Reviews in August 1997

Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Impromptus, Op.90 & Op.142

Mitsuko Uchida, piano (Philips 456 245 - 2)

Mitsuko Uchida is a pianist who really doesn't record or perform often enough. It is therefore nice to know that she actually has something new to offer us this year.

Schubert's two wonderful sets of Impromptus offer a beautifully panoramic overview of what his music is generally like. These contrasting pieces demonstrate clearly Schubert the great Lieder composer (B-flat impromptu, Op.142 No.3); the elusive spiritual struggle typical of his later piano sonatas and his darkest songs (C minor and A-flat, Op.90 Nos.1 and 4 respectively); the witty virtuoso (the gypsy-influenced F minor impromptu, Op.142 No.4); and the die-hard romantic (G-flat, Op.90 No.3).

This new offering in Schubert's bicentennary year from one of the most elegant and sophisticated pianists around today is typical of Uchida's brand of piano-playing. Many of her critics complain that her Mozart playing is too brittle, too irritatingly beautified. While I don't necessarily see it that way, well, the news is, she imports that same style into this recording. And mind you, in this music, it is good news. Schubert has never sounded more beautiful. These are such painstakingly detailed and cultured performances that you can't help but be swooned - the famous G-flat impromptu, Op.90 No.3 is particularly lovely.

While the overall impression one gets from all 66 minutes of music on this disc is something akin to the fresh, sweet aroma of potpourri, one however gets the niggling feeling of a trace of doubt lurking beneath the delicate surface. We are richly rewarded by the scrupulous attention she pays to the smallest of details, and her undying effort to illuminate the composer's intentions, but there are points when she goes a little overboard and takes things to excess. The second impromptu of the first set is a particularly acute example - I almost couldn't quite make out the opening notes, and their reappearance at 2'55". The main theme of the B-flat impromptu, Op.142 was a little too reticent for my liking, and the tempi changes, while often judiciously administered, gave rise to a rather narcissistic result. The central minor key variation from the same piece was also a little overdone. She could have afforded more abandon and flair in the final impromptu, but it was nice to hear Uchida so incredibly impish in her delicate way.

Some of you might conclude that here is a reviewer who is just niggardly finding faults with what is a really good recording. Well, actually, you may just be right. I have nothing but the highest praises for this new release, but these little reservations will naturally surface if you have heard Uchida's other rivals in this hotly-contested field.

Murray Perahia (Sony) remains my all-time favourite, with Radu Lupu (Decca) a close second. Beside these men, Uchida seems lacking in bright-eyed vitality and freshness. Brendel (Philips) also offers formidable competition, but he seems a little overly-didactic at times, quite prone to philosophizing on a higher moral pedestal. At least Uchida makes Schubert more humanly.

Do not be misled by the fact that I've allocated more space in this review to criticism than praise. These are performances that give much, much more pleasure than they are likely to vex. And the fact is, this remains an important and very fine addition to the growing collection, and if you're tempted to buy this after seeing it at the store, I'd say go for it!

Lovely recorded sound, catching the warm and resonant (yet not excessively so) acoustics of the Vienna Musikverein.

Written by Lionel Choi

David Diamond (b.1915)

Rounds for String Orchestra; Adagio (Third Movement from Symphony No. 11); Concert Piece for Orchestra; Elegy in Memory of Maurice Ravel; Concert Piece for Flute and Harp

Seattle Symphony Orchestra / Gerard Schwartz, conductor / Glorian Duo (Delos DE 3189 - Volume Five in the David Diamond Series)

Ives, Copland and Bernstein. And some, of course, would add Barber. These are, opinion has it, the great American composers. But what about David Diamond? He's written symphonies of individual character and rich profundity, concerti of brilliance and virtuosic appeal, theater music of vivid character and immense charm, and incidental scores of wit and color. So what must one do to enter the elite club? Perhaps Diamond's failing was in not carving out a niche he could claim as his own, not forging a dominant trait with which he could be identified. Ives pioneered a uniquely American style when others looked to European models; Copland cornered the artistic market on the cowboy idiom and music associated with our American heritage (even though Diamond entered this realm first, since the Suite from Tom has roots reaching back to 1936, predating Billy The Kid by two years); and Bernstein was the ultimate chameleon-Broadway Lenny could abandon the neon lights and write symphonies on Hebrew subjects and masses that stirred controversy. Diamond, on the other hand, was content to simply compose inspired music and not worry that he wasn't blazing trails or wearing someone's idea of the politically correct outfit. His music is with us, though, and like that of Hovhanness and Sessions, and perhaps Mennin, will grow more and more into the artistic consciousness here and abroad.

