Selten eine so audiophile und künstlerisch anspruchsvolle Einspielung von Brahms gehört. Bin sehr begeistert von dieser herrlichen CD und kann sie uneingeschränkt empfehlen.

Himmlisch! Musik in großer Besetzung (24 Stimmen in 5 Chören), für einen grandiosen Raum geschrieben (Salzburger Dom), in einem adäquaten Raum mit 4 Emporen (Kloster Muri, Schweiz) produziert und mit einer überragenden tontechnischen Leistung aufgezeichnet.

Das Stereo-Klangbild liefert eine klug gestaffelte Räumlichkeit, die über Kopfhörer abgehört, nochmals an Eindruck gewinnt. (Eine "SACD"-Version ist über Download erhältlich.)

Die Mitwirkenden musizieren in historischer Aufführungspraxis auf höchstem Niveau.

Eine Entdeckung! ("...wer kennt schon Muffat?")

Diese Werke sind meine täglichen Wegbegleiter. Deshalb besitze ich auch mehr als 15 Gesamteinspielungen der Mendelssohnschen Streichquartette. Von all diesen Einspielungen gebe ich dieser – sogar bei weitem – den Vorzug. Bei allen Parametern, nämlich Engagement, Zusammenspiel und Detailtreue liegt das Mandelring ganz vorne. Bei einigen Quartetten, etwa op. 44,2 oder op. 80 gibt es gleich gute Alternativen, aber eine Gesamteinspielung auf diesem Niveau ist einzigartig. Die ebenfalls enthaltenen Einspielungen der beiden Streichquintette und des Streichoktetts sind gleichermaßen hervorragend. Fazit: eine bessere und gleichzeitig preisgünstigere Gesamteinspielung der Mendelssohnschen Kammermusik für Streicher wird man nicht finden. Es wird für andere Formationen sehr, sehr schwierig sein, diese Leistung der Mandelrings zu toppen.

Das beste an der Aufnahme ist der enzyklopädische Wert, hat man doch alle Streicherkammermusik in einer Box vereint. Klanglich sind die Aufnahmen tadellos, aber die klanglich-technischen Mittel des Mandelring-Quartetts sind doch begrenzