the three works played by the Mellos Ensemble.

Each of the composers featured – Bach, Elgar and Enescu – wrote their pieces at a time in their lives when they had not yet achieved the fame that would eventually make their reputations. Another thread of performance connects these composers: Enescu, himself a fabulous violinist, recorded Bach’s double concerto with Yehudi Menuhin. It was also with Enescu that Menuhin prepared Elgar’s violin concerto for the famous recording of the work, conducted by the composer.

The flexibility of the Mellos Ensemble’s constitution – a core of members is supplemented to accommodate the performance of larger-scale works – was shown to good advantage throughout the concert. Alda Dizdari provided discrete yet assured direction in her role as ensemble leader. In Bach’s Concerto in D Minor for Two Violins, BWV 1043, she played the first solo violin part, whilst Maria Gîlicel played the second solo part.

The opening Vivace movement was well articulated with a sense of ensemble proportion, whilst the solo parts were distinct and characterful. In the middle movement, Largo ma non tanto, an apt tempo was taken without ever becoming ponderous. This allowed for a sense of reflection, which enabled the sinuous interplay of the reversed solo lines to fully register. Maria Gîlicel’s mellower tone contrasted well against the brighter timbre of Alda Dizdari’s playing, which benefitted the concerto as a whole. The closing Allegro movement’s lively intricacies were enjoyed by the ensemble and soloists alike, revealing much of interest in Bach’s inventive writing.

Edward Elgar’s youthful and slender Serenade for Strings in E Minor, Op.20, followed. The Serenade for Strings was written in 1892. A compact work consisting of three relatively brief movements, it was a revision and reworking of earlier material.

The opening Allegro piacevole, literally a ‘pleasing’ Allegro, was played with a buoyant tempo and warmth of tone, so much so that the impression of an English idyll came readily to mind. This was continued by the middle movement Larghetto, in which foreshadowings of Nimrod from the ‘Enigma’ Variations were readily detectable. A most sensitive blending of timbres was expertly handled, and nowhere more so than the movement’s closing diminuendo passages. This fully captured the romance in Elgar’s heart-on-sleeve writing. The final Allegretto movement captured the feeling of a pastorale, as the ensemble conveying a sense of unified contentment in their generous yet unforced articulation of this brief yet tender moment of Elgarian repose.

The evening concluded with a performance of George Enescu’s mighty String Octet in C Major, Op.7. Sometimes performed with a conductor, given its intricacy, it says a great deal that the Mellos Ensemble tackled it without one. The Octet’s four connected movements work together to form a large-scale sonata form across its entire structure. Something of the effort that Enescu grappled with is evident in any performance, as motifs and ideas recur between the movements. The Mellos Ensemble did not shy away from its challenges in their performance.

The first movement, Très modéré, was begun just a touch of hesitancy, but progressed to find a requisite driving rhythm. Individual lines were clearly articulated, and interest was maintained across Enescu’s wide canvas through variety of tone, timbre and articulation. If at times the violins occasionally were prominent, the violas and cellos also had their passages of importance; these duly registered without taking away from the whole. The monumentally fugal second movement was greatly enlivened by the incisive attack afforded it in this performance. There was also elegance in its playing and discretion in playing individual lines, which contribute threads towards the completion of a tapestry. The third movement, Lentement, which takes the form of a meditative and even nostalgic nocturne, held the attention through playing that was confident and shaded at times with great depth of feeling. The Octet’s closing movement, a rhythmic waltz, was high-spirited. That the entire Mellos Ensemble clearly had this music comfortably under their fingers, as it were, aided their fully committed realisation of Enescu’s youthful vision for this work, which he claimed was the one with which he attained his own compositional voice. Playing of this calibre left me wondering anew why Enescu’s Octet is not better known, even today.

The concert was met with an enthusastic reception by the in-person audience at Sands Films Music Room, and I assume, the audience watching at home via the livestream. Over the past two years, it has been a necessity to often enjoy music-making online, often with variable sound quality. There were no such issues here though, thankfully. Hybrid audience concerts could well be a format of choice going forward, since it opens up events to a truly global audience.

Three further concerts are scheduled within the Southwark International Music Festival during the next week – details and booking online at https://southwarkmusic.org.uk/festival/. Having enjoyed watching this concert via an online livestream from Sands Films Music Room, it is good to see that one other concert in this years’ series is also being livestreamed, which you can watch free of charge. I urge you to investigate and support if you can – it is only through support that ventures like this will establish themselves, backed by funding and professional organisation, so the musicians and performances can receive the recognition they truly deserve. A credit to all involved; more please!