Diamond's style has embraced many musical elements and means of expression, yet always manages to sound like the product of one consistent and inspired mind. His works generally fall into a post-Romantic idiom, with highly innovative use of traditional musical forms. Chromaticism emerged in some of his later works, but most of his compositions are diatonic and the language quite direct. There is a forward-looking character, a sort of busy nonchalance to much of his fast music, and an epic, often profound and heartfelt (but never saccharine) aspect to his slow music. Forget the supposed influence of Bruckner-there's a spiritual but not stylistic relationship here.

Rounds (1944) is a short, mostly energetic work for strings, which effervesces with such infectious optimism, you're totally enamored of its charm before the manic four-minute-plus first movement is even half-over. The following Adagio is absolutely lovely, and the finale is a vivacious romp that leaves you breathless but exhilarated.

If the Eleventh Symphony's Adagio is characteristic of the whole work, then I'd declare the composition a major masterpiece. Written in 1991 for the 150th anniversary of the New York Philharmonic, this music, nestled in that rich post-Romantic vein so uniquely Diamond's own, seethes with tension and overwrought emotion, yet is touching and beautiful in its melodic eloquence and harmonic depth. But, you ask, where's the rest of the symphony? Perhaps Delos will get around to issuing it in a later volume in this series.

The Concert Piece for Orchestra (1939) sees Diamond venturing onto Copland's turf, the world of snappy rhythms and folksy tunes. But there's no borrowing here, only a creative mix of dance music, tender melody, and colorful orchestration. I can't understand why this delightful piece isn't more popular.

Elegy in Memory of Ravel was begun in late December of 1937 by the then twenty-two-year-old Diamond upon news of the death of his celebrated friend. It is a piece whose grieving and hushed anger verge on constant eruption, like the dazed mourner at the funeral of a loved one who struggles to maintain his tenuous composure. You can almost tactilely feel Diamond's sorrow here, sense his immense loss. Written for brass, harps and percussion, there's not a gallic note in this brief piece, despite the composer's study with Nadia Boulanger in Paris and his admiration for his deceased friend's music.

The Concert Piece for Flute and Harp (1989) does have a bit of French air hovering above its notes, however. It's not surprising, though, since the composer reveals Roussel as the work's inspiration. It is a lovely composition of great subtlety and well-crafted instrumentation that, unfortunately, will probably never become popular owing to the uncommon marriage of flute and harp here.

The performances by the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, under the knowing hand of Gerard Schwartz, are splendid, deftly capturing every facet of Diamond's seemingly boundless muse. The Glorian duo is in fine form in the chamber work, too. I doubt the composer himself would find anything wanting in these committed, perhaps definitive, accounts. The sound is excellent and the notes are informative.

A word about the Delos/Diamond series. Volume I (DE 3093) contains Symphonies 2 and 4, and the Concerto for Small Orchestra; Volume II (DE 3103) features Symphony No. 3, Kaddish for Cello and Orchestra (Janos Starker, cello), Romeo and Juliet, and Psalm; Volume III (DE 3119) offers Symphony No. 1, Violin Concerto No. 2 (Ilkka Talvi, violin), and The Enormous Room; and Volume IV (DE 3141) contains Symphony No. 8, Suite from TOM, and This Sacred Ground. Gerard Schwartz conducts the splendid Seattle Symphony Orchestra in all works but the Concerto for Small Orchestra and Romeo and Juliet, for which pieces he leads the fine New York Chamber Symphony. Especially notable among these recordings is the initial one (which hit the charts), containing the monumental Second Symphony, rendered here in a powerful performance. The subsequent issue, featuring the short but stunning masterpiece Psalm and the Third Symphony, would be another high on my list of urgent recommendations. Come to think of it, Volume IV contains that complex, aloof, yet utterly beguiling Symphony No. 8, another work you've got to hear.

I wish I had the space to give detailed run-downs on all these releases. But suffice it to say that the series as a whole is one of the most important undertakings in this era of superfluous recordings. Do we, for instance, really need another Mahler symphony cycle? More Chopin polonaises? Hardly. We're all fortunate that Delos has blessed us with this recording project, which, while certainly not the only recorded source of Diamond's music, is surely one source to offer it played sublimely and with the highest production values. My sole complaint-namesake e.e. cummings appears erroneously in the notes throughout the series as E.E. Cummings.

