Concert review: Laura Fleur, mezzo / Guildhall Symphony Orchestra / Roberto Gonzalez-Monjas (Barbican Centre)

The concert, which took place on 17 March, featured three twentieth century works which are renowned as orchestral showpieces. They are, in short, perfect vehicles for any orchestra to show what it is made of. More so, if the orchestra is comprised of precious and developing talents of the future, as the Guildhall Symphony Orchestra undoubtedly is.

[Image credit: Guildhall School of Music & Drama]

Lutosławski’s Concerto for Orchestra, written between 1950 and 1954, was given an assured performance under the baton of Guildhall alumnus and faculty member Roberto Gonzalez-Monjas. The first movement impressed immediately with the imposing and purposeful opening chords that united the harps and timpani. The dance rhythms that dominate the movement were realised with a surety of purpose and deftness of touch throughout the instrumental ranges. If one quality stood out, it was the naturalistic blending and contrasting of instrumental sonorities, which surely resulted from careful preparation that went into the performance as a whole. Witness, for example, how the horns played off against the almost bickering oboes and clarinets with the appearance of the second theme. The middle movement gave a further opportunity for the orchestra’s instrumental sections to showcase their quality. Whilst the speed required by the capriccio was delivered by Roberto Gonzalez-Monjas’ aptly chosen tempo, other qualities delivered a performance that emphasised the textural aspects of Lutosławski’s score. Whereas some music relies on volume to impress, Lutosławski calls for nuanced playing and delicate layering of individual lines to achieve his intended aims. These qualities were delivered in abundance. The closing movement’s complex tri-partite structure presents challenges of contrast and integration to achieve a performance that satisfies. Roberto Gonzalez-Monjas was fully alert to these challenges, as were the orchestra. The Guildhall Symphony Orchestra drew out the drama and playfulness within individual parts delightfully to realise a score that calls for tour-de-force performance qualities.

Ravel’s Shéhérazade transported the audience away from Eastern Europe and towards the Middle East through evocations tales from One Thousand and One Nights. Ravel freely admitted Debussy was the inspiration for the work and was intent on setting difficult verse and in the opening Asie the normally restrained Ravel reaches heights of near Wagnerian ecstasy as he reaches the words “Je voudrais voir mourir d’amour ou bien dela haine”, penned aptly under A.J. Léon Leclère’s pseudonym Tristan Klingsor. Singer and orchestra are packed off on this journey supplied with all imaginable richness to deliver the listener as they recount a virtual Baedeker account of Middle Eastern sights to the delight of ear and eye. The mezzo soprano Laura Fleur proved a sensitive guide to such rich desires, her tone creamy, secure of pitch and with occasionally veiled annunciation, whilst Gonzalez-Monjas provided reassuring guidance for the orchestra. The contrasts of tone, with brightness to the fore, in the harps, celesta and piccolo accented the second song, to which Laura Fleur brought a sense of wonder through her use of the text. Then inferences of danger roused singer and orchestra alike to a conclusion of some impact in the final song.  

Scriabin’s Poem of Ecstasy rounded out this involving programme. Originally conceived of a four movement symphony, in its final form it became a condensed single movement written in sonata form. Therefore, on one level there is an aspect formal structure. In almost every other respect though Scriabin forged his own path: there are no themes and no development of material in the traditional sense. Whilst writing the Poem of Ecstasy Scriabin spoke of a “great joy”. This sense of uplifting passion was realised by the Guildhall Symphony Orchestra: their performance was fully alert to the iconoclasm of Scriabin’s score. Many sequences of blazing instrumental colour and textural splashes would have clearly delighted the Barbican Hall audience. None more so than the work’s music-shattering finale, which was galvanised by playing of ferocious energy.
 
Reviewed from a streamed recording

CD Review: Enescu Violin Concerto, Phantasy for Piano and Orchestra (Carolin Widmann/Luiza Borac, NDR Philharmonie / Peter Ruzicka) cpo 555487

Update: Read my interview with Peter Ruzicka about Enescu's orchestral music (in English und auf Deutsche)

Just how important is the juvenilia of any creative artist or composer? The answer, I suppose, depends – to some extent at least – on three factors. The composer in question; whether the work(s) in question are substantial examples or not; does that juvenilia represent a significant moment in the composer’s development.

In the case of George Enescu, his international significance is beyond doubt. It is known that he thought enough of his own juvenilia to occasionally perform some of it in later life: he conducted at least one of the ‘school’ symphonies in Bucharest and illustrated other examples of his early writing from memory at the keyboard during his recorded interviews with the French music critic and organist Bernard Gavoty.