CD Review: Ysaÿe Discoveries (Sherban Lupu, violin / Henri Bonamy, piano / Liepāja Symphony Orchestra / Paul Mann) Divine Art DDA25222

It should not need saying, but it’s always a mistake to think you know a composer from just a handful of their works. Whilst a selection of pieces might give you some insights, they’ll hardly ever complete the picture. Such a case in point is Eugene Ysaÿe, the great Belgian violin virtuoso-composer. Which of his works are regularly played or recorded apart from the six solo violin sonatas? (Five recordings of them are scheduled for release in the coming months). Yet, there are a legion of other works out there to be enjoyed. Phillipe Graffin recorded a posthumous seventh sonata and the Petite Fantasie Romantique on his well received 2019 release Fiddler’s Blues (Avie AV2399).  Now, this latest release from Romanian violinist Sherban Lupu whets my appetite for Ysaÿe’s compositions still further.

I have known and admired Sherban Lupu’s work for many years. His promotion of the major and lesser-known violin repertoire of George Enescu (much of which he discovered, painstakingly edited and subsequently published and recorded on Toccata Classics) is worthy of greater attention. Incidentally, a second volume of Unknown Enescu is long overdue. I referenced his ground-breaking recording of the Caprice Roumain in an earlier blog post reviewing a new recording of the piece and I feel that Lupu’s reading still comes out on top. That led to a fine recording of music by the all-but-unknown - outside Romania at least - composer Theodor Grigoriu. Then a series of six releases focussed on the music of Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst, another composer of finger-achingly virtuosic violin music, also for Toccata Classics. Some violinists, even top flight ones, occasionally programme or record a work Enescu or Ernst to prove their credentials, but Sherban Lupu really lays down the gauntlet and shows what he’s made of by taking monumental challenges head on.

This latest release, on which all but one short track is a world premiere recording, is the result of many years’ research in the Royal Library of Belgium in Brussels and the Royal Conservatoire of Liège. Qianyi Fan’s lengthy booklet essay makes clear that with this project, Lupu pays homage to Joseph Gingold, with whom he studied in the 1970s. Gingold himself studied with Ysaÿe for three years from 1972. Qianyi Fan’s excellent essay also gives background on Ysaÿe and each of the works, including many insightful comments from Lupu himself.

The first half of the recording is devoted to duo works for violin and piano, and throughout Henri Bonamy proves to be an accompanist who matches Lupu’s temperament with ease. Two Scènes Sentimentales from 1885 open the disc and they bring to the fore two qualities that recur throughout. The first one, no.3, is passionate and forthright as one might expect from a youthful work – its solo part is dispatched with sweeping virtuosity by Lupu whilst Bonamy holds nothing back either. The second, no.5, is a more reflective scene in which both parts are given playing of shading and nuance.

A five-minute Élégie (c. 1912 – Lupu’s title) is an elegant morceau de salon. As it lacked an ending upon discovery, Lupu provides his own effective one, based upon the earlier material. It’s a piece that I can see becoming a pleasing encore for any virtuoso out there, as its main melody lingered long in my memory. Lupu’s traversal of the Petite Fantasie Romantique is altogether more sensuous than that of Phillipe Graffin, which sounds just a bit emotionally detached by comparison.

In 1924, Ysaÿe organised three pieces written on separate occasions into the collection Trois Etudes-Poèmes, potentially for a publication that was never realised. The first piece, Sérénade, was found without a piano accompaniment, and the Romanian composer Sabin Pauţza provided one at Lupu’s request. The result brings out the somewhat elliptical and humourous nature of the violin line to winning effect. It’s not hard to detect the etude-like quality of the writing in the middle movement, Au ruisseau. The technical demands made of double-stopping are dispatched with ease by Lupu, whilst Bonamy doesn’t neglect his piano’s tone even in forte. The trio of works ends with its lengthiest component, the twelve-minute Cara memoria. Somewhere between a funeral march and a rhapsody, it stretches not only the listener’s emotions but the violinist’s technique with its emotional breadth and colour palette. Where perhaps another take might have resulted in cleaner playing of some passages, instead you experience the brio and driving dynamism within this somewhat daunting composition. I’d rather have it as realised every time, it does Ysaÿe’s writing many favours.

