Schumann’s Piano Concerto has undergone something of a recording and live performance eclipse in recent years. It was once known as a “woman’s” concerto, presumably because of Clara’s advocacy, however it still runs rings around the vast majority of other Romantic piano concertos.  The work has never been a vehicle for bravura and one hurdle has always been the lack of shameless virtuosity in the soloist’s part. Jan Lisiecki’s rendition of the work is obviously “young man’s” Schumann (fair enough as he’s all of 20!) but as impressive as most of it is, much of the first movement lacks the intimate poetic ruminations (Lisiecki himself refers to these in the liner notes) that I enjoy in my favourite version with Annie Fischer (despite Klemperer’s rather bluff, emphatic accompaniment) making them sound almost perfunctory. Also, the Gramophone review refers to the Santa Cecilia orchestra’s oboe as characterful whereas I find it quite the opposite. Lisiecki handles well what can be the tricky transition from the charming Intermezzo (which he does beautifully without sounding either coy or laboured) to the finale.  The other two substantial works are rareties: Allegro  Appassionata, Op. 92 and Introduction and Allegro, Op. 134, which James Jolly breathlessly…

I approached this release with trepidation. The prospect of 11 pieces by 11 composers could easily become maudlin. Besides, what more can possibly be said about Gallipoli? Chris Latham, the director of the project (which had a decade-long gestation period) himself says in the notes “… the history of multi-author works was beyond dire. I didn’t know of one successful example. They were all stylistic mishmashes with no aesthetic cohesion”. This live performance is from one of Istanbul’s most revered mosques in the presence of Governor General, Sir Peter Cosgrove. Among the contributors are the usual suspects – Sculthorpe, Edwards, Kats-Chernin – with contributions from New Zealand and Turkish composers. Inevitably, the work begins with the plaintive sound of a didgeridoo, equally inevitably played by William Barton.  The Australian contributions are in the generic “contemporary Australian” idiom but the attempts to fuse traditional Ottoman and modern Turkish music with Indigenous and western Australian and New Zealand music come off. There isn’t a weak link. The mosque acoustics are sensational but the Istanbul orchestra’s contribution is adequate, nothing more. The Australian choirs acquit themselves better under Jessica Cottis’ committed direction. The cutaway shots to World War I stills are often as…

First, it’s exciting to hear the great Philadelphia Orchestra in such fine form. It augurs well for Yannick Nézet-Séguin’s tenure. And second, Daniil Trifonov seems headed towards the “for once the hype is real” stratosphere on the strength of his first studio recording for DG. This ‘concept’ album showcases Rachmaninov works for variations, one orchestral, two for keyboard only, in which the young pianist pays homage to his musical idol. The Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini is truly sensational. This recording was made exactly 80 years after the legendary recording with the composer himself and Stokowski conducting this same orchestra. The pizzicati double bases in Variation 7 are beautifully captured but, for me, the most magical moments are Variations 11 and 12 where Trifonov’s aristocratic poise reminded me of Michelangeli (in very different repertoire) without the latter’s cold perfection.  The Chopin Variations (based on the C Minor Prelude) are rarely performed and not even Trifonov’s brilliance and insight can prevent them from outstaying their welcome. The Corelli Variations are another matter. The high points here are Variation 15, (Lullaby) which Trifonov manages to suffuse with an air of unease. The final pages are a model of hushed, haunted intensity….

José Serebrier’s new Dvořák cycle ranks with Kubelík’s, Kertesz’s, and Rowicki’s sadly overshadowed but excellent set. For me, the last three symphonies are usually the least interesting and revealing – as here, where they’re perfectly OK but unremarkable (the third movement of the Eighth lacks the sinuous elegance of other readings). Where this cycle scores is in the performances of the neglected Second, Fifth and Sixth Symphonies and the generous addition of other major works such as the Legends, the delightful Scherzo Capriccioso, the masterful concert overture In Nature’s Realm and a selection of Slavonic Dances in radiant performances, the Bournemouth players in top form.  No young composer was more prolix than Dvořák (one of his early string quartets lasts 70 minutes!), as demonstrated in the First Symphony, subtitled The Bells Of Zlonice where the youthful rhetoric runs unchecked. The three-movement Third and the Fourth (whose last movement always reminds me of a bizarrely titled song I heard as a child on the ABC Argonauts programme: “Dashing away with a smoothing iron, she stole my heart away”) are interesting, but the Second Symphony, long a favourite of mine, is more disciplined and Serebrier has its measure, making it a real…