The two works on this release are the first two movements from an incomplete Violin Concerto, from 1895, and a single movement Phantasy for Piano and orchestra, written three years later.

The Violin Concerto could almost be thought of an extended concerto ‘school torso’, a kind of hybrid equivalent between the four ‘school’ symphonies and Enescu’s single movement ‘torso’ violin sonata, written in 1911. The concerto displays obvious debts to a Viennese late Romantic soundscape. You can feel Enescu’s ambition in it: the first movement is over 19 minutes in duration, the second movement approaches 14 minutes. Within the two movements, Enescu demonstrates both his knowledge of form and a surety of touch with the orchestral accompaniment, whether in terms of instrumental colour or the use of textures to add interest along the way. The first movement is constructed from three thematic ideas, all of which possess character. The slower second movement carries an airy ambiance, above which a refined violin line floats beguilingly before finding some gravitas in the writing. The real draw of the work, though, is the writing for the solo violin part, as one would hope for from a young composer whose instrumental talents were also burgeoning in parallel. There is passion, skill and virtuosic flair in the first movement’s primary theme in particular. Of course, mention should be made of the fact that the orchestration is not Enescu’s own, but is an elaboration of the reduced score that he left. Carolin Widmann, who has experience playing Enescu’s later sonatas, proves to be a most sensitive soloist. Her playing holds the attention with its pure tone and intelligent integration alongside the orchestral accompaniment, which, in turn is sensitively and tastefully handled under Peter Ruzicka’s direction. It is to Peter Ruzicka's credit that he, after recordings of Enescu's incomplete late symphonies, he has turned his attention to these early works. That commitment goes beyond his conducting, to being the driving force in collaborating with Pascal Bentoiu and others in realising the orchestral scores. One final thought is unavoidable: with the music fading out in a slow decrescendo what, one wonders, might have constituted a third movement?

The Phantasy for Piano and orchestra demonstrates just how far Enescu matured in three years. I feel that Volker Tarnow gets it exactly right in his excellent liner notes, when he claims “it combines expressivity à la Brahms with pianistic bravura à la Liszt.” This single movement work, without a solo cadenza, is more richly conceived in terms of its orchestration and assured in its structure. The solo part is varied, with a reliance on repeated chords at the start and at times throughout, but it moves to a conversational approach with the orchestra as well as the work proceeds. Bravura moments balance out the delicate introspection, in the end though, spirited writing comes to the fore. Luiza Borac is a pianist whose experience with Enescu’s music is beyond compare. She has strayed beyond the published repertoire too and recorded the unfinished Piano Concerto in D minor, composed by George Enescu in 1897. You can hear that experience bear fruit in the present performance with her assured touch, idiomatic knowledge and sense of flair. Again, you can hear how the orchestra and conductor respond to this by delivering performances that reward with their warmth and quality.

Given the excellent recording quality, I return to where I began. Juvenilia these works might be, but for anyone with an interest in Enescu’s music this is a recording worthy of serious attention.

CD Review: Romanian Flute Music (Krzysztof Kaczka, flute; Lilian Akopova, piano) Hanssler Classic HC21060

There are significant examples of compositions for the flute being written by Romanian composers. Years ago, I reviewed two CDs from the flautist Zdenek Bruderhans featuring solo music and a concerto by Anatol Vieru. There have also been notable releases of flute music by Doina Rotaru, who has written prolifically for the instrument. Artists such as Pierre-Yves Artaud and Mario Caroli have performed some of her five concertos (the fifth also employs an orchestra of instruments from the flute family), various solo and chamber music compositions on commercial and privately-made recordings.

This latest release from the Polish flautist Krzysztof Kaczka and Ukrainian pianist Lilian Akopova presents an overview survey of writing for the duo that is either influenced by Romanian musical forms or written by Romanian composers, several of whom are likely to be unknown to a wider audience. 

Let’s start with the two works I consider outliers to the main programme. Béla Bartók’s suite of six brief Romanian Folk Dances is music that has been arranged for many different instrumental combinations, and there is no reason why it should not work well for the flute/piano duo. The recording it is given here is bright and replete with rustic character.

George Enescu’s early first violin sonata, written within a week in 1897 when he was 16, is a work that belies the influences of Beethoven and Brahms whilst also showing a deep knowledge of fugal writing in the last two movements. As it is by far the most straight-forwardly written of Enescu’s three violin sonatas, the solo line transcribes reasonably well to the flute. Kaczka and Akopova give it a committed performance; indeed, perhaps due to the re-instrumentation I listened to the work afresh and enjoyed the rich veins of melody that are explored within it. If there’s something that occasionally I felt was missing, it is the variations of tone and intonation, which so carefully marked by Enescu in the score. These are, of course, easier to achieve on the violin than the flute, but Kaczka tries to find an equivalence to this through variations of breath and attack.

