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"Violoncelle Français" is the DEBUT album of German recording label audite's YOUNGEST artists to date, and this release marks the beginning of an audite recording series with the Cheng² Duo. The album has received excellent reviews internationally within a short time of its recent release – listeners have been raving about "the feelings it stirs", "the human voice the cello represents", "the perfect company for long road trips", "music that one wants to go back to frequently", and "a CD worth purchasing in many ways".

Named one of CBC Music’s 2015 “30 hot Canadian classical musicians under 30”, the Cheng² Duo (pronounced Cheng Squared Duo) now presents its debut album with German classical label audite. The brother-and-sister duo’s playing is steeped in a rare balance of unfiltered youthful joy and enthusiasm in their playing on one hand, and mature, historically informed, and profound interpretations on the other, commanding attention from the very first note.

This first disc makes the panorama of French chamber music for the cello and piano written between the 1860s and the 1910s come alive in all its diversity: from beloved sonatas whose composers mainly drew on the tradition of romantic composers, to modern impressionist works, to character pieces which formed part of the repertoire performed in sophisticated salons. Treasured compositions by Claude Debussy, César Franck, Gabriel Fauré, and Camille Saint-Saëns, and two additional bonus tracks (excerpts of French Baroque composer Louis Francœur’s Sonata in E Major in arrangements by Jean-Delphin Alard and Arnold Trowell) are featured.

A second recording of Spanish works for cello and piano is already being planned for August 2017.

La sonate de Debussy est la pièce maîtresse de ce disque. Les deux prodiges en donnent une interprétation très claire, très construite, très poétique.

La sonate de Debussy est la pièce maîtresse de ce disque. Les deux prodiges en donnent une interprétation très claire, très construite, très poétique.

Georg Muffat's oeuvre is not that large, but his is one of the fairly well-known names in music history. This is largely due to the fact that he was among the first advocates of the goût réunis — the mixture of elements of the Italian and the French style — in his compositions. This was not only for artistic reasons; Muffat also had political motifs: "The warlike weapons and their causes are far from me; the notes, strings, and lovely musical sounds are my daily preoccupation, and as I mix the French style with that of the Germans and the Italians, I don't make war but probably give to those people an example of desired harmony and sweet peace." One could call him a true European.

The largest part of his oeuvre comprises instrumental works. His first printed edition was Armonico tributo (1682), a set of five-part sonatas for strings and basso continuo. It was influenced by Corelli's concerti grossi he had heard during a stay in Rome. The French style, which he had learned from Lully, comes especially to the fore in two collections entitled Florilegium musicum (1695 and 1698). Muffat was educated as an organist and held several positions in this capacity. His only organ works, published in 1690 as Apparatus musico-organisticus, show the influence of the greatest Italian keyboard masters of the 17th century, Girolamo Frescobaldi and Bernardo Pasquini. The main work on the present disc is also influenced by Italy, especially by the polychoral music written in Venice since the late 16th century.

The Missa in labore requies is one of a number of large-scale festive masses written in Austria, Bohemia and southern Germany in the late 17th century. The best-known example is the Missa Salisburgensis, attributed to Heinrich Ignaz Franz von Biber. It is not known for which occasion Muffat wrote his mass but it was performed in Passau, where he was Kapellmeister from 1690 until his death in 1704. The name of the mass is also a bit of a mystery. It refers to a line in the Pentecostal sequence Veni Sancte Spiritus: "In labour, rest, in heat, temperance, in tears, solace." Ernst Hintermaier, in his liner notes, writes that the title is "rather unusual for the time and could point to the episcopal consecration on Pentecost Sunday in Passau Cathedral". He adds, however, that it may also refer to Muffat's time in Salzburg. He worked there for some time alongside Biber and felt "the envy and resentment of his colleagues", which he mentions in the preface to the Ausserlesene Instrumental-Music of 1701.

The mass is a relatively late discovery. It was known for some time, but classified in the category of doubtful compositions by Muffat. That seems to be why it did not receive much attention. Nowadays there is no doubt about its authenticity. It was not Muffat's only sacred work. His successor in Passau, Benedikt Anton Aufschnaiter, reported that he composed three masses, an Offertory and two Salve Reginas and that at the end of his life he regretted that he had not composed more. Unfortunately, the other pieces have been lost. This mass is the only specimen of his skills in the composition of vocal music which has come down to us. The quality is such that one can only agree with Muffat: it is a pity he did not compose more. It is not inferior to other music of the time, such as the masses and other sacred music from Biber's pen.

In works like this Mass the splendour is obviously of greater importance than text expression. Moreover, it is only natural that many textual details are lost in the large spaces in which such polychoral works were performed. Add to that the inclusion of a battery of wind instruments — cornetts, trumpets and sackbuts plus timpani — and one will understand that there are not that many moments of text expression. Performing this Mass is not easy. One needs a large space and at the same time the structure needs to be as clear and as transparent as possible. The Abbey Church in Muri in Switzerland is perfectly suited for a work like this. The 24 parts are divided into five "choirs", two vocal and three instrumental. These are situated on the floor in the centre of the abbey and on the four balconies in the corners. This allows for spatial effects in the dialogue between the groups. The eight solo voices are joined in the tutti by sixteen ripieno voices. The balance between the voices and the instruments, as well as the acoustics, are not without problems. The singers are sometimes not quite up to the instruments and often the text is hard to understand.

In this respect the recording directed by Gunar Letzbor is a little better. That is probably due to the generally slower tempi, although the difference is not substantial. Other factors could be the clearer articulation and the fact that Letzbor has only twelve singers (soloists and repienists) to the 24 in this recording. What choice is more in line with the circumstances in Muffat's time is impossible to say. Musically a smaller ensemble seems preferable. In Letzbor's recording the top lines are sung by boys, which is certainly in accordance with the practice at the time, although it is perfectly possible that in Muffat's time castratos have been involved. From that perspective I prefer Letzbor's performance but there is certainly much which speaks in favour of the present recording, for instance the quality of the singers and players involved. The soloists are all specialists and they do a fine job here.

Whereas Letzbor confines himself to the Mass, this disc also includes some instrumental music by people from Muffat's time (Biber) and the previous generation (Bertali, Schmelzer). Their works are representative of what was written and appreciated in Austria in the second half of the 17th century, especially at the imperial court in Vienna. These pieces are mostly multifunctional. They could be played at the court, for instance during dinner, or as part of the liturgy, for instance as substitutes for the antiphons following a psalm in a Vespers service or as Epistle music (to be sung during Mass between Epistle and Gospel). That is expressed in the titles of the collections from which the pieces by Biber and Schmelzer are taken: "sonatas serving both the altar and the court" (Biber), "sacred and profane ensemble music" (Schmelzer). Biber's pieces are for strings, Schmelzer's Sonata XII is in seven parts divided into two choirs, performed here with wind instruments. Bertali's sonatas, preserved in manuscript, are for three choirs of wind and strings. Biber's sonatas are very well known but Schmelzer's sonatas less so, and Bertali is still only at the beginning of being rediscovered and fully appreciated. These instrumental pieces, a worthwhile addition to Muffat's Mass, receive a brilliant and engaging performance. Here the space is less of a problem than in the vocal music.

[...] das Streichquartett Nr. 1 zeigt eine tiefe Innerlichkeit, bricht aber immer wieder emotional aus: Kongenial komponiert und interpretiert: Strukturell klar und elegant, nicht überbauschend expressiv.

