Dans sa collection « Deutschlandradio Kultur », la firme allemande Audite nous...

Dans sa collection « Deutschlandradio Kultur », la firme allemande Audite nous...

Dans sa collection « Deutschlandradio Kultur », la firme allemande Audite nous...

Another stirring issue in an ongoing surround-sound cycle of no little...

This disc provides a pleasant snapshot of the work of Vladimir Ashkenazy live in concert with the Deutsches Symphonie Orchester, Berlin, the ensemble originally formed as the RIAS-Berlin Symphony and led by the great Ferenc Fricsay in the 1950s. Before Fricsay’s death, the ensemble changed its name to the Berlin Radio Symphony, a name it kept through several music directors. Ashkenazy was director of the orchestra for a decade, starting in 1989, and was presiding when the ensemble changed to its present name in 1993. Presented here are two snapshots of his work with the orchestra, featuring Ashkenazy’s “private passions” for the orchestral works of Richard Strauss and the concerted pieces of Wolfgang Mozart.

Ashkenazy has shown a strong commitment to Strauss both in concert and in the recording studio, so his Symphonia Domestica is a welcome visitor. The live performance from 1998 captured here brings Ashkenazy’s soulful warmth and a delight in Strauss’s orchestral effects—yes, even the vulgar ones, such as the infamous crying baby sequence. This release serves well to represent this part of Strauss’s body of works in Ashkenazy’s career, as well as a nice souvenir of his work in Berlin. I have seen that Ondine also released a Symphonia Domestica from when Ashkenazy conducted the Czech Philharmonic, but I haven’t been able to hear that for comparison.

The present performance is amply satisfying, even if doesn’t unseat any of the great recordings of the past, especially considering that a couple of those are performed by formidable representatives of what was once known as “the American sound”. It is ironic that the two conductors most responsible for creating that highly virtuosic orchestral sound with whip-crack precision and muscular power were middle-European conductors. Fritz Reiner and George Szell used their orchestras in Chicago and Cleveland, respectively, as laboratories for attaining the elusive perfection demanded by the complex scores of Strauss and Mahler, while honing their players on the bread-and-butter repertory of Mozart, Beethoven and Brahms. Strauss figured prominently in both conductors’ work, albeit more so in Reiner’s, as Szell seemed to maintain a slightly skeptical view of Strauss’s exuberance, while Reiner enjoyed transforming that boundless energy into purely abstract music. In the end, they both left us with great recordings of Symphonia Domestica.

But to buck received wisdom, there is an often underrated conductor whom I am inclined to think actually surpassed Szell and Reiner in this work, and that is Zubin Mehta. If there is one symphonic work Mehta was born to conduct, it is the Symphonia Domestica. His good-natured charm and delight buoy the orchestral effects in a way that others don’t. Szell, for all his clarity and vigor, seems a bit stiff in comparison. Reiner, for all his sonic splendor, seems unwilling to indulge in Strauss’s affectionate teasing of married life, remaining just on this side of tasteful reserve. Mehta pushes it out a little further, taking the spirited pictures for what they are: slices of the life of a successful, untroubled artist. By not shying away from the blatantly programmatic elements of this score, Mehta unexpectedly reveals that there are true depths lurking beneath the surface sentiment. While Reiner is delicate in the “Cradle Song” of the “Scherzo” section, and Szell is gentle, Mehta is the one who captures the precious magic of a quiet moment between parents and child. Likewise, in the following “Adagio”, Mehta finds the selfless devotion at the heart of the music, which the somewhat restless Szell recording misses, and the smoothly flowing Reiner smoothes over.

In separate sections, one could say that others trump Mehta, but in terms of overall excellence and coherence of vision, he comes out on top with an unhurried, spacious performance clocking in at almost 46 minutes. Szell is arguably better in the opening of the work, energetically presenting the themes with plenty of personality. His tight control never relaxes, bringing the work under the wire at almost five minutes faster than Mehta’s Berlin Philharmonic recording for CBS. Reiner, being a little more relaxed, captures more of the gentle side of the score than Szell, though without the simple sincerity of Mehta. One rare performance worth hearing is a live 1945 air check led by Bruno Walter which the New York Philharmonic released in a box set of historic broadcasts almost a decade ago; it’s still available directly from the orchestra. Walter’s tempos are as brisk as Szell’s, but despite the limited mono sound, the live concert situation proves that with a little encouragement from an audience, the over-the-top finale can truly romp. Speaking of Mehta, I have not had the chance to hear his Los Angeles Philharmonic performance of the Symphonia Domestica, and have made my above comments based on his Berlin remake, couple with a fine Burleske with Daniel Barenboim as piano soloist. But considering that Mehta’s L.A. Zarathustra and Alpine Symphony are both better than later remakes, I would love to hear his early Domestica, currently available in a Decca box set.

