I’ve always regarded Ginastera as a sort of Aaron Copland of the Pampas, with a dash of Villa-Lobos thrown in. This CD contains two ballet suites, from Ollantay and Pampeana No 3, and the complete Estancia (Cattle Ranch). Ollantay and Pampeana No 3 are both based on blood-thirsty pre-Colombian themes with descriptions of anacondas slithering through primeval slime and rather beautiful evocations of dawn and night. Ginastera certainly knew how to orchestrate. Most people who buy this release will want it for the rarely heard complete Estancia, rather than the frequently heard Malambo, guaranteed to bring any audience to its feet. This is worth hearing in full, but half the work consists of Malambo-like movements, which anticipate the finale so heavily that Ginastera virtually steals his own thunder. The work’s subject is a city slicker’s attempt to prove himself in a world dominated by machismo-flaunting gauchos (cowboys). Juanjo Mena and the BBC Phil play well but there’s not enough testosterone. The dances sound like a clique of haughty Argentinian polo players who’ve eloped with English heiresses. What’s really bizarre is the narration and songs interpolated into the score, cheesily crooned by Lucas Somoza Osterc. It’s as if Leonard Bernstein recited…

Poor old Max Bruch! First, he opted for a flat fee instead of a royalty percentage for his phenomenally successful First Violin Concerto and then persisted in trying to replicate that success – with little success. He lived beyond his creative period and was still influenced by Schumann, Mendelssohn etc. in an age when Wagner and Richard Strauss were the rage. Having said that, I’m absolutely smitten with one of the works on this CD: the A Minor Serenade, Op. 75, composed in 1899. At 36 minutes it almost outstays its welcome (Accardo and the late deeply lamented Kurt Masur on Philips are even slower) but its dreamy first movement, followed by a jaunty march (which has a meltingly lovely Trio section) a ravishing Nocturne and the Finale, which ends as serenely as the work began, make for a delightful diversion. As does the Op. 42 Romance, also in A Minor. Liebeck’s account of the G Minor Concerto is fine but unexceptional. What can there possibly be left to say about it other than his is more demure than some recent renditions? The BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra under Martyn Brabbins sounds alert and makes this warhorse sound as freshly minted…

We’ve had “the next Callas”, “the next Sutherland”, “the next Wunderlich”, now, we’re hearing 28-year-old Georgian pianist, Khatia Buniatishvili touted as “the next Argerich”. Not on the strength of this CD, featuring works each of which exists in an orchestral guise (and in which I’d much rather hear all of them)! The Guardian critic unleashed as much bile on Buniatishvili’s Wigmore Hall performance of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition as his feminist colleagues routinely do on signet ring-wearing, old Etonian Tory politicians who ride to hounds. Broadly, I’m forced to agree: the very opening of this recording is promisingly imaginative, with the Promenade played tentatively – as if the viewer is intimidated by art galleries (though The Promenade connective tissue convincingly becomes bolder as the performance progresses). The Old Castle is hypnotically, but interminably slow. This works, but Bydlo, the ox cart, sounds as though it’s lost a wheel. Other movements – like Baba Yaga (the Hut on Fowl’s Legs) – are dispatched in such a helter-skelter way that they become virtually meaningless. What should be a magical transition between Baba Yaga and the gravity and grandeur of The Great Gate of Kiev is completely botched… Continue reading Get unlimited…

Imagine the horror of being born into a family where you’re the only one among parents, grandparents and siblings who doesn’t excel at something! No such problems among the Ottensamers, father Ernst and brothers Daniel and Andreas aka the royal family of the clarinet, who share the Principal Clarinet positions of the Vienna and Berlin Philharmonics. Andreas, who was appointed to his Berlin Philharmonic position at 21 also declined a position at Harvard (as one does). Their ensemble, The Clarinotts, play an impressive range of E Flat, B Flat and A clarinets, bass clarinet and bassett horn and performs traditional classical music as well as arrangements, jazz and “edgy” contemporary repertoire. While their breathtaking (pun intended) virtuosity can be taken for granted, what makes The Clarinotts’ playing even more miraculous is their impeccable ensemble, as well as their flair for playing “out” in a soloistic manner, which many orchestral musicians find difficult. (It was the alleged inability of the clarinettist Sabine Meyer to blend in with the woodwind “choir” of the Berlin Philharmonic that caused the final rupture between the orchestra and Herbert von Karajan in the mid-1980s). Clearly the Ottensamers don’t have a problem in this department…. Continue reading Get…

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… Continue reading Get…

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… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already…

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… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already…

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…