Radu Lupu - an obituary tribute

The Romanian pianist Radu Lupu has died at his home in Switzerland, aged 76. Although the precise cause of death is not known, it has been reported in the Romanian press that it could have been from several medical conditions from which he had been suffering for some time. Certainly, ill health was mentioned as a factor when he retired from the stage in 2019. Those that knew him confided that it irked him that he had to increasingly cancel commitments and was rather dissatisfied with the standards of those performances he did give in his final years.
 

My own knowledge of Radu Lupu’s art came first from his recordings. For many of his admirers, there are far too few of them. He played just one of the Brahms concertos and is reputed to have rebuffed requests from Decca to learn the other one by saying it would require too much effort. Much of the repertoire is standard fare – the Grieg and Schumann concertos with Previn, etc. – but the standard is always high. His Schubert was revered by many, but not all. I know one Schubert aficionado, who repeatedly bemoaned, “I wish he would play it and not just fuss around the edges.”

I once knew a photographer fresh out of the Royal College of Art who was hired by Decca to take the cover image for Lupu’s recording of Brahms’ Two Rhapsodies, Op. 79; Piano Pieces, Opp. 117-119. Warned by Decca that he could be a prickly character, the shoot was carefully planned and scheduled to take place shortly after a rare recital at Wigmore Hall. Lupu arrived and was slow to settle; once he did though he was amiable and witty. It took some time before his unkempt hair met a comb. His coat was unceremoniously left on the coat stand that was to appear in shot. A score for one of the Brahms pieces from the recording was intentionally placed in a coat pocket; however, he noticed, and insisted that the score be left open at a different page to coincide with a passage he felt he had played better. At his insistence, no piano music was to be played in the background during the photo shoot.

Around the mid-1990s, if memory serves, I heard Lupu perform a Mozart concerto at the Royal Festival Hall under the baton of long-time collaborator, particularly in the United States, Carlo Maria Giulini. After walking swiftly to his seat, he delivered it with the greatest economy of means and a total awareness of style.

I reviewed a performance by Lupu only once. In December 2006, I travelled to Amsterdam for a concert at the Concertgebouw by the George Enescu Philharmonic Orchestra under the baton of its then Music Director, Cristian Mandeal. The programme featured Enescu’s First Orchestral Suite and Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances, with Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto. My entire review of the concerto was as follows:

“Beethoven’s fifth piano concerto was given the most individual reading I can recall hearing for ages. Lupu (who looks ever more like Brahms!) matched the orchestra’s grand opening tutti in his opening finesse. The work progressed in the first movement at a moderate pace, allowing much colour to come out in the orchestration. Lupu’s playing of the solo part reminded us of a style of Beethoven interpretation from another age – by turns involved and committed, but mixed with passages that were almost against the big-boned Beethoven many would recognize today. Whilst impetuous and sensitive in equal measure, his playing related well to the orchestral context; indeed he maintained close eye contact with individual orchestra members as well as with Mandeal throughout. The middle movement was notable for the broad legato lines in the orchestra and Lupu’s discrete, evenly fingered contribution. If the link to the final movement was thought by some to be over-tentative, then there was much contrast to be had once the finale got fully into its stride. Lupu and Mandeal relished the nuances of interplay to be found among the grander gestures to produce a thrilling conclusion to the work.”

Incidentally, it is interesting to listen to Lupu’s recordings of the work – one for Decca and the other, made earlier, under the baton of Iosef Conta in Romania (released on Electrecord). That same jewel-like clarity of approach is always present.

In 2008, I heard Lupu play Bartόk's Third Piano Concerto, with the Hallé once again under Cristian Mandeal’s baton. By this stage, his appearance was more like that of another famous Romanian, the sculptor Constantin Brancusi. A work that Lupu clearly loved, the performance was notable for his directness of approach and clarity of tone. That the piano is essentially a percussive instrument was beyond doubt, but some Bartόk aficionados felt that the performance offered new aspects of interpretation upon the work.

In 2018, it was announced that Mandeal and Lupu would again join forces for concerts in Paris, Geneva and Romania, but Lupu’s retirement prevented this collaboration with the conductor (surely an under-rated conductor of superb erudition, technical facility and musical sensitivity) who had been a friend since their student days in Brasov. Fazil Say was Lupu’s replacement for those concerts.