I’m not sure what happened to Volume II in the Swiss Piano Trio’s ongoing Beethoven cycle, but in 39:1 I gave high marks to the ensemble’s Volume I, and here is Volume III. Volume II does exist. It was released a year ago and contained the G-Major Trio, op. 1/2, and the “Ghost” Trio, op. 70/1; but I know I didn’t receive it, and it doesn’t look like any of my colleagues did either. Be that as it may, I’ve received other Swiss Piano Trios releases that have come to me for review—namely Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Eduard Franck—and have had high praise for all of them. That continues to be the case with this new release.

In keeping to its commitment to record Beethoven’s complete works for violin, cello, and piano—as have the Trio Élégiaque and others—the Swiss Piano Trio here includes one of the composer’s early, offbeat works, the Variations on an Original Theme, op. 44. The advanced opus number reflects the date of publication by Franz Hoffmeister in 1804, a dozen years after the piece is believed to have been written in 1792. If the theme is “original” (questionable to begin with), little else about the score is.

Beethoven borrowed heavily from Carl von Dittersdorf’s opera Das rote Käppchen (The Little Red Cap). Nonetheless, as Richard Rodda wrote, “Beethoven worked 14 conventional variations and a coda into this lean material, allowing all three instruments leading moments and eliciting some deeper emotions with two minor-key episodes. It’s an example of Beethoven spinning gold, or at least silver, from humble materials.” Beethoven’s first works to receive official publication, his op. 1, was a set of three piano trios in 1795, but it’s known that they were first performed in the house of Prince Lichnowsky, their dedicatee, in 1793, which means they had to be composed around the same time as the foregoing variations. Third in the set, the C-Minor Trio already exhibits the emotional intensity and angst that so shocked his early Viennese audiences and that catapulted his music from polite drawing-room society into the public arena.

Some 16 years later, in 1808, Beethoven set about composing another two piano trios, this time published as a pair under the opus number 70. It’s rather amazing to think about the works Beethoven turned out in those intervening years, not just the number of them, but the import of those works to music history—six of his nine symphonies, all of his early and middle string quartets, 23 of his 32 piano sonatas, all but the last of his concertos, and the list goes on. But the second of Beethoven’s two op. 70 Piano Trios, not unlike several of his other works, not to mention works by other composers as well, has been relegated to a lower status simply due to its proximity to another like work made popular by a nickname. Op. 70/1, dubbed the “Ghost,” enjoys greater recognition because of its nickname.

Personally, I’ve always found its nameless companion, op, 70/2, included on the present release, the more interesting of the two works. For one thing, Beethoven devotes the first half of the development section to exploring the first movement’s second theme, unusual enough in itself, but what he does with it is truly breathtaking, as he passes phrases back and forth between the instruments while modulating through a number of keys. Then midway through, there’s a false recapitulation that fools you into thinking the reprise has arrived when, in fact, the development still hasn’t run its course. The following Allegretto is one of those enigmatic scherzo-like movements that begins almost flippantly and then turns suddenly militant and menacing. Is it a joke? What does it mean? The third movement, another Allegretto, this time ma non troppo, is perhaps the most beautiful movement of all; if not that, then surely it points to those moments in Beethoven’s late piano sonatas and string quartets in which he achieves a sense of ecstatic expectancy and quiet rapture in phrases that seem strangely incomplete, yet searching for fulfillment. The principal theme of this Allegretto poses the same sense of yearning for some resolution that Beethoven never gives us, as he repeats the melody over and over again. The finale is an explosion of pure unbridled joy that wants to break the bonds of the instruments that constraint it.

With this latest release by the Swiss Piano Trio I’m prepared to double down, even triple down on every admiring and praiseworthy thing I’ve said about this ensemble. For some time now, I’ve been extolling the virtues of the Trio Élégiaque’s Beethoven piano trio cycle, and I’m not about to change my mind about it, but I will say that the Swiss Piano Trio’s cycle is shaping up to be every bit as superb. These are exceptionally gifted players who perform with unerring technical perfection and instinctive musical intelligence that never misjudges the significance of a single note. Very, very strongly recommended.

