The first two decades of the 20th century were a time of radical experimentation in European art music, and St Petersburg was by no means behind the times. Avant-garde music flourished during and for some time after the revolutions of 1905 and 1917. It wasn’t until the rise of Stalin that progressive modernism was actively stifled. We know the struggles faced by Shostakovich, but many of his compatriots abandoned their stylistic experiments (Popov), emigrated (Lourié), or mysteriously disappeared. Roger Woodward gives us a cross-section of miniatures written between 1905 (Scriabin’s first Feuillet d’album) and 1926 (Mosolov’s Two Nocturnes). Alexander Scriabin was the father of this school, literally so in the case of his son Julian, represented here by three preludes. Julian’s music was sophisticated and promising, but he died at the age of 11. Not all artworks that are stylistically groundbreaking or historically important are masterpieces. (How often do we listen to Schoenberg and Cage, compared to Sibelius and Copland?) Much of this music sounds tentative as a composer feels his way into new harmonic realms. This is certainly true of Obuhkov’s fragmentary Tableaux psychologiques of 1915. Yet when the new language is focussed, as in Stanchinsky’s Canon (1908), the result…

Bernard Herrmann’s reputation as a composer rests with his movie scores for Orson Welles and Alfred Hitchcock, but he also wrote several concert works. The dramatic cantata Moby Dick for two soloists, male chorus and large orchestra was composed between 1936 and 1938, before Herrmann’s film work began in earnest. Melville’s existential novel had long been the composer’s obsession, but today it is difficult to buy into the tale of Captain Ahab’s struggle with the great white whale. I confess my own opinion of whaling, namely that it is a barbaric and disgusting practice, colours my appreciation of the piece. (The novel is famously impenetrable.) Herrmann’s score is dramatic and skilfully orchestrated, befitting a born film composer, with tension deftly maintained throughout the work’s 46 minutes. On the downside there is a dearth of memorable thematic material, and the occasional use of Sprechstimme gives the work a dated radio-play quality.  Michael Schønwandt and his Danish forces could not make a better case for Moby Dick. The orchestra and chorus are distinguished by tightness of ensemble and commitment to the drama. The soloists show a similar level of involvement – Wilson-Johnson’s shout of “Death to Moby Dick!” is throat-rippingly exciting –…

Plenty of hype arrives with this release from young Polish pianist Rafal Blechacz, but little detail. My Internet trawling reveals that he was born in 1985, and at the age of 20 won all five sections of the Chopin Piano Competition in Warsaw. He so impressed the judges that they awarded no second prize. Blechacz has recorded three previous discs for Deutsche Grammophon, of Chopin Preludes and concertos, and sonatas by Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. Here he gives us a recital of early 20th-century French and Polish music. In the accompanying note Blechacz sites Michelangeli as his idol in Debussy, but his playing strikes me as less soft-edged than that of the mighty Italian. There is a crispness to the Toccata from Pour le piano, and a bell-like ping to the pentatonic peals of Pagodes from the Estampes suite, that bring to mind his older Polish compatriot Krystian Zimermann. High praise indeed. Blechacz’s fluidity and supreme dynamic control are astonishing, and he shows attention to fine detail. He can also produce a full tone, as in the radiant climax to L’Isle joyeuse, without it turning clangourous. He is equally fine in the Szymanowski pieces, but I wish he had recorded…

In 1960, Italian pianist Maurizio Pollini won the International Chopin Piano Competition. EMI instantly took him to the recording studio, where he made a famous recording of Chopin’s E-Minor Piano Concerto with conductor Paul Kletzki. It has never left the catalogue. As music lovers and recording executives began rubbing their hands in anticipation, Pollini recorded the two sets of Chopin Études – but the young artist was not ready to be drawn into this whirlwind. Further sessions produced personality clashes, and Pollini abandoned recording for ten years. Eventually he signed an exclusive contract with Deutsche Grammophon.  At Pollini’s insistence the EMI Études were never released. Fifty years later the recording is in the public domain and makes its debut, newly remastered from Testament. The stress and the arguments are ancient history. What remains is the brilliance of a young virtuoso in pieces that are designed to show off keyboard prowess: not only speed and accuracy but also the pianist’s way with legato (a melting Étude Op 25 No 1). This is very good 1960 piano sound. The instrument is recorded in close-up, as opposed to the concert hall acoustic Pollini has favoured since. Close scrutiny is no problem; indeed, it’s…

What a delightful disc. Or should I not use that adjective? It is, after all, a fallback response to the hideous tie you get from your auntie at Christmas. How about: relaxing? Or invigorating? All these epithets apply to the two early concertante works that Abbado and his handpicked Orchestra Mozart give us here. The performances seem to have been recorded during a tour (along with others in the same Mozart series): two venues are given for the Sinfonia Concertante, although whether the recordings are live is unclear. It doesn’t matter; the playing is exemplary and there is no discernible audience noise. Notable contributions are made by all the soloists. In the Sinfonia Concertante I was most taken with the clarinet of Alessandro Carbonare and the oboe of Lucas Macías Navarro, both musicians characterful and wonderfully accurate. In the Concerto for Flute and Harp the two soloists play as one, and flautist Jacques Zoon’s silvery tone is beautifully caught in the airy acoustic of the Haydn Auditorium in Bolzano. It is a tone we know well: Zoon was first flute of the Concertgebouw Orchestra under Chailly, the Berlin Philharmonic under Abbado, then the Boston Symphony. Abbado sets perfect… Continue reading Get…