Around a decade ago, I and several music lovers I knew at the Romanian Cultural Institute in London tried to persuade the management there to approach Lupu to offer a solo recital, with a carte blanche programme. Sadly, the plan came to nothing. The Institute’s Steinway baby grand might be slightly the worse for wear, but was bought by Lipatti for the venue in Belgrave Square and, when well tuned, had a luminescence of tone that I still feel would have suited Lupu’s ever-delicate touch superbly.

Radu Lupu was born on November 30, 1945, in Galaţi. At the age of 6 he started studying piano with Lia Busuioceanu and at the age of 12 he started with a complete music program composed by himself. He attends high school in Galaţi. After graduating from the Popular Art School in Brasov, she continued her studies in Bucharest, with Florica Musicescu and Cella Delavrancea. At the age of 16, in 1961, he received a scholarship to the Moscow Conservatory.

Even today in Romania, many say that Lupu is under-appreciated there, no doubt because of the slender number of performances he gave there. He played some Enescu in his younger days, not much though, and never returned to the composer, to the best of my knowledge. International fame and engagements followed wins at the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition in 1966 and the Leeds International Pianoforte Competition in 1969. He was awarded a CBE for services to music.

Some of the reactions to his death reflect the esteem in which Radu Lupu is held:

George Enescu International Festival: "In 1967, the incredible Romanian pianist and composer won the grand prize of the George Enescu International Competition. We will forever cherish his amazing way of turning music into magic. Words are not enough to express our sadness for this loss of the whole musical world. Master Radu Lupu will forever remain in our memory and in our hearts - a true legend." (Facebook)

Angela Gheorghiu: "I am deeply saddened by the passing of legendary pianist and my dear compatriot, Radu Lupu. It was wonderful to have spent great moments together with Radu throughout the years. He will remain a sublime and unique artist, perhaps too little known in Romania, but an unsurpassable musical genius of this world. May his soul rest in peace, his immense artistry will live forever. I send my sincere condolences to his wife." (Twitter)

Steven Isserlis: "I am devastated to learn that Radu Lupu has left us. He was not only one of the greatest, warmest and most profound musicians I have ever heard, but also a very good man, full of compassion, modest and funny, and a wonderful friend." (Twitter)

If one thing can be said with certainty about Radu Lupu, it is that he was a unique exponent of his instrument. He knew what he wanted to achieve, how to achieve it and was immovable from that objective. There really is very little wrong with being true to one’s self.

A single question to Harrison Birtwistle - an obituary tribute

The composer Sir Harrison Birtwistle has died, aged 87. He had suffered a stroke a few months back.

[Image credit: Philip Gatward]

Famed for his uncompromisingly modern and coruscating compositional style, none of music makes for an easy listen. Those that 'get it', as they say, are often immovable in their support for Harry and his music.

In 1994, whilst studying for an MA in Arts Criticism at City University, London, I was urged by my tutor, Michael Oliver, to listen to several works by Birtwistle, and come to the following week's tutorial with my thoughts about them. He knew this would challenge me.

As it happened, during the week I was in central London, walking towards Trafalgar Square. As I approached the National Portrait Gallery, I saw Birtwistle approaching me. He saw that I had recognised him and said, "Hello." 

On the spur of the moment, perhaps prompted by having his music on my mind at the time, I responded, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but why is it that you insist on challenging listeners with your music?"

"What else should I do?", came his slightly terse reply, but a smile played momentarily on his lips. He kept walking.

This, I feel, might sum up the man. Whatever ones personal feelings, there is no doubt that the world of composition has lost one of its most individual voices. May he rest in peace.

Some recommended recordings:

Chamber works 

(Nash Ensemble, BIS, released 2022) 

Gramophone wrote: "All the music here retains a freshness and focus belying the composer’s age; it’s a long way from a mere rehashing of familiar ways of doing things."

The Mask of Orpheus

(BBC Symphony Orchestra and the BBC Singers, Andrew Davis and Martyn Brabbins, NMC records, released 2010)

Gramophone wrote: "Birtwistle’s awe-inspiring masterpiece is a key work in the development of post-war opera, groundbreaking in its fusion of music, song, drama, myth and electronics."