I’ve always wondered whether Shostakovich’s Ninth began life as an ironically subversive take on the superstition surrounding Ninth symphonies. It clearly wasn’t what the authorities were expecting as a crowning glory of the so-called ‘Wartime Trilogy’ with the sublime Eighth and the interminable and bombastic Leningrad.  The famous description of it as “Haydnesque in proportion and Rossiniesque in wit” is captured by Gergiev and his Mariinisky forces. I love the constant subversion in the Largo, the only even partly “serious” movement where the funeral march initiated by the bassoon is subverted by… the bassoon. The rag-tag cartoonish quality is also heard to great effect in the finale where we suddenly get a Soviet Army Band appearing.   The First Violin Concerto is an interesting companion: it’s hard to imaging anything more starkly contrasted. Kavakos has shed his wunderkind image and turns in a wonderfully subtle performance, especially in the spectral Nocturne opening movement, surely the most sinister nocturne in all music. I agree with other reviewers in remarking on his restrained volume here but I think it works, like the delicacy of his tone. No one will ever surpass either Oistrakh or Vengerov in his 1994 recording but Kavakos embodies…

Isserlis seems incapable of playing a dud note, let alone giving a dud performance.

It’s reassuring that music critics wrote drivel 200 years ago. Wilhelm von Lenz, one of Beethoven’s early biographers, described the Waldstein Sonata as the pianistic equivalent of the Eroica Symphony. It gets worse: he described the Appassionata Sonata as “undoubtedly Beethoven’s darkest and most aggressive work.” Jumppanen’s readings of both are unexceptional and unexceptionable, though the finale of the Appassionata is a great deal more aggressive than that of Arrau or Barenboim. What interested me more was the Opus 10 trilogy of early sonatas, which are frequently overshadowed by the middle and late period masterpieces. Both the first and second in this opus are, on the face of it, backward-looking works, the first minus a minuet the second lacking a slow movement but, nevertheless, containing a myriad of suggestions that something marvelous is afoot. Jumppanen captures the kaleidoscopic moods of both these works, especially the Haydnesque presto of the Second. It’s in the four movement Third Sonata that we see the huge strides Beethoven had taken even within the same opus: the Largo e mesto, surely the most tragic and heartfelt of all his ‘early’ works. Jumppanen spins out the final bars here into a passage of exquisite agony, itself…

Like his South American predecessor, Jorge Bolet, Nelson Freire is having an Indian Summer and well-deserved recognition. Like Bolet, he’s always been admired but somewhat taken for granted. Now, he’s almost lionised. This CD contains Chopin’s Second Piano Concerto and a collection of short pieces. I recently read a fascinating but credible observation that, of major composers, Chopin has more of his oeuvre in the repertoire than any other. That notwithstanding, his works for piano and orchestra have often been considered poor relations to his solo piano music, most of which is, admittedly, sublime. Who am I to complain? One reviewer described the concerto orchestrations as “staid”. I would prefer wooden or dour. No matter: this is a wonderful showcase for Freire’s art, and he brings pellucid tone and ineffable elegance with a sublime reading of the slow movement. The G-Flat Impromptu is not so much dispatched as caressed with finesse and rubato. The Fourth Ballade is certainly sterner stuff and Freire possesses the requisite steeliness without ever sacrificing lyricism or coherence. The Berceuse, my joint favourite Chopin work, is played with a style that rivals Lipatti’s Barcarolle (my other joint favourite): I just didn’t want it to end. The Mazurkas…