Paul Kletzki was born in 1900 and died two weeks short of his 73rd birthday. A native of Poland, he moved to Germany in 1921 with the intention of being a composer and found some success there before departing in 1933 with the arrival of Nazism. Mussolini’s turn toward anti-Semitism drove him from Italy in 1936. After a few years in the Soviet Union, he departed for his final home, Switzerland, in 1939. Claiming that Nazism had destroyed his creativity, he gave up composing in 1942 and concentrated on conducting. Between 1958 and 1970, he served, at various times, as chief conductor of the Liverpool Philharmonic, the Dallas Symphony Orchestra, and L’Orchestre de la Suisse Romande. The performances listed above are taken from what is described as a charity concert … more on that later.

I wonder if the concert featured the pieces in the order in which they appear on the CD; it seems to me that Beethoven and Schubert followed by Brahms would have been the likely order. These are certainly high-quality, intelligent performances with subtle tempo changes and an intelligent use of dynamics for dramatic emphasis. Interestingly, in the Passacaglia of the Brahms Fourth, he doesn’t even pretend to keep a steady tempo, letting each variation “speak for itself” with considerable success. As imposing as it may be, this performance is like a major step on the way to his superior (and two-channel) studio recording for EMI. The Schubert “Unfinished” is, if anything, even better, with the same flexible tempos and dynamic contrasts helping the music to tell its story. After these two achievements, the strong performance of the Leonore No. 3 is almost anti-climactic.

Speaking of the dynamic contrasts that Kletzki uses to such good effect, they are sabotaged to some extent by an unexpected intrusion—anything below mf is accompanied by the annoying swish of a stylus traversing the grooves of what I take to be a transcription disc. Are the performances actually from a “charity concert”? Could be, but the audience is astonishingly healthy and polite—there’s no shuffling, no coughing, and no applause whatsoever. As it happens, Kletzki made English Columbia 78s of all three works—the Beethoven and Schubert with the Philharmonia Orchestra and the Brahms with the Lucerne Festival Orchestra (!). In addition, I perceived what seemed to be a side break in the Brahms Symphony. All of these coincidences (?) may be explicable but I thought I should mention them. My speculations do not diminish my respect for the performances themselves, but they do have me wondering.

Whenever I confront a new Prokofiev CD—this issue of Fanfare brought four of them—his circumstances in the Soviet Union can’t help but come to mind. Biographers find it hard to show Prokofiev’s emotional insularity in a good light when Shostakovich was so achingly empathic over the suffering all around him (he once commented that every movement in his symphonies was a memorial). But by 1938, the year the First Violin Sonata was begun, people close to Prokofiev were being arrested, taken away, and quickly killed, including the general director of the Bolshoi, Vladimir Mutnykh, who had commissioned Romeo and Juliet. The only one to survive, after five years in the Gulag, was stage director Natalya Sats, who had commissioned Peter and the Wolf. It took eight years before Prokofiev completed the sonata, but in the end it emerged as almost the only pure expression of grief-filled tragedy in his output. For once, he can’t be resented for not being Shostakovich (which, of course, was unfair to begin with—surviving Stalin’s terrorist regime took whatever it took).

In this new release the intensely serious violinist Franziska Pietsch expresses a strong personal connection with the piece, in that she was born in East Germany, coddled and supported as a child star by the government, only to be oppressed for two years after her father escaped to the West in 1984. After her own emigration in 1986 and a peripatetic education that included studies with Dorothy DeLay at Juilliard, Pietsch has had a varied career as a concertmaster, touring soloist, and chamber music player. I first noticed her as a member of the accomplished Testore Trio, a group she helped found in Germany in 2000 and only recently left in 2015. I was quite impressed by their disc of Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff piano trios (Fanfare 38:5).