The big draw for many though will be the single-movement concerto, which takes the concerto form along the path of concentration, much as Sibelius took in his pioneering seventh symphony. It is in this concerto, as well as Cara memoria, that you hear Ysaÿe’s compositional style at its most daring and pioneering on this recording. On first audition it is a somewhat episodic work – a point of view that is perhaps emphasised by Sabin Pauţza’s colourful and atmospheric orchestration. There’s plenty of interest in the instrumental timbres employed, from refulgent deployment of the strings to some intricate playing in the percussion section. It might also be tempting to draw inferences from works that Ysaÿe is known to have played, such as the Elgar concerto. For all that, it’s still the solo part that just about knits the parts together into a comprehensible whole. It is also noticeable how Sherban Lupu’s playing responds to the extra impetus that the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra provide under Paul Mann’s assured direction. On repeated listening, both the work and interpretation hold the attention as they build towards a knowingly crafted bravura ending.

Given Lupu’s past association with Toccata Classics and its stated objective to promote ‘unknown music by great composers’ or a specialist label such as Musique en Wallonie which has done much to promote Ysaÿe’s music, it is to Divine Art’s credit that they secured the release of this recording. The recordings, made in Romania (duo pieces) and Latvia (concerto) serve the music well to capture the sense of urgency these performances deliver to reveal new aspects of Ysaÿe’s writing for the violin.

This recording was reviewed from a promotional download.

Concert review: Pauline Viardot songs and violin sonatine (Guildhall School of Music & Drama)

The French-born mezzo-soprano of Spanish origin, Pauline Viardot (1821-1910) enjoyed a varied career as an internationally renowned singer, actress, teacher and composer. During her performing career, which took her to Brussels, London, New York, Paris and Saint Petersburg, she sang 33 different operatic roles and knew many of the leading composers, several of whom dedicated works to her.

Such a career is remarkable in its own right, but when you take into account the artistic prowess of her immediate family, perhaps it was only to be expected. Her father, Manuel was a tenor; her mother Maria-Joaquína was a singer, as was her older brother Manuel. Most famous of all though was her older sister, Maria Malibran, who is particularly remembered for her interpretations of several Rossini and Bellini operatic roles.
 

[Image credit: Guildhall School of Music & Drama]

 
The excellent introductory notes to this enterprising concert at by postgraduate students at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama puts Viardot’s vocal writing in context:

“How did she obtain all these famous composers as friends and colleagues? No matter where she lived throughout her life, she held a Music Salon every Thursday evening in her home. Many composers would attend and use the soirée as an opportunity to perform their new and noteworthy works. Pauline would also have her students attend these salons. Many of these composers (Massenet, Gounod, Saint-Saëns, Fauré, and others) credit her with supporting their works and launching their careers.

Pauline composed for voice, choir, piano, chamber ensembles, and operas throughout her life. She also arranged piano accompaniments for her father’s songs and her brother-in-law’s violin studies. Since she had lived all over the world, her compositions did not centre around one specific style. She wrote songs (and was fluent) in French, German, Italian, Russian, and English. Pauline drew inspiration from her composer friends and used many texts from her literary friends. To Pauline’s disagreement, George Sand had always believed her compositions to be more important than her singing.”

This concert featured mezzo-soprano Anika-France Forget, sopranos Olivia Boen, Caroline Bourg,  Katherine McIndoe and Vladyslava Yakovenko, tenor Hidde Stobbe and baritone Thomas Litchev, variously accompanied by Spencer Klymyshyn, Feilin Liu and Mai Nakase. Instrumental items were performed by cellist Pedro Silva, violinist Joonas Pekonen and pianist Jakub Sladek.

This celebration of the bicentenary of Viardot’s birth was judiciously curated by Florent Mourier. It presented 14 song settings in French and one in German; the three movements of the Sonatine for violin and piano interspersed throughout the songs. To underline the intimate, salon nature of Viardot’s writing, the musicians seated themselves around a central piano; the singers stepping forward in turn for their songs. A standard lamp and rug adorned the Milton Court Concert Hall stage, thereby furthering the sense of domesticity that Viardot would have surely identified with.

Compositionally, it is impossible to ignore Viardot’s style which often embodies all the virtues of the bel canto – with its emphasis upon the singer’s tonal quality and breath control, married with a beauteous, unobtrusive accompaniment – that she knew only too well from her experience as a performer.

The creamy tone and carefully sustained vocal line produced by soprano Katherine McIndoe was matched by sensitively tasteful playing of Feilin Liu in the solitary item for this pairing, O, pauvre âme! Tempestuous passions enflamed both the vocal line and accompaniment of Désespoir, with soprano Caroline Bourg eventually catching the mood in her sole offering. Olivia Boen’s carefully sustained and assuredly ornamented vocal line in Chanson de la pluie was a delight and left me wanting to hear more from her.