★★★★☆ Grieg marked the score of his G Minor Symphony (composed when he was 20 in 1863), “Must never be performed”. This was honoured for 113 years (though individual movements were performed in the 1860s) but after much discussion, it was played in Bergen in 1981 and recorded by Decca under Karsten Andersen.  It’s hard to understand Grieg’s attitude, as, for an apprentice work, it’s rather good. Certainly, it has the generic Romantic rhetoric, the stuttering Schumannesque syncopations in the first movement for instance, but it’s also thematically interesting and full of ideas, proving that, even this young, Grieg could think effectively in symphonic paragraphs. The Adagio is especially winsome. Grieg regarded the work as “insufficiently Norwegian”, whatever that means, but the scherzo-like third movement sounded very ‘Norwegian’ to me.  I’ve raved about Eivind Aadland’s recordings with the excellent West Deutsche Rundfunk Orchestra in his Grieg cycle and this vivid performance and lovely recording maintain the standard. The soloist in the Piano Concerto is Rumanian-born Herbert Schuch, whose debut disc caused quite a stir a few years ago. Here, his reading is alive to every nuance of what is, for better or worse, a warhorse. One review exclaimed “his shadings…

★★★☆☆ Before the live performance of Prokofiev’s Second Symphony, Kirill Karabits warned the audience of an “ear-lashing”. Bearing in mind the disproportionate number of retired majors and active Tory matrons among the Bournemouth Symphony’s subscriber base, I suppose it was wise.  Personally, I’d put the first movement’s shock factor (and it’s really only the first movement which has that motoric Age of Steel quality) at around that of The Rite of Spring. It won’t blow your mind (or your speakers). Despite the obvious commitment of Karabits and his players, I didn’t find the work particularly interesting. But what an incredible advance between this and its immediate symphonic predecessor! The Classical Symphony (No 1) had some lovely moments, especially in the second movement but here, it’s a case of the excellent being the enemy of the merely very good. I still have the mellifluous felicities of the London Symphony’s Sydney performance under Gergiev last November lingering in my ears.  What was interesting was the Sinfonietta, an unjustly neglected work which I’ve encountered only as a fill-up to a late ‘70s recording of Ivan the Terrible. It demonstrates that when Prokofiev set out to charm, he was absolutely beguiling! The other work…

This combination is even more bizarre than when Klemperer and Barenboim teamed up to record the Beethoven Piano Concertos almost 50 years ago. Any initial misgivings back then were quickly dispelled: the cycle was a triumph. Lang Lang, by contrast, provided one of the most scarifying musical experiences of my life at a 2011 recital in Sydney (complete with mewling infant) with his clueless Beethoven and Albéniz so unidiomatic I gazed up at the ceiling and thought of Larrocha and Rubenstein. These CDs are mainly a pleasant surprise. Harnoncourt, whose Mozart I generally revere, (although I was bemused to read one blog that said he seemed “out of his depth here”) also has irritating tics (not to mention his “concepts”) but the collaboration works. I hope it doesn’t sound patronising to say Lang Lang is on his best behaviour and his Mozart sounds endearingly old-fashioned and elegant rather than just careful. There’s not much sturm und drang in the C Minor Concerto and it’s a universe away from what we routinely hear from, say, Brautigam and Levin, but the Vienna Philharmonic’s winds are gorgeous in their exchanges in the… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe…

Its policy towards female musicians, the behaviour of both administration and players towards Jewish colleagues during the Second World War, its variable performance standards and its exaggerated, hypocritical, archaic formality have all made the Vienna Philharmonic the most enigmatic of great orchestras. The fact that John Culshaw, arguably the greatest recording producer of the 20th century (and genius), who did more than anyone to create the orchestra’s recorded legacy, was expected to regard his invitation to attend a meeting of the Orchestra’s board as a singular honour, says it all. In fact, Culshaw’s contribution to what Germans/Austrians call a festschrift, or series of celebratory articles, contains some of the more honest comments. To paraphrase him, “At its best, it’s sublime; anything less is usually pretty awful.” Mahler, as the Director of the Vienna State (Court) Opera, observed this more than a century ago when he referred to schlamperei masquerading as “tradition” among the State Opera Orchestra, from which all VPO players are drawn. Compared to the Berlin Philharmonic or the Amsterdam Concertgebouw, it was less versatile. In… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in