On to the works written for the flute/piano duo. Enescu’s Cantabile et Presto, written in 1904, as a flute competition piece for the Paris Conservatoire is atmospherically performed. Indeed, there is a good sense of the relationship between the parts captured in the performance, with, as elsewhere, the flute slightly forward of the piano in a natural acoustic.

Petre Elinescu (1869-1947) was a flautist as well as a prolific composer. His Pastoral Scene of Romania is a connected group of five contrasting dances. Based on the original version for small string ensemble, the version for flute and piano was written in 1898. Elinescu’s writing is tunefully sonorous, wholly tonal and melodic. It could almost be a companion work to Béla Bartók’s Romanian Folk Dances. The piano part at times wilfully echoes the sound of a cimbolom. Elinescu is also represented by his Introduction et Danse des Sorcières, written in 1902. The Introduction possesses a certain languidity, whilst the Danse not only picks up the tempo but beguiles with its flights of fancy.

The modern school of Romanian flute writing is represented by Vasile Jianu (1904-1968). His Prelude and Rigaudon sees a certain rusticity of expression followed by an updated take on a seventeen century dance form. This unique conception is easily and engagingly realised in the recording. Doina Rotaru’s Elegie for Flute and Piano, from 2011, takes me almost to where I began this review. This is by far the most complex and challenging work on the recording from a technical viewpoint, as Rotaru habitually merges old musical forms through modern techniques. When I met and interviewed her in 2010, she talked at length about how this could stretch a performer’s musicianship and knowledge of self, whilst testing technical ability. This comes across as being one of the most compelling performances on the recording.

Lilian Akopova’s piano playing is first rate; I certainly hope to encounter her on disc again before long. The recording quality is faithful and resonant. The accompanying booklet notes are succinct, but more detail could well be helpful to prospective purchasers.
Whilst of niche interest perhaps, to either flautists, lovers of flute music or those wanting to explore lesser-heard composers, this disc can be recommended. There is other repertoire that might have been included, such as Marcel Milhalovici’s Miroir des Songes, Op.112, Myriam Marbe's Haykus (1994) or Rotaru's Crystals. 

One point to note, my review download lacked both the last movement of Bartók’s Romanian Folk Dances and the Presto from Enescu’s Cantabile et Presto. Perhaps an oversight, but it is a shame nevertheless.

CD Review: Hermann Levi Der letzte Gruss (René Perler, bass-baritone; Edward Rushton, piano) Prospero PROSP018

I have long been interested in the output of performing musicians who also composed. Think of Wilhelm Furtwängler’s symphonies and violin sonatas, or the string quartets and songs by Otto Klemperer and Artur Schnabel. Given the quality of the writing, is not always right to dismiss these works and file them under the label of ‘Kapellmeister music’.

The case of Hermann Levi is an interesting one. Although remembered for his association with Richard Wagner and as the conductor of Parsifal’s first performance at Bayreuth in 1882, in his youth he too composed music in earnest. His output is not vast; it includes a violin sonata and piano concerto as well as a clutch of songs.

Ten of the songs receive their first recordings on the present release. They reveal Levi as a composer with a fine sense of melodic line, to which he sets his chosen lyrics, which is matched in the piano accompaniments that are of a richly Romantic heritage. A couple of the songs contain nods towards the Nibelungen – a foreshadowing of the Wagnerian association to come, perhaps.  Whilst Wagner sought to exploit the boundaries of tonality, resolution and expression, Levi never approached these boundaries.

René Perler’s bass-baritone voice captures the mood of the sorrowful songs effortlessly. The briefer instances of light and humour do not escape him either. His skills as a lieder singer and exponent of lyrical poetry are used to good effect also in the selected songs by Brahms, Schumann and Herzogenberg which usefully provide some context for the Levi songs. Just occasionally does one wish that Perler varied his timbre on repeated words or phrases, as he has a tendancy towards vibratoless expression.

Perler’s accompanist, playing Wagner’s own Steinway concert grand, is Edward Rushton. He provides excellent and discretely stylish yet pointed support throughout. The tone of the instrument suits the repertoire: it is warm and characterful in the lower to mid registers and brightly penetrating in its upper reaches. The recording, made by Swiss Radio during August 2020 in the Salon at Villa Wahnfried, is quite the best I have heard made in the Villa; it presents both pianist’s instrument and singer with admirable clarity in a natural acoustic. The notes about Levi and Wagner’s piano in the opulently illustrated booklet are interesting, the texts and translations are useful additions.