More extensive partnerships also offered much to enjoy within this concert. Tenor Hidde Stobbe and his accompanist Mai Nakase presented three songs – his light tone and clear diction particularly suited the almost arie antiche quality of Plus d’espérance.  In a further song from this pairing, there was an almost wistful quality to Haï Luli. To Les attraits, accompanied by Spencer Klymyshyn, Hidde Stobbe brought a neo-classical quality through his elegant attention to the text.

A shaded tone pervaded the performance of the brief chanson Ici-bas tous les lilas meurent by Thomas Litchev. L’ombre et le jour, an exercise in vocal restraint was perfectly suited to Litchev also. In the context of this concert, Die Sterne was something of a curiousity: with both piano and cello accompanying the vocal part. The whole proved plaintive in tone and very much heart-on-sleeve throughout, fittingly matching the character of Pushkin’s original poem in its German translation.

Vladyslava Yakovenko’s first contribution, Bonjour mon Coeur, brought out the song’s bravura character with ease, sparklingly partnered by Spencer Klymyshyn. La coquette was delivered with suitable ornamentation and assurance which did not deny the underlying sense of insouciance its place. The airy, breathy quality brought to Gentilles hirondelles seemed appropriate to a song concerned with airborne birds.

Altogether more Spanish flavour and emotion was evidenced by Anika-France Forget in Madrid. Together with her accompanist Mai Nakase, Anika-France was fully convincing of the inner emotions felt by a chastised lover in Reproches. Le miroir continued in the same vein. How good it would be to hear more from this pairing in particular.

The Sonatine for violin and piano enjoyed a most winning performance. The opening Adagio, replete with yearning passion in its flowing solo line, was most sensuously played by Joonas Pekonen. Jakub Sladek’s accompaniment also did not conceal the passion in Viardot’s writing. The Allegro/Scherzo second movement picked up the Spanish flavour once again in its romantic, heartfelt instrumental lines – indeed, the only thing that might prevent this becoming a winning and highly ornamented song was the lack of a text. The closing Allegro movement rounded out not only the Sonatine but this concert too with music that put Viardot’s gift for lyricism and flourish once again to the fore. Both these qualities Joonas Pekonen and Jakub Sladek delivered with ease. If this concert was anything to by then Viardot’s music is worthy of wider attention, as it is finely written and full of excellent melodies.

A further Viardot rarity, a staging of her opera Cendrillon, was also recently performed at Guildhall School. I shall review this once the video stream is available online.
Reviewed via video stream

Obituary: Nelson Freire, pianist (18 October 1944 — 31 October 2021)

The fabulous Brazilian pianist Nelson Freire has died, aged 77.

 
It is with sadness that I record his passing, as I only had the pleasure of hearing him in concert once. At the BBC Proms in 2010 he played Chopin’s Second Piano Concerto and an arrangement of Gluck’s Danza degli spiriti beati from Orfeo ed Euridice was his encore - see video below.

[Interestingly, the concert also included the young Lionel Bringuier conducting the BBC Symphony Orchestra in an enthralling account of Roussel’s Third Symphony – how many conductors have that in their repertoire?]

Notes on my programme record it as “an evening of musical meditation”, such was the rapt attention that the audience accorded Freire's every note.

Later, in 2014, I reviewed for Classical Ear his Decca recording of Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto and the last Piano Sonata:

“Riccardo Chailly, the Gewandhaus Orchestra and pianist Nelson Freire present a recording of Beethoven’s 'Emperor' Concerto that resolutely steers clear of the time-worn hackneyed traps of phrasing and tempo that can weigh the music down to the point of disintegration. Instead, there is a crystalline clarity to Freire’s playing even when thickly scored – reminding somewhat of Radu Lupu’s approach to the work – and enough orchestral detail comes through to lend added interest. In the sonata, Freire finds much of eloquence to say within the two-movement structure and in his hands the sublime second movement 'Arietta' especially becomes a thing of intricate poetic beauty, full of contrasting emotions, and with Beethoven's subtly graded dynamic markings in the half-lit passages made to count for much.”

From the tributes being made to Freire today by those that knew him and worked alongside him, I feel I might have caught something of the essence of his art.
Sometimes you only need to hear an artist once or twice to know that their art will stand the test of time and that they will be sorely missed.