In sum this recording, like every other issue in the project, is highly recommended.

Written By Robert Cummings

Giuseppe Verdi (1813 - 1901)

Overtures and Preludes

Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra / Herbert von Karajan DG 453 058 - 2 (2 CDs)

Not all of Verdi's operas begin with an Orchestral Introduction, which he called "Overture", "Prelude" or "Sinfonia". Some begin with just five or ten bars, and then the composer "gets on with it". Falstaff, Otello and Il Trovatore are examples. Rossini & Offenbach are more famous for their overtures than the operas themselves. Here are all Nineteen of the more substantial of the introductions. They range from the 2'45" Rigoletto to the 10' Battaglia di Legnano.

For a Verdi fan, it would seem to be pointless to obtain the purely orchestral portion of some of the most celebrated operas of all time.

But let us not forget that this is the Berlin Philharmonic conducted by Karajan himself, and not some out-of-the-way Italian pit orchestra as is often heard in this repertoire. Not even the Covent Garden orchestra or the truly virtuoso Metropolitan Opera orchestra can play like this. The great overtures like those from Forza del Destino, Il Vespri Siciliani and Nabucco are played with the extra weight and body characteristic of this orchestra. Anyone who thinks Mehta's interpretation on the popular videos are impressive should hear Karajan at his most beguiliing.

The cellos sing, the brass is sonorous and full, ensemble is peerless and the sheer refinement of the playing is something to marvel at. We have heard these Overtures many times, but probably never quite like this. In addition, we may be eagerly anticipating the action to come, and may not have noticed that these pieces are really tuneful, and have plenty of emotional content.

Karajan molds each one as if he were preparing the audience for what is to come, there is no sense of studio-bound lethargy. The balance is one to satisfy the most discerning ear. The catalogue number above is the first reissue to gain the benefit of DG's new Original Image Bit Processing.

Verdi was not a great orchestrator, and sometimes if these pieces are not played with a special concentration, they may seem perfunctory. Some of the orchestration is simple to the point of naivete, reminiscent of a military band romp. Here it is given a special treatment, making one think that this is great music indeed, or at the very least highly entertaining. It speaks volumes of the capabilities of this orchestra, transforming itself seamlessly to suit the composer.

I would like to draw the listener's attention to the wonderful pianissimo (soft) openings of Attila and Ernani. These are dramatic to the extreme, sending shivers up one's spine. Each overture makes full use of the strings, the Berliners' forte. Listen to the playful woodwind in Giovanna d'Arco, such breath control and refinement cannot be common. No pit orchestra (except the Vienna State Opera, which uses the VPO in the pit; or the Met at its best) could sound so glorious throughout. There is a concerto-class cello solo in I masnadieri, which is distinguished by a Piatigorsky-like sense of line and phrasing.

DG has rarely allowed this particular set to be unavailable since it first appeared in 1976-7 on LP. Even if you own all the operas complete, I would urge you to listen to these recordings, lovingly prepared by a master of Verdian interpretation.

Written by Rajeev Aloysius

Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953); Dmitri Kabalevsky (1904-1987); Samuel Barber (1910-1981); Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924); Francis Poulenc (1899-1963)

Horowitz Plays Prokofiev, Barber & Kabalevsky Sonata

Sonata No.7, Op. 83; Toccata, Op. 11; Sonata, Op. 26; Sonata No.3, Op. 46; Nocturne No.13, Op. 119; Presto in B-flat

Vladimir Horowitz, piano (RCA GD60377)

It has been a long time since I last listened to this CD. Vladimir Horowitz, whom many considered to be one of the greatest virtuosos of our century, has somehow never impressed me as much as he should, or perhaps I am not sufficiently sensitive to the nuances of his performance.

Anyhow, in this disc of pyrotechnical, barnstorming repertoire, the enjoyment level (to my ears at least) is a little uneven.

For example, I found his approach to Prokofiev's great Piano Sonata No. 7 (the middle of the so-called 'War Sonatas') somewhat disappointing. This is true despite the fact that Prokofiev himself seems to have been captivated by Horowitz's rendition of his work and hailed him as a 'miraculous pianist'. Well, first, for some reason I cannot discern, Horowitz has decided to play this work extraordinarily sluggishly. He takes a full 3:44 to play the normally relentless and motoric Precipitato. While I cannot fault Horowitz for his insights and thoughtfulness into the granitic yet bittersweet music of Prokofiev, he is unable to muster up that excitement and despairing devil-may-care quality that I feel should be inherent in the finale of this sonata. This is not to detract from the good points in this recording. The musty, monophonic 1945 sound seems particularly suited to the pathos of the second movement, where Horowitz conjures a wonderful, swirling and incredibly rich image of hopelessness and lyricism. People who are looking for an adrenaline-filled and sensitive account of this work need look no further than Pollini's masterly standard, which DG has now reissued at mid-price.