Two slight quibbles spoil what would have been a positive recommendation on all fronts. First, it is a pity that Perler’s notes on Levi’s compositions are provided in French only. Second, the inclusion of four songs by Henri Duparc seems a touch odd, as these are the only non-German language items. Perhaps the intention was to have them as an example of French song writing around the time of Hermann Levi’s compositions. However, as they are placed last on the track list rather than within the programme, they sound something of an afterthought. It might have been better by far to use the time they consume to present a recording of Wagner’s Wesendonck-Lieder in their place. Given that recordings of the Wagner cycle by a bass-baritone are few, the recording location, the piano used and the working association between Wagner and Levi, surely that’s an opportunity missed. However, that said, this recording can be strongly recommended to all adventurous lovers of lieder.

CD Review: Enescu String Quartets (Quatour Athenaeum Enesco) cpo 999068

In my 2005 survey of the available recordings of Enescu’s compositions for Musicweb International, I wrote about the string quartets:

“Enescu’s two essays in the [string] quartet format show, as elsewhere in his output, a tightening of thematic materials and compactness of structure from the earlier work to the later one.

An obvious candidate for pairing on disc, there are so far three main versions in contention: the Voces Quartet (Electrecord or Olympia OCD 413 - if you can track them down), Quatuor Athenaeum Enesco (cpo 999 0682) and the Quatuor Ad Libitum (Naxos 8.554721). All three are celebrated ensembles in Romania and each brings experience to their recording of the works. But as often is the case Naxos’s issue will be a clear winner – they play this music as if it were the greatest music ever for a quartet, with total conviction, commitment and love. In a recording that gives each plenty of bloom against the somewhat boxy Electrecord or recessed acoustic of cpo’s release, there seems little argument to answer.”

The cpo release under consideration here is a re-issue of the recording by the Quatuor Athenaeum Enesco. The recording was made by Swiss Radio in May 1992, and re-listening to it after some time from a digital download I stand by my earlier comments about the recorded acoustic. That is a shame, as by and large, both works are given sympathetic interpretations. If I do not find the readings quite capture the white heat and zeal of the Ad Libitum Quartet on Naxos, this does not do particular disservice to the Athenaeum Quartet’s players. I find their realisation of the first quartet's slower movement rather beautifully phrased, actually. Considering that the indications of 'moderato' and 'pensieroso' are so important within three movements there are some finely judged touches of tempo and instrumental colour.

There have been a couple of other recordings of the second quartet that have appeared since I wrote my original review. It is a slight surprise though that no string quartets of substance have risen to the demands of the earlier work, It is surely a jewel in the entire string quartet repertoire, to stand alongside anything by Beethoven or Schubert.

A worthy effort, which would be more recommendable, if it were not for the availability of stronger competition captured in a more favourable acoustic. 

CD Review: Sibelius works for violin and piano (Fenella Humphreys, violin; Joseph Tong, piano) Resonus RES10294

It was perhaps inevitable that Resonus Classics would follow up Fenella Humphreys’ recording of the Sibelius violin concerto – released last year on RES10277 – with a disc of the composer’s works for violin and piano. With that earlier recording, Humphreys staked a claim to be a Sibelius violinist of the first rank; this latest release reinforces that reputation.

Listening to the recording as a whole, what really impresses is not just the tonal quality of Humphreys’ playing, which is finely focussed, but also how her duo partner Joseph Tong varies his approach from the earlier works that have a certain precision to the later ones, which have a greater sense of romantic flair.

Sibelius might have harboured ambitions to be a concert violinist that were never truly realised, but what he left the world instead included the delightful duo miniatures included here, the violin concerto (of course) and a lovely late suite for violin and small ensemble, which deserves to be better known. Throughout all these, he penned works that possess the stylish sense of line and ambiance that was his own particular preserve. There’s nothing wrong with the melodies, be they spun with delightful artfulness in the ‘Religioso’, Op. 78 No. 3 or the urbane rusticity of Danses champêtres Op. 106.  There is much else to enjoy, too, in the piano writing – nowhere more so than in the tolling bells of ‘Die Glocken’, Op. 115 No. 4.

How do Humphreys and Tong compare to the competition? The short answer is admirably well. Their recording is more focussed and clearer than that of Kaija Saarikettu (violin) and Hui-Ying Liu (piano) on the Finlandia label. I find their recording is more resonant in terms of acoustic and more Romantically rich in timbre to really show Sibelius off in his best light. Better by far to turn to the latest recording by Fenella Humphreys and Joseph Tong. It is a recording that will repay repeated listening. Useful liner notes accompany the release.