Darius Milhaud und Bohuslav Martinu zählen zu den fruchtbarsten Komponisten des 20. Jahrhunderts. Das innere Kraftzentrum ihrer schier überwältigenden Schaffensfülle war offenbar die Selbstverpflichtung, sich als Komponisten nützlich zu machen und Musik zu schreiben, welche von den Musikern auch wirklich zu gebrauchen und aufzuführen war. Sie sind keinem noch so verstiegenen Besetzungstyp ausgewichen und bemühten sich, diese Musik auch aus dem Vorgang des Musizierens heraus zu entwickeln. So überrascht es kaum, dass beide Komponisten auch Streichtrios komponiert haben, obwohl die Gattung in Frankreich – Martinu komponierte seine beiden Trios in Paris, wo er seit 1923 dauerhaft lebte – so gut wie unbeachtet blieb und von französischen Komponisten völlig vernachlässigt wurde.

Beide Komponisten gestalten ihre Streichtrios – im Vergleich zu den Streichquartetten oder Klaviertrios – gewissermaßen "unterhaltender", leichter, ja beschwingter, aber kaum nachlässiger: Milhaud durch das Integrieren von Charakterstücken, zu denen er auch den Kanon oder die Fuge zählte, Martinu eher durch konzertante Züge. Und beide Stilbereiche beherrscht das 1994 in Berlin gegründete Jacques Thibaud String Trio angemessen zwanglos.

Die Fuge, die Milhauds divertimentohaftes Streichtrio beschließt, gestalten sie wirklich als niveauvolles "Spiel" ("Jeu Fugue"), und dem ersten Streichtrio von Martinu geben sie konzertant-virtuose Züge, welche diese Musik aus kammermusikalischer Enge befreit. Dabei bewahren sie aber grundsätzlich immer den kammermusikalischen Duktus, sodass das schiere Musikmachen, welches ihr Interpretieren prägt, keinesfalls solistisch überbordet. Kurz: Dies ist eine hoch willkommene Ergänzung und Bereicherung von Kammermusik aus Frankreich.

Die Aufnahmen zeugen von der einzigartigen Qualität des Quartetts und bestätigen seinen singulären Ruf.

Die Aufnahmen zeugen von der einzigartigen Qualität des Quartetts und bestätigen seinen singulären Ruf.

In den virtuosen Passagen unfehlbar, ist Bolet vor allem ein Magier der Übergänge, seine schwindelerregende Accelerando-, Stringendo- und Ritardando-Kunst zeugt von höchster musikalischer Intelligenz, und die macht ihm so schnell keiner nach. [...] Das Ergebnis ist faszinierend und unverzichtbar für alle, die hohe Klavierkunst schätzen.

This Audite set is invaluable, because it brings out for the first time on CD, recordings Bolet made in Berlin for German radio from the 1960s onwards.

There is real treasure trove here, and no pianophile should miss this set.

Franziska Pietsch avait signé une version stupéfiante des Sonates, la voici abordant les Concertos du même archet tranchant et plein, moins vert, moins âpre.

Mit berührender Intensität und im vollendeten Zusammenspiel mit dem Deutschen Symphonie-Orchester Berlin interpretiert Franziska Pietsch die beiden Violinkonzerte von Sergei Prokofiev.

Emigration und Heimweh

Die Konzerte von Sergei Prokofiev sind 1917 und 1935 entstanden. Kurz nach der Vollendung des ersten Konzertes hat der Komponist Russland verlassen, einige Zeit nach der Uraufführung des zweiten Werkes ist er nach langem Exil in sein Heimatland zurückgekehrt – wo ihn Stalin mit dem staatlich verordneten Konzept der „neuen Einfachheit“ zeitlebens drangsaliert hat. Im März 1953 sterben Komponist und Diktator am gleichen Tag – Ironie des Schicksals.

Lebenserfahrung

Franziska Pietsch spielt die Konzerte ohne süsslichen, sondern mit bewusst rauem Ton, der für eine enorme Expressivität sorgt. Zweifellos kommt darin auch die besondere Lebenserfahrung der Geigerin zum Ausdruck. Denn mehr als rau sind manche Einzelheiten in der Biografie der 1969 in Halle/Saale geborenen Solistin: als Wunderkind in jungen Jahren auf den Bühnen der DDR erfolgreich, wird Pietsch nach der sogenannten „Republikflucht“ ihres Vaters 1984 vom System fallengelassen, verliert ihren herausgehobenen Status und büßt auch den Studienplatz als hochbegabte Jungstudentin ein. Zwei Jahre später kann sie mit ihrer Mutter in den Westen ausreisen und den Neuanfang beginnen. Über viele Stationen hat sich Franziska Pietsch bis heute einen verdienten Spitzenplatz unter den deutschen Geigerinnen erarbeitet.