Hélène Grimaud has provided a thoughtful program for this, her first ever Mozart recording. The two concertos, both in sunny major keys, are not among the most often recorded of the composer’s output, and there is a substantial addition in the form of a concert aria, originally from Idomeneo, for soprano and orchestra with piano obbligato. The recording is full-blooded, not unlike Grimaud’s playing. This is not the gentle, caressing Mozart of Maria João Pires. Grimaud finds both strength and depth in the Adagio movement of the A Major Concerto (No 23, K488), taken slower than usual, and a bubbling vivacity in the work’s Allegro assai finale. Similarly fine pianism characterises the F Major Concerto (No 19, K459), where she conveys the carefree nature of one of Mozart’s brightest and breeziest works. Erdmann sings the concert aria with poise, understanding and spot on intonation. In a live context she may have a small voice, but it records beautifully. Again Grimaud’s piano is an asset. The downside of this disc lies in the fact that these are live concert recordings. In big dramatic works the presence of an audience can galvanise a performer, but this is not so necessary in Mozart….

Märkl’s Debussy series on the Naxos label, of which this is Volume 7, has enjoyed a consistent run of hits with very few misses.

Alice Sara Ott has won several piano competitions and has landed a recording contract with DG. That company has always been generous with up-and-coming pianists, and on the basis of this disc alone Ott should be one of the stayers. Her clarity of articulation and wide dynamic range make her a standout. Ott gives a delightful performance of the C Major Sonata, Op 2 No 3. She is playful and spontaneous in the outer movements, and thoughtful in the Adagio, where she is adept at pointing the passages that hint at the Beethoven to come. The big C Major Sonata Op 53, Waldstein, operates on a larger canvas. At first I thought she was underplaying the drama, but as the work progresses Ott’s individual approach becomes clear. She opts to look inward; her central Adagio molto is a meditation, not the rich outpouring of song we get from Barenboim. Under Ott, the first appearance of the finale’s main theme is as delicate as Debussy’s snowflakes, while the coda dazzles without the try-hard bluster of some other pianists. Altogether it is a refreshing take on a masterpiece, stunningly brought off. She personifies grazioso in the Andante favori, and uses the fiery…

What happens to a BBC Young Musician of the Year winner nine years on? In Jennifer Pike’s case, she signs a contract with Chandos. The youngest-ever winner of the BBC award at 12, Pike has matured into a confident and expressive musician. This program brings together three of the best-known violin sonatas by French composers (more or less; César Franck was Belgian). Throughout, Pike is alert to every nuance of light and shade. In Debussy’s offering she takes a cool, modern approach: exquisitely detailed, but eschewing old-fashioned portamenti in the yearning, falling phrases of the second movement. Her Ravel is technically brilliant, the third movement’s Perpetuum mobile dashed off as though it were the easiest thing in the world. In the bluesy second movement, she does not dig deeply into the strings and sex it up in the manner of the sultry Maria Bachmann (Endeavour Classics/Allegro), but allows the movement to build naturally to a bracing conclusion. Pike is most at home in Franck’s sonata, spinning a poised legato line in the first movement and finding plenty of heart for the climaxes of the Recitativo-Fantasia. In all this she has the huge advantage of Martin Roscoe’s support. He is one…

In 90 years’ time when DG releases a Great Conductors of the 21st-Century series, Dudamel will surely be in it.

Ingrid Fliter is an impressive Argentinian pianist who recently toured Australia. Following two acclaimed Chopin discs, her new recital of three of Beethoven’s Sturm und Drang sonatas is also something of a winner. Fliter plays Beethoven with an appropriately Classical demeanour. She limits the dynamic extremes and does not overdo the rubato, but within that spectrum she points detail and gets the balance right. The opening of her Pathétique is slow without being solemn, then bracingly fleet once the Allegro begins. The lovely slow movement is meltingly played. Fliter transforms the stop/start passages of the Tempest sonata’s first movement into episodes of genuine urgency and repose. This is a gripping performance. The Appassionata poses a greater challenge, both emotionally and technically. In spite of her easy flowing pianism, which takes every technical hurdle in its stride, I fear Fliter often settles for a generalised sound here – big and loud, or slow and soft as the case may be –  whereas Paul Lewis, whose Appassionata is one the best recordings in his Beethoven survey, maps the emotional contours of this forward-looking work with unwavering focus, making something unique and specific of every moment.

Grosvenor finds plenty of poetry in the lyricism of Chopin, Liszt and Ravel.