The rest of the disc is, I think, far more successful. Barber's Sonata, of which Horowitz gave the world premiere in 1949, is a work bristling with formidable technical difficulties (just listen to the final movement!) and yet it never strikes me as forbidding. Horowitz seems to be right at home in this work that is a synthesis of the classical and modern schools of music, capturing the prickliness and angularity of Barber's style and merging it with his own unique lyricism. Listen especially to the delightful and magical dream-like second movement. This is a great performance that will be hard to beat.

Kabalevsky (a name we seldom see on our CD jackets), gives us a work of surprising beauty and quality in his 3rd sonata. The sonata opens with a lovely and simple melody and Horowitz sustains the victory in the face of sadness theme, successfully synthesizing the lyricism of the folk-tale melodies and the defiance of the martial rhythms. The Allegro giocoso is a stunningly brilliant finale, marked by much inventive wit and humor, culminating in a momentum-filled quirky, dissonant and bravura coda. This is my favorite work on this disc.

The last few works deserve an honorable mention. On the whole, I think Horowitz's handling of the Toccata is substantially more successful than that of the 7th Sonata. This horribly difficult and percussive work is more than matched by Horowitz's formidable keyboard wizardry. I love too the Fauré work, the Nocturne, which grows on one after repeated listening. Like many of the other works on this disc, it is melodious, tension-filled yet extraordinarily profound (and extraordinarily difficult to play). Yet, because of Horowitz's amazing technique, he always has room to grapple with the music rather than with its technical difficulties. Listen to that ethereal luminous and singing tone of his playing. Poulenc's Presto provides a nice and harmless round-up to this searing and powerful survey of twentieth century piano music that leaves one enervated but much wiser.

Other than the Sonata No.7, whose sound leaves something to be desired, most of the recordings here sound pretty decent. Monophonic sound is less of a liability in piano recitals than in orchestral works. Anyhow, this is an unusual buy but be prepared to grapple with the music and Horowitz's inimitable style if you want to enjoy it to its fullest.

Written by Melvin Yap

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 - 1827)

Piano Sonatas: No. 30 in E, Op.109; No. 31 in A flat, Op.110; No. 32 in C Minor, Op.111

Alfred Brendel, piano (Philips 446 701 - 2)

This release marks the completion of Brendel's third recorded cycle of the thirty-two Beethoven piano sonatas. His second one, spanning the 1970s, was also for Philips, and his first, from the 1960s, was for Vox. Brendel has also recorded the five Beethoven piano concertos three times. Has there been another pianist to have thrice traversed these monumental sets? To my knowledge, there hasn't. It is well known that Brendel has devoted much time to Beethoven away from the recording studio as well, having on occasion played the complete sonata cycle over a period of several successive concerts. He has also studied and written extensively about Beethoven's music. What I guess I'm saying, albeit in a rather circuitous fashion, is that Alfred Brendel must be regarded as one of the world's foremost authorities on the performance and analysis of Beethoven's piano music. Auditioning the disc under review confirms his preeminence in this hallowed corner of the repertory.

Brendel's account of the E Major Sonata is a tad faster than his earlier Philips rendition, but does not take a significantly different interpretive stance. The newer performance is both high-caloric and muscular, and more often looks forward to the Romantic movement than backward at the Classical period. The earlier Philips recording is clearly a more pristine, leaner rendering of the work, yet is rooted in the same pianistic framework of judicious tempos, scrupulous adherence to the composer's directions, and facile technical control, while eschewing the least hint of virtuosic grandstanding. Either version is good, then, but I'll opt for the newer, somewhat more substantive reading.

The A flat Sonata is played with virtually the same arsenal of pianistic virtues and, again, is superior to the earlier, slightly superficial Philips account. Here Brendel catches the beauty, the lightness, the depth, the humor, all in proper measure and all in a rich, gorgeous tone that has evolved over the years from the leaner, less legato-laden style of his earlier years.

Speaking of his earlier years, Brendel's Op. 111 rendition on Vox seems quite typical of his pianism then, and offers considerable contrast to the newer version. It's a performance that certainly is compelling, if a bit less probing than his latest account. Even though there's much to commend in his youthful first foray--and in the first Philips effort, as well--I personally favor the newer reading. When you listen to the sublime fifth variation and recapitulation of the main theme in the second movement, you notice greater depth, greater monumentality, a sense that you are being transported to the profound spiritual planes that so clearly occupy the final pages of Beethoven's last piano sonata. And try the fourth variation (track 9; 6:44), where Brendel's dexterously inflected, adroitly agitated enactment of this rather threadbare, yet miraculously rewarding thematic digression points up its auguring of much of the syncopated music of the twentieth century. (Did Beethoven here foreshadow rock-and-roll?)

There have been many fine pianists who have recorded the Beethoven sonatas with acclaim, including Richard Goode (a pair of his releases didn't impress me favorably, though), Vladimir Ashkenazy, and the justly-praised Artur Schnabel. Brendel certainly takes his place among the greatest Beethoven interpreters of any time, and this disc finds him at his most inspiring.

Philips supplies sumptuous sound and informative notes. Strongly recommended.

Written by Robert Cummings

Richard Strauss (1864 - 1949)

Also Sprach Zarathustra, op.30; Till Eulenspiegels aus Streiche, op.28; Don Juan, op.20; "Dance of the Seven Veils" (from Salome)

Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra / Herbert von Karajan (DG 447 441 - 2)

The distinction between the Strauss who wrote "Blue Danube" and the later German master heard on this CD cannot be more stark and acute. What makes Richard (pronounced Rick-Khard) Strauss different from many other late nineteenth-early twentieth century composers? First, he was a master orchestrator, technically head and shoulders above all that had gone before; secondly, he had an ability to make terribly atonal music sound uncannily tuneful. Zarathustra ("freely after Nietzsche") is arguably the richest orchestral tapestry ever woven by a composer. The sound world changes like a chameleon, from the full strength of the 120-piece orchestra to intimate chamber music-like dialogues between the solo violinist and the wind section. There are some powerful things here, not least the overwhelming (and famous - remember Space Odyssey 2001?) introduction.

As usual with Karajan, everything sounds immensely beautiful. The great Berlin orchestra is in top form, with many of their very greatest recordings dating from around this time. Those sceptics who say the BPO is over-rated should hear this record.

Concertmaster Michel Schwalbe plays phenomenally in both Don Juan and Zarathustra. They say the last desk of the third violins in this orchestra could be a concerto soloist. Listen to the sound-clip, an extract containing the finest celebration of the art of orchestral string playing I have ever heard, and this will not sound that far-fetched.

The tonal palette that this orchestra commands is amazingly wide, and the dynamics which range from pin-drop pianissimo to a fully controlled, immensely beautiful orchestral tutti, are given full justice in this performance. Listen to the horns whooping for joy in Don Juan, it is quite an exciting sound indeed.

Karajan held a special affection for Till Eulenspiegels, and this performance tingles with a wit and joie de vivre not found in others, the Berliners revelling in their own virtuosity. The Salome Dance is also dispatched with physical exhilaration from beginning to end - Salome as depicted here, is doomed from the first step. That said, the balance is very commendable, no instrument is unnecessarily highlighted or made reticent. Many will argue that the effect achieved is not a true concert hall acoustic, but this I think, for its period, is one of the triumphs of orchestral recording for sound engineers.

Sir Georg Solti has two similar CDs out, one with his Chicago orchestra, and a new one with this Berlin orchestra, but both are not as well-filled. Solti, Previn, Jarvi and many others that I have heard, merely play the notes; Strauss himself said what he wanted was an impression of the music.

Many of the great orchestras have recorded these works, and their conductors are undoubtedly very talented. The closest I have heard to this performance and Stauss' own description, is that of Fritz Reiner, with the Chicago Symphony, now available on BMG Classics/RCA Victor, in stereo. The sound is antiquated, though.

But no, these are works which must be interpreted by "The Master" (a term used by Levine, Abbado, Muti and Ozawa, as Karajan was their "mentor"). This is actually one of many recordings made by Karajan of these works. The one dating from the 80's is digitally recorded, and the very early one with the Vienna Philharmonic is supposed to be the one used in the film "2001:A Space Odyssey" (I might be wrong here!). According to rumour, Karajan approved the use of the Sunrise sequence, on the condition that his name wasn't mentioned!

This CD must be heard on the right equipment at high volume. Ignore the neighbours!

Written by Rajeev Aloysius