Zusammenspiel

Wer die in Köln lebende Geigerin bei den Aufnahmen für dieses Album in der Berliner Jesus-Christus-Kirche erlebt hat, ist von der überragenden Qualität dieser CD nicht überrascht. Mit höchster Konzentration gestaltet die Solistin den künstlerischen Austausch mit dem Orchester, hat dabei durchgängig das Ziel einer perfekten Interpretation im Blick. Der Dirigent Cristian Macelaru – selbst ein exzellenter Geiger – leitet das DSO souverän und arbeitet mit dem hervorragenden Rundfunkorchester durchaus überraschende Nuancen im Orchesterklang heraus, etwa die prächtigen Horn-Stimmen, die sich immer wieder mit dem Klang der Sologeige vereinigen.

Raumklang

Die Aufnahme präsentiert zwei Meisterwerke der Moderne in einem lebendigen Raumklang, in dem jedes einzelne Instrument differenziert wahrgenommen werden kann. Über allem schwebt dabei die Magie einer mit äußerster Hingabe gespielten Solo-Violine.

Unter den verschiedenen Neueinspielungen der Prokofiev-Konzerte gehört diese Aufnahme in der Rangfolge zweifellos nach ganz oben.

The fifth volume in Audite’s superbly refurbished boxed series covers a two-decade period from 1950-69 during which time the Amadeus Quartet set down numerous broadcast recordings at the Siemensvilla studios of RIAS. The fifth volume covers the Romantic period – from Mendelssohn and Schumann to Brahms, Bruckner, Grieg, Verdi and Dvořák. The great value – one of many, but the principal one nonetheless – is that several of the works are new to the quartet’s discography.

The first three CDs are largely given over to Brahms. In the case of the C minor Quartet, Op. 51 No. 1 the recording is slightly shrill in the strings’ upper register – this is something that is noticeable in a number of these earliest incarnations – though not enough to limit one’s enjoyment of the performances. What one may lose in this acidic quality is more than made up when the playing is so vitalised and dramatically purposeful. The tonal breadth of the Romanze survives any possible aural impediment. It’s the quality of refinement that demarcates the Op. 67 Quartet where one finds Norbert Brainin’s beautiful phrasing in the Andante one of the most distinguishing markers of excellence. The 1957 recording quality is decidedly warmer, aerating the ensemble’s textures to considerable advantage. A couple of days after the Op. 51 No. 1 performance the quartet returned to the radio studio to play the Piano Quintet in F minor, Op. 34 but not with one of their familiar colleagues, Clifford Curzon, but instead with Conrad Hansen. He is perfectly in tune with the conception, his own contribution being eminently well-balanced: playing of strong identity but selfless integration. Note his pizzicato-like paragraphs in the first movement, and the scaled question-and-response between the strings and piano, as well as the expressive inner voicings in the slow movement and the Scherzo’s sweep. In the beautifully phrased Clarinet Quintet, chronologically the last work in the box to have been composed, the Amadeus is joined by Heinrich Geuser. A distinguished orchestral principal, teacher and soloist he had a considerable influence on the succeeding generation of clarinets, one of whom – Karl Leister, the most famous German player of his generation – was later to record the Clarinet Quintet with the Amadeus.

For the String Quintet, Op. 111 they are joined by their violist of choice, Cecil Aronowitz, for a September 1953 performance of vivid communicative power where the rhythmic pointing in the finale is as persuasive as the elements of rusticity embedded in the music. The Bruckner Quartet is sonorously declaimed but they manage to locate the wit in the Scherzo that prefaces the sustained gravity of the Adagio. Though they performed Schumann’s chamber music in concert and for radio broadcast they never took any of the music into the studio, which makes the appearance of the Op.44 Piano Quintet and the A major Quartet, Op. 41 No. 3 so exciting. The former is again with Hansen in a performance dating from February 1962 notable for the flowing lyricism of the second movement and in the sensitive balance maintained in the finale. The A major’s fugal and rustic predilections are happily brought out, the country dance that courses through the finale being a particularly good example of the Amadeus’ art. The recording quality is generous enough to make the quartet sound more characteristically themselves here than in some of the earliest readings. Even in a box this fine, disc four is therefore particularly valuable for reasons of repertoire and interpretation.