Secret Theatre

(London Sinfonietta, Elgar Howarth, NMC records, released 2008)

Gramophone wrote: "Written between The Mask of Orpheus and the no less epic enterprise of Earth Dances, Secret Theatre really does mark a great leap forward, and this performance… is… highly charged, eloquent account of one of the composer's most powerful and most personal scores."

The Triumph of Time

(John Harle & Paul Clarvis, BBC Symphony Orchestra, Ensemble Modern Orchestra, Pierre Boulez, Andrew Davis, Decca, released 2012)

Theseus Game & Earth Dances

(Ensemble Modern Orchestra, Martyn Brabbins & Pierre-André Valade, Pierre Boulez; DG; released 2012)

Gramophone wrote: "Theseus Game (2002-3) offers clear visual contrasts: an ensemble of 30 players has two conductors, and there's a central space at the front of the platform for the succession of soloists who emerge from the ensemble. Earth Dances (1985-6) demands total surrender; as the music unwinds to its end, spasms of the seismic dance stand in the way of any comforting sense of fulfilment, or resolution."

 

Gawain

(Marie Angel, Anne Howells, Richard Greager, Penelope Walmsley-Clark, Omar Ebrahim,Francois Le Roux, John Tomlinson, Royal Opera House Covent Garden, Elgar Howarth; NMC; released 2014)

The Financial Times wrote: "Birtwistle’s difficult vocal lines and ritualistic patterns need a high level of commitment from the listener: this is an opera best experienced with eyes as well as ears. But for those prepared to submit to its baleful orchestral sound and riddle-strewn tale, Howarth and his fine cast...provide a definitive experience."

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. 

Obituary: Bernard Haitink, conductor

The great Dutch conductor Bernard Haitink has died at his home in London, aged 92. He is widely acknowledged as one of the foremost conductors of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries for his interpretations of Mozart, Verdi, Wagner, Bruckner, Shostakovich and Mahler amongst other composers.

(Image credit: Chris Christodoulou)

Born in Amsterdam in 1929, Haitink trained at the Conservatorium van Amsterdam and began his career as an orchestral violinist before studying conducting with Ferdinand Leitner in his mid-twenties; he made his conducting debut with the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic in July 1954. His first appearance with the Concertgebouw orchestra came two years later. He went on to serve as their Chief Conductor for twenty-seven years and conducted his final concerts with them in 2019.

The most significant musical directorships in Haitink’s 65-year career were at Glyndebourne (1978-88) and the Royal Opera House Covent Garden (1987-2002), the Staatskapelle Dresden (2002–4), the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (2006–10) and was appointed Conductor Laureate of the European Union Youth Orchestra in 2015. Long-term relationships were forged with the London Philharmonic and Symphony Orchestras. His many awards included being named an Honorary Companion of Honour by Queen Elizabeth II (2002) and Commander of the Order of the Netherlands Lion (2017).

As his years advanced, Haitink scaled back his operatic engagements but maintained a busy concert schedule until the age of 90. Radio relays of his final concerts in September 2019, which featured Bruckner’s seventh symphony, revealed that until the end Haitink was true to the core of his art: the music is all that mattered, not a showy gesture, ego or personal fanfare.

Musicians appreciated his gentle, unassuming and courteous character; that said he could reportedly be terse with colleagues if he felt they were capable of giving more to a performance. Principal flautist of the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Margaret Campbell has said:

“As our Music Director Bernard was universally loved and admired. He allowed us to play. He coaxed a beautiful sound out of the strings. He trusted his players and gave soloists in the orchestra considerable freedom to express themselves, helping us along with an atmosphere of mutual respect. He had a wonderful sense of musical architecture and never lost the thread of the piece however long it was.

He was charismatic, respectful and truly inspirational. To share with him the deep emotion and indeed frivolities of the operas and ballets we played together was a tremendous privilege for all of us in the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House. We count ourselves truly blessed.”