Ashkenazy’s orchestra is no match for the plummy perfection of Cleveland or Chicago, but their slightly leaner tone helps in terms of clarity, though Ashkenazy doesn’t do as much sonic sculpting as a Reiner or Szell. Ashkenazy’s obvious affection for the work does however remind me of Mehta. The live one-off recording preserves a fine sense of occasion, though there is little bloom to the recorded sound. I have often heard Berlin’s Philharmonie praised as a great place to hear a live concert in person, though live recordings from the venue rarely find a sweet spot for microphones, and this one is no different. Note that the total disc time listed above reflects the inclusion of about five minutes of applause which is, mercifully, separately tracked. I enjoy the sense of occasion in live recordings that keep the applause, but I can’t imagine myself wanting to re-enact a full concert scenario with endless applause very often.

As for the Mozart, I would say that most performers would not make this work a comfortable disc-mate for Symphonia Domestica, but then most performers aren’t Pinchas Zukerman. Ashkenazy very much follows his soloist’s manner, provided a fairly leisurely, well-upholstered account of the “Turkish” Concerto. Zukerman is notorious for his reactionary stance against everything associated with historically-informed playing styles. There’s probably no major violinist today who would give a more old-fashioned sounding performance of this work. Indeed, the most apt comparison would be to Zukerman’s earlier recording of the work, done in the late 1960s for Columbia, with Daniel Barenboim conducting the English Chamber Orchestra. What is truly remarkable is that forty years on, Ashkenazy’s concept remains pretty much the same. Those who like it can claim consistency, though those who doubt it can level charges of both stubbornness and lack of imagination against the violinist.

What is amusing is that as much as Zukerman fulminates against period instrument scholarship and their fussy performance practices, at least a trace element of that spirit has crept in under the door, because this performance shaves a little over a minute of the earlier rendition, without demonstrating a different concept. Ashkenazy is arguably a little lighter in touch than Barenboim, but this remains Mozart for those looking for a throwback to older styles. On the other hand, listeners interested in those styles may instead opt for the EMI recording where Yehudi Menuhin brings a little more thoughtfulness to the work, even if he didn’t have Zukerman’s rich, dark tone by the time his rendition was recorded in the early 1960s.

Interesting finds from the vaults, then, and I hope they do well enough to encourage Audite to keep digging for more treasures. Collectors and fans will enjoy the Ashkenazy-centric booklet notes (in German and English) by Habakuk Traber, which enhance the fond sense of retrospective of a well-loved conductor’s work.

Back in the days when Michael Gielen was music director of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra (how I enjoyed him, and how I miss him!), he gave a concert that frustrated and infuriated the locals weaned on tonal Romantic music but which interested and thrilled me. He alternated short orchestral pieces by Schubert with short orchestral pieces by Webern to illustrate the musical expression of the first and second Viennese schools of music.

This CD simulates that kind of concert, interspersing some nice but not always inspired male choral pieces by Schumann with vocal and instrumental music based on those themes, harmonies or rhythms by Uwe Kremp and Mark Anton Moebius. I cannot praise Kremp or Moebius highly enough for their imagination or inventiveness. In the manner of Stravinsky, or sometimes Britten and sometimes Segerstam, they either develop new melodies in the tonal style or develop new rhythmic and/or harmonic fantasies on Schumann's songs. Nor does it hurt that the chorus, Die Meistersinger, is not only first-rate in blend and precision but wholly enters the spirit of this enticing sort of fantasy. Hubert Wild, who at first sings a baritone solo, shocks the ear with a stunningly female-sounding countertenor on track 20. Very high marks for the Detmolder Horn Quartet as well.

My lone reservation about the performance is that it sounds just a tad too well rehearsed and not quite spontaneous; but this is a minor quibble, believe me. All the performers work hand-in-glove to produce not only a texturally satisfying performance but also a beautiful flow as the music weaves between Schumann and Kremp in the first half, Schumann and Möbius in the second. Kremp's music is more percussive in rhythm, Möbius's more vocal in concept and more harmonically daring, but it is a close call, and both have written highly effective pieces.

I would love to give a detailed analysis of their scores, but in the interest of space—and in the interest of wanting to leave the disc a bit of a surprise for the first-time (or third-time) listener—I shall reserve my praise to one piece each. The first variation by Kremp deconstructs the first Schumann chorus in a way that strongly reminded me of Stravinsky's work in Pulcinella and especially Le baiser de la fee, while Möbius's most stunning piece was undoubtedly his third variation on the second Schumann work, in which I almost expected the harmonies to drop through a trapdoor into a Mahler or Schoenberg-like soundscape.

Did I say how much I enjoyed this CD? Then I'll say it again. Even if you are not particularly a fan of either Schumann or male choral music (I happen to enjoy the former but am not really addicted to the latter), this CD is a must for any music-lover who considers him or herself open to new sounds and new ways of looking at older works through the mirror of a modern composer's mind.

Well done, all! Now, can we bring Michael Gielen back to Cincinnati?

The first is simple to review, because it is so different from all other recordings. There are no slow movements here. Markings like Adagio, Lento, and Largo all mean Andante to these people. So there is none of the dark, brooding Shostakovich. Instead he is rather agitated all the time. There is a feminine quality to the playing – anxious and self-conscious, sometimes even frantic.

So: do you want to hear Shostakovich done that way? I compared with the Jerusalem Quartet on Harmonia Mundi and the Eder Quartet on Naxos, and I am sure I do not want to hear it this way. Nor does the SACD sound make the slightest difference: I prefer the sound of both the others. This may be the first Shostakovich quartet series on SACD, but that doesn't matter. I see that another ARG reviewer rejected their earlier recording (of 1, 2, and 4) because they lack the darkness and intensity Shostakovich needs (Nov/Dec 2006). Right.

The Jupiter Quartet is less technically precise than the Mandelring and more emotionally involved. I find the playing rough and hardhitting. I want more beauty, more vibrato, a more refined sound. The sound is also too close-up. At least the Adagio is an adagio. In fact, tempos are rather slow, but with such strong (even brutal) attacks it seems faster. The Eder on Naxos will give you the best Shostakovich Quartet 3 you can hear.

You will be relieved to see your name on the title page of the quartet preserved for posterity. When people have forgotten your German Requiem, people will then say, 'Brahms'? Oh yes, he's the one to whom Dessoff's Op. 7 is dedicated!

The above quotation is from Felix Otto Dessoff (1835-1892), who is best known as the conductor who led the first performance of Brahms's First Symphony. Dessoff was an excellent composer who wrote only a small amount of music. It seems that he stopped composing when his conducting career demanded all of his time. He dedicated his only string quartet to Brahms, with whom he had a close friendship. He uses harmonic language that is similar to the Brahms but uses it differently. This is not a work that copies Brahms, but it shows similar influences. One influence makes itself very clear: II bears homage to II of Beethoven's Opus 59:3 (Quartet 9).

It is a shame that Dessoff only wrote one string quartet, but this is a real gem, and it holds its own next to Brahms. I find it more enjoyable to listen to than the intense Brahms A-minor (No. 2). This is part of an eye-and-ear-opening set of recordings by the Mandelring Quartet that pair Brahms's three quartets with quartets by three of his close friends. The playing by this quartet, that has siblings as three of its members, is excellent.

This is the second of Fischer-Dieskau's many recordings of Schubert's cycle. The booklet cover of this 1952 radio recording shows a still lean and hungry youth instead of the usual photo of a comfortable, middle-aged bourgeois.

Whatever one thinks of the subsequent development of Fischer-Dieskau as a singer of Lieder, there can be no doubt that this early recording of this cycle is a salient reminder of that tingle we all got in the spine when we first heard his voice. This is a young man with something interesting to say about these songs, even if it is not everything. Three aspects stand out from the first: the beauty of the voice, the absolute clarity of the diction, and a most enviable breath control that lets long phrases be neither broken nor lost.

One can praise and grumble, but I find that my notes are mostly of small things: an odd, but consistent, handling of appoggiaturas, a tendency to scoop slightly in upward leaps over a fifth, sounding a bit pressed on the high G, and other niggles. The overall result, however, is coherent within the framework of a young man's view of the cycle. This gives a song like "Täuschung" a nice lightness, but it means, in this case, that the last song, "Der Leiermann," doesn't come off with the full pathos it needs. But it's still pretty good.

The same cannot be said of his accompanist, Hermann Reutter. This may be partly due to the recording itself—the relation between singer and pianist greatly favors the singer—and to the piano, which is fairly dull, but it is also true that Reutter only really seems to catch on in the second part of the cycle.

The year 1955 brought the famous recording with Gerald Moore on EMI, whose re-release was warmly recommended by Raymond Beegle in 26:3. Though the later recording is about one minute faster overall, certain critical moments are up to half a minute slower, the last song, for instance. One cannot expect the voice to have changed too much in only three years, but the later performance evidences a slightly darker, rounder, sound, only partly due to the recording, I think. Barring the timing differences, there is a similarity to the phrasing. If you have the later recording, you will not need this new one, unless one must have everything by this singer. That said, however, this earlier version has a directness that is refreshing and I am pleased to have heard it.

The notes to this recording by Kurt Malisch are a model of malice. They praise every recording by the hero and then denigrate each and every performance by someone else. Fischer-Dieskau's interpretative claims are not strengthened by such pettiness. The insert assumes that this skewing is all we need to know about this recording and that the listener has no use for the words or their translation. Never mind. The quality of the re-mastering is excellent, the singing a pleasure. Throw away the notes and have a good time.

Il tempo che passa inesorabile livella e oscura, indebolendo i ricordi. Chi può...