All of this is prelude to a powerful performance of the Prokofiev First Violin Sonata that vies with brooding, dark readings from luminaries such as David Oistrakh and Sviatoslav Richter or Gidon Kremer and Martha Argerich. The score’s four movements, lasting a few seconds shy of half an hour, are a stark testimonial to a time of horror, yet one feels Prokofiev’s struggle to suppress his general extroversion, Romantic lyricism, and cheerful animation. Those qualities were saved for the Second Violin Sonata, written during the war years when the First Sonata was still laid aside. Originally scored for flute and piano, the Second Sonata was transcribed for violin with the aid of David Oistrakh; Prokofiev noted that the transferal of the flute part was relatively easy and that the piano part remained basically untouched.

Pietsch and her longtime duo partner, Detlev Eisinger, concede nothing to more famous rivals in terms of agonized emotion and a willingness to dig deep into the core of the music. To some extent the reading sounds artificially outsized because of the roomy, boomy acoustic in which it was recorded and the enormous dynamic range captured by the engineers (this isn’t an easy CD to find the right volume level for). It’s hard to return willingly or often to the dystopian gloom of the First Violin Sonata, and I must admit that Pietsch’s approach, although not as savage as some (I have Isaac Stern in mind), left me shaken. In the Second Sonata, best loved for its beautifully lyrical first movement and striding, confident finale, Pietsch and Eisinger remain more serious than other performers who take their cue from the gentle flute original. But it’s quite valid to exploit the violin’s expressive range in its own right.

The program is filled out with another transcription, the Cinq Mélodies, op. 35b, written in Chicago and California in 1919–20, after Prokofiev’s initial exile from Russia. Probably inspired by the vocalises written by Rachmaninoff and Ravel, the original version was for wordless soprano. This proved impractical, however, and the songs only gained popularity after being transcribed for violin. Besides the fact that the melodies themselves are uncharacteristically generic for Prokofiev, the violin part has very limited technical display. One listen-through seemed sufficient. Pietsch’s reading is sympathetic and adroit.

Altogether, this new release presents a rare bond between one artist and a particular score. If a single performance could qualify for my 2016 Want List, it would be Pietsch’s account of the Prokofiev First Violin Sonata. It won’t soon fade from memory.

This is the sixth and final volume of Audite’s survey of the complete symphonic works of Robert Schumann. As is often the case with such productions, the last volume is the mop-up of miscellanea and usually seldom heard music. The Manfred Overture that opens the program is by far the best-known work here. It bursts forth with the heft and swagger that has been noted with unanimity by previous Fanfare reviewers of this series. Nearly all of the music on this CD is inspired by literature, and Holliger and his Cologne based band play with a fearless sense of theatricality. I will also echo my colleagues in praise of the orchestra’s lucidity of texture (it has been suggested that the use of smaller string sections in the WDR Symphony Orchestra helps to achieve this, although there is nothing in the notes for this volume to corroborate that claim) and for the excellence of the Audite audio engineering, a quality I am well familiar with from other Audite recordings.

While there are no revelations in this program, the music is generally of high quality, even though it comes from the end of Schumann’s career, perhaps something of a rejoinder to the “truism” that Schumann’s abilities and imagination had eroded somewhat at this point. The problem for the listener, at least this one, is that the blustery nature of this dramatic music becomes a bit wearisome by the end of a complete listening. In hindsight, it may have made more sense to have included these dramatic overtures in more varied programs of symphonies and concertos, as is usually the practice in presenting such work. The exception is the early attempt at symphonic writing by a 21-year-old Schumann, the incomplete Symphony in G-Minor, named for the city it was premiered in, Zwickau. It is replete with lovely writing, with the composer’s signature firmly in place.

The complete set of Schumann orchestral music by these forces is certainly a success by almost any measure. I would offer one caveat, and that is that the WDR SO, while excellent and a great pleasure to hear, lacks the ultimate degree of polish and finesse of the top-tier orchestras of the world. But I’m not sure how much that matters in this material, given that a certain degree of lustiness, if anything, enhances the expressiveness of the music.