But then so too are the final discs. The Amadeus never recorded Mendelssohn’s E flat major – listen to the lavishly applied tone in the Beethoven-inspired slow opening section of the first movement – but they certainly don’t stint the expressive intensity of the slow movement. They did record the Capriccio from the Op. 81 Quartet as a stand-alone, and reprise that here. Perhaps surprisingly they’d had the Verdi Quartet in their repertoire right from their 1948 Wigmore Hall debut so by November 1962 it had been under their fingers for a decade-and-a-half. They’d learnt to mitigate any inherent problems in the writing whilst remaining excitingly earthy in the Prestissimo third movement. It’s perhaps strange too to realise that they left behind only a single Dvořák work – inevitably, the American quartet – so the A major Piano Quintet, Op. 81 is another item new to their now-expanding discography. Hansen is again good in this 1950 reading – one can draw parallels between this interpretation and that of Curzon and the Vienna Philharmonic Quartet at around the same time, as well as on the wing with the Budapest Quartet. The Amadeus drive when required though their rhythms aren’t quite as pungent as the best Czech ensembles. Finally, there is yet another newbie, the Grieg Quartet. If your standard is the impossibly high pre-war 78rpm set by the Budapest, then you will find the Amadeus not too far behind in matters of tonal breadth. It’s a stylish reading and very communicatively presented.

The six CDs in this box offer great rewards for the Amadeus collector. The items new to their work list are clearly of the greatest interest and it’s doubly valuable that the performances of these are no less compelling than the companion works. It’s also good to hear from their collaborative artists – Aronowitz, the only violist they performed with, the great clarinetist Geuser and, of course, Hansen who makes a consistently fine impression. The original broadcast tapes have been outstandingly well realised: they’re all mono with the single exception of the Mendelssohn Op. 12. In short, exemplary presentation, and a richly valuable box.

Partnered by expressively sensitive orchestral playing from the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin under Kirill Karabits, coupled with a beautifully clear resonant recording, there is simply everything to recommend in this performance. [...] This is undoubtedly one of the finest versions of this much-recorded work to date.

The standard repertoire for cello and orchestra doesn’t contain many French works, but the French performing style has a strong profile. I was reminded of this at the opening of Schelomo by the sweet, singing tone and refined phrasing of Strasbourg-born cellist Marc Coppey. Bloch’s Rhapsodie hébraïque from 1915–16 was the culmination of his Jewish Cycle, and by far the best known portion of it. Originally conceived as a vocal work set to texts from the Book of Ecclesiastes, Schelomo took final form with the cello standing in for King Solomon. Besides the title, there’s no Old Testament story to follow, and I tend to hear the music as a Romantic piece of Jewish musical nostalgia. (The work’s success seems to have gone to the composer’s head—Bloch came to see the music in psychoanalytic terms as an unconscious expression of the creative process.)

Because it borders on the fulsome, the music tempts cellists to overplay their part and sink into sentimentality or to sound rhetorically profound. Coppey avoids both pitfalls, finding genuine eloquence through a natural approach to the score’s emotionality. Not recognizing the cellist’s name, I looked online and found that Coppey was born in 1969, won a major Bach competition at 18, and soon found himself in the company of two luminaries, Yehudi Menuhin and Mstislav Rostropovich. His schooling took place in Strasbourg, Paris, and Bloomington. His biography mentions wider interests as a singer, pianist, and composer. Fanfare readers are most likely to associate Coppey’s name with the Ysaÿe Quartet, where he was a member from 1995 to 2000.

Being ubiquitous, the Dvořák Cello Concerto has been the vehicle for a kaleidoscope of styles; my taste runs to the grand, passionate, and personal style of Rostropovich and du Pré. The fairly low-key conducting of Kirill Karabits in the first-movement introduction makes clear that this isn’t his way, so Coppey’s first entrance, which is more florid and simply loud (thanks to very close miking) isn’t quite in sync. Using a focused and beautiful tone, especially in the upper register, the soloist grabs one’s attention as the dominant force in the performance. Conductor and cellist agree that the lyrical second theme in the first movement should be delicate and gentle. I was also impressed at how even Coppey’s tone is from top to bottom, and how good his intonation is. He doesn’t dig in for a big sound in his low notes but prefers a supple, uniform timbre.

There’s an impressive musicality about everything here. I was reminded of my most recent encounter with the Dvořák Concerto, from Christian Poltéra, Thomas Dausgaard, and the same Deutsches Symphony Berlin as on the present release (reviewed in Fanfare 40:1). That was a very memorable reading, but Coppey and Karabits give nothing away to it for vigor, expression, and musicality. The Adagio gains added eloquence by being a little quieter than usual, as in the Bloch. The finale is lean, propulsive, and exciting. What more can we ask?

As a filler we get Klid, a meditative piece for piano duet that Dvořák later arranged for cello and piano before orchestrating it. Better known as Silent Woods, it is the slow movement of a four-part suite titled From the Bohemian Forest. The music was new to me, but its six minutes is based on a lovely, flowing theme, as you’d expect from one of music’s great melodists. Coppey performs with rapt sensitivity.

Given so much to appreciate and nothing to criticize, this release deserves a warm welcome. I’m motivated to seek out everything this exceptional cellist has recorded previously, including the Bach suites from 2003.