Haitink leaves behind an enviable discography of over 450 recordings. It would be hard to choose even a few of these now, but my reviews of a few recordings come to mind. Reviewing a DVD of a 1977 Glyndebourne production of Mozart’s Don Giovanni on Musicweb International, in 2005 I wrote:

“The London Philharmonic play with obvious experience of both score and house; though at times I felt the winds a little recessed. Haitink’s Mozart opera experience, as he freely admits, was at that time only beginning, and relative to later achievements this is evident. However, there is nothing that is unmusical or overtly out of place – it just lacks the depth of insight he was to achieve later on…”

Regarding Bruckner, accounts of both the sixth and the ninth symphonies stand out. Of the sixth symphony recorded live with the Staatskapelle Dresden in 2003, I wrote in Fanfare magazine:

“Haitink scales the craggy face of the Finale with surety of purpose and a clear vision of the movement’s structure. As the movement culminates with the principal theme of the first movement, a feeling of internal cohesion is reached. Haitink and his Dresden forces achieve this without undue overemphasis.”

About the ninth symphony, I wrote for Classical Ear in 2016:

“The Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra’s history with Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony is well documented on disc. Bernard Haitink recorded it twice with them (Phillips), first in 1965, then in 1981. Of those versions, I favour the second for the stark musical architecture that Haitink inexorably builds from great blocks of granite-like sound.”

I have long enjoyed Haitink’s Wagner, including his famous 1997 account of Die Meistersinger from Glyndebourne. I recall finding his recorded Ring cycle with Eva Marton as Brunnehilde a somewhat mixed affair however, marred by some oddities of casting and a somewhat cooler approach in the pit than is often encountered. My reviews for Fanfare reflected these opinions, but re-listening to the recordings now whilst writing this I am minded to think that I was over critical in my views.

Worthy memorials though his recordings are, it was in live performances that Haitink was often – if not always – heard to his best advantage. For me, these encounters occurred most memorably at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden and the BBC Proms. At these events, I observed at close quarters his lack of ostentation and economy of gesture, something other conductors could do well to take note of, I have often thought. It seems he never imposed his own ego on the music and communicated with orchestras and singers as much through eye contact as hand gestures.

He presided over some 90 BBC Proms concerts between 1966 and 2019. In the 1980s and 1990s, I heard him conduct several operas. Verdi’s La Traviata with Ileana Cotrubas in the title role from Glyndebourne in 1987 stands out not only for the integrity of the performance itself, but for the fact that Haitink remained on the podium between Acts aimiably chatting with the Promenaders below him.

At Covent Garden, I attended his final performance as Music Director in July 2002. This gala performance featured extracts from some of his favourite works: Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, Verdi’s Don Carlo and Wagner’s Die Meistersinger. From my seat in a box parallel to the pit, I gave as much attention to Haitink’s conducting as the action and singing on stage. During the euphoric ovations that greeted Haitink as he took to the stage at the end of the evening, my companion that night commented, “He didn’t do much, did he?” My response I remember clearly: “Not so, he did everything that was needed – nothing more, nothing less.”

Sometimes, such as a concert of Schubert and Mozart at the 2015 BBC Proms which I reviewed for MusicOMH, I felt that:

“…the Chamber Orchestra of Europe under the baton of Bernard Haitink was replete with style and good taste which pleased, yet for all that it proved rather uninvolving in an emotional sense.”

However, in summing up a performance of Shostakovich’s eighth symphony at the 2005 Proms on Musicweb International I tried to capture Haitink at his considerable best:

“Haitink paced the work superbly with a keen sense of internal dynamic and contrast. As ever, he dealt with matters straight on, pulling no punches. The five-movement structure, itself problematic as it gives the work outsize dimensions, was not smoothed over. For Haitink the middle allegro non troppo belonged more to the last two movements than the first two, and in this view I could hear his reasoning. But it still sat with difficulty amongst the whole.

In the end the work remains for me something elusive, deliberately defying easy categorisation. For the fact it time and time again leaves me provoked to ask more things of and about it, I call the work great. Haitink’s performance only increased the power and urgency of those questions: that is one function at least of great art in action.”

Obituary: Edita Gruberová, coloratura soprano

Edita Gruberová (23 December 1946 - 18 October 2021), one of the great coloratura sopranos of the latter 20th and early 21st centuries, has died at the age of 74 in Vienna of injuries caused by a head wound.

Edita Gruberová, pictured in 2013

Known as the "Slowakische Nachtigal" (Slovak Nightingale), Gruberová was born in Rača, Bratislava, to a German father and an Hungarian mother. She began her musical studies at the Bratislava Conservatory as a student of Mária Medvecká and then at the Academy of Performing Arts in Bratislava.

In 1968, Gruberová made her operatic debut in Bratislava as Rosina in Rossini's Il barbiere di Siviglia After winning a singing competition in Toulouse, from 1968 to 1970 she was then engaged as a soloist at the J. G. Tajovský Theatre in Banská Bystrica, Slovakia. Gruberová auditioned at the Vienna State Opera in the summer of 1969 and was immediately engaged as the Queen of the Night in Mozart's Die Zauberflöte, making her debut the following year. After emigrating to the West, she became a soloist in Vienna and was invited to perform at the world’s most important opera houses.

Gruberová made her debut at Glyndebourne in 1973 as the Queen of the Night. She achieved international recognition in 1976 when she sang Zerbinetta in the premiere of a new production of Ariadne auf Naxos by Richard Strauss in Vienna, conducted by Karl Böhm. Her debut at the Metropolitan Opera took place in 1977, again as the Queen of the Night. She first appeared at the Salzburg Festival the same year, as Thibault in Verdi's Don Carlo, conducted by Herbert von Karajan.

Her Royal Opera House debut came in 1984 as Giulietta in Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi. Other title roles included Verdi's La traviata, Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor, Massenet's Manon and Rossini's Semiramide. Bellini’s Norma was added to her repertoire comparatively late in 2006. She performed as Konstanze in Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Oscar in Verdi's Un ballo in maschera, Donna Anna in Mozart's Don Giovanni, Marie in Donizetti's La fille du regiment and Elisabetta in Donizetti's Roberto Devereux. This last role marked Gruberová’s final staged performance on 27 March 2019 at the Bavarian State Opera. After this, she focused on concerts (also a significant feature throughout her career, she was often an invited soloist in operatic galas, oratorios and other concert works). Her last performance was on 20 December 2019. She officially retired from the stage in September 2020.

Anyone wanting a recording of Gruberová’s art is spoiled for choice as most of her major stage roles are available, some roles exist in multiple versions, and sometimes on DVD too. Personal favourites includes Zerbinetta in Strauss’ Ariadne auf Naxos. International Record Review reviewed a live recording from 1976, stating: “Of course, the show belongs to Gruberová in what was to become her signature role...She has more than sufficient charm and delicacy while also being able to convey the two sides of Zerbinetta.” It’s a close-run thing, but on balance, I would choose the studio recording alternative conducted by Kurt Masur, with Jessye Norman in radiant form as Ariadne. 

It’s hard to resist Colin Davis’ recording of Humperdink’s Hansel und Gretel either: Gruberová relishes Gretel and is the perfect foil to Ann Murray’s Hansel. Don’t overlook the other parts either as there’s not a single weak link: Christa Ludwig (Witch), Gwyneth Jones (Gertrud), Barbara Bonney (Sandmännchen), Christiane Oelze (Taumännchen). Amongst her many on-stage partnerships, the one with Agnes Baltsa deserves special mention: together they created wonders in repertoire as diverse as Maria Stuarda, I Capuleti e i Montecchi and Aradne auf Naxos.

There might be those who prefer Gruberová in her early years for the freshness of her voice, but to them I commend the DVD recording of Donizetti’s Lucretia Borgia from 2010, which showcases her dramatic gifts to the full. As Gramophone said, “The Slovak soprano legend Edita Gruberová... produces a dramatic performance of concentration, at its most convincing in Act 2 where her age meshes well with the character of distraught mother.”

Other favourite recordings include some of her concert repertoire. Mahler may not have often been part of her repertoire, but the Mahler 4 under Sinopoli’s baton captures Gruberová’s mature voice still with a required sense of innocence. Lieder by Brahms and Dvořák accompanied by Erik Werba are worth tracking down.

What marked out Gruberová’s star quality though was her fidelity to the printed score, clarity and tonal integrity coupled with expressive breath control. As a singer of the old school whose performances showed incredible awareness both of her own abilities and the requirements of the role at hand, Edita Gruberová is an artist who will be sorely missed.