French keyboard wizard reveals his classical side and revels in Ravel. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

The youthful conductor István Kertész had worked mainly in provincial Hungary when he made his first recording for Decca in 1961, but his reputation was rising rapidly. Everyone responded to the freshness of his music making. His musical memory was acute: he was reputed to learn scores for the first time on the plane on his way to rehearsal. He was booked to do Elgar’s First Symphony for his recording debut with the London Symphony Orchestra, but on the strength of his success in a concert with Dvorák’s Eighth, the plans changed. Eventually he recorded all of Dvorák’s symphonies, and much else, with the LSO. Kertész would have cemented his international standing but for the intervention of fate: he drowned in the Mediterranean while on holiday in 1973, at the age of 43. The recordings with the London Symphony form the bulk of his legacy, and many of the best are included here. Dvorák is represented by the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies, some tone poems and the Requiem. A great recording of Bartók’s dark and gloomy opera Bluebeard’s Castle with Christa Ludwig and Walter Berry is also here (sung in Hungarian). One of his most exciting early recordings was of…

It was a strange prospect to say the least; the whole of Debussy’s La mer (not to mention various Ravel orchestral works) on the organ. Even as an organist, I wondered whether there could be a transcriber, a player and an instrument to do due honour to such richly detailed and subtly orchestrated scores. Gunnar Idenstam, a Swedish concert organist and composer certainly gives it his best shot. The organ of St Martin’s, Dudelange, Luxembourg is an excellent choice with its synthesis of the best of the French, German and English schools of organbuilding. The spatial disposition of the four-manuals in the clear but reverberant acoustic allows the all-important sense of orchestral background and foreground to be recreated. Idenstam brings an excellent technique and a generous sense of drama to the task at hand. While the Debussy has many exciting moments, I couldn’t help feeling that in attempting to reflect the changing orchestration of the original somehow the transcription lacked cohesion and instead of a unified musical tableau I was listening to a succession of colourful moments. The shorter Ravel works fared better. Pavane pour une infante défunte is particularly effective and La valse along with two of the Valses…

The most eye-catching part of the packaging for The Good Song was a small explicit content sticker in the top left hand corner. I didn’t give it much thought, writing it off as a packaging error, or a joke, a mild grab for attention. It wasn’t until I was looking through the English translations of Poulenc’s Chansons gaillardes provided with the disc that I realised this sticker might be more related to the content that first expected. Poulenc’s Chansons gaillardes derives its lyrical content from obscene 17th-century texts, resulting in lyrics such as:      To the god of love a virgin      Offered a candle      That she might obtain a lover      The god smiled at her request      And said to her: Pretty one while you wait,      You can always use the offering It is an example of obscenity realised as beautiful music. Of course these words sound far more eloquent in French. In 2013 Thomas Meglioranza devoted an entire album to Schubert’s Winterreise, a logical extension of 2007’s Schubert Songs. It is with interest that 2014’s The Good Song moves tangentially to Meglioranza’s recorded work this far. There is no Schubert to be heard here, but…

How did war-wounded pianist Paul Wittgenstein persuade Ravel, Britten and Prokofiev to write pieces for his left hand? Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

Pascal Rogé and his wife Ami are no strangers to these shores, having performed at the Australian Festival of Chamber Music in Townsville and in 2011 premiered the Concerto for Two Pianos of Sydney-based composer, Matthew Hindson, commissioned in honour of their wedding. However, the repertoire on this disc is decidedly Gallic and apart from Saint-Saëns’ rarely heard Scherzo, the pieces are two-piano transcriptions of well-known works for orchestra. Herein lies some of the difficulty with this recital. The vivid impressionistic orchestral palette of Debussy and Ravel is so well known to listeners that piano transcriptions can seem somewhat penny plain in comparison to their lavishly orchestrated counterparts. Despite those apparent disadvantages, the performers here give readings of great sensitivity and tonal nuance. Ravel’s Ma Mère l’Oye (Mother Goose) is particularly atmospheric and Debussy’s famous Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun is also well handled. For me, the performers’ own arrangement of La Mer is less successful, again perhaps because it is so well-known as a work for large orchestra. Ravel’s atmospheric Rapsodie Espagnole is familiar in its two-piano incarnation and certainly charms here, while his lesser-known arrangement of Debussy’s sparkling Fêtes is definitely worth getting to know. The thoroughly…

Not only did these composers write immortal music, they inspired history’s great artists to new heights of expression.

Ravel is often described as an Impressionist. While this is an erroneous label overall, he is at his most impressionistic in the piano cycles Miroirs and Gaspard de la nuit. There are two schools of Ravel pianists: those who create a dreamy, soft-centred sound picture (usually old-school, like Walter Gieseking) and those who seek
out the sharp edges and go for clarity like Alexandre Tharaud. The young Russian Anna Vinnitskaya amalgamates both worlds. In her reading of Une barque sur 
l’océan from Miroirs, the opening arpeggios have a chiseled quality – no blurry wash here – yet her subtle way of emphasising single notes in the right hand suggests sparkles 
of sunlight on the water. Similarly in Noctuelles, Ravel’s depiction of moths at night, Vinnitskaya vividly plots the haphazard flight of these nocturnal creatures. She is less successful at evoking humans. Her Alborada del grazioso is too brisk to capture the braggadocio character of the serenade. It is highly impressive as pianism, as is her Scarbo from Gaspard de la nuit, but the latter reading underplays the piece’s unique grotesquerie. On the basis of her nuanced performance of the Pavane, I rather wish she had ditched Gaspard and recorded Le Tombeau…

How I learned to stop worrying and love classical music. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

Meticulous. Polished. A perfectionist. These are terms frequently applied to Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). It is true that there is never a wasted note or an indistinct effect in his work. He is also linked inextricably to Debussy under the heading “Impressionist”, but Ravel’s music is less ethereal and his harmonic thinking conceived quite differently. (Debussy places unrelated chords in the ether; Ravel’s harmony is structured more like contemporary jazz. He employs chords of the 9th, 11th and 13th degrees of the scale but eliminates their roots.) Ravel’s personality was reserved and enigmatic – he was famously more relaxed with children than with adults – and this led to the perception that his music was merely polished surfaces. So it is, but I find tremendous heart in the melting opening of his String Quartet, or the tender closing chorus of the strangely affecting opera L’enfant et les Sortilèges. Nor does his polish make him a conservative composer. What could be more out there than Boléro? The climatic harmonic resolution is orgasmic! Scarbo from Gaspard de la nuit is extreme both in its technique and its inspiration. Virtuosity and spontaneity again combine in the rousing finale of the opera L’Heure espagnol in……

>Following the success of his English and Spanish albums, Stephen Hough has come up with this thoughtfully planned, beautifully executed French album. Typically for Hough, the repertoire is anything but predictable. It opens with the familiar strains of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. The Gallic connection lies in the transcription by the pianist Alfred Cortot, who was actually Swiss. Hough himself is a transcriber of note (or notes) and so we have his keyboard arrangements of Pizzicati from Delibes’ ballet Sylvia and Massenet’s song Crépuscule. Among the rarely played works are the charming Automne by Cécile Chaminade and Alkan’s quirky La chanson de la folle au bord de la mer. Two popular encores are included: Ravel’s Alborada del gracioso and Debussy’s Clair de lune, the latter sounding not at all hackneyed due to the surrounding context. There are multiple selections by Fauré and Poulenc, and the recital ends with a longer work, Liszt’s Réminiscences of Halévy’s opera La Juive. Hough invariably hones in on the specific quality that defines each piece. In the Ravel, it is humour, an aspect that pianists often neglect in their desire to remind us how difficult this music is to… Continue reading Get…

ABC Classic FM found out when they made this year’s Classic 100 Countdown an all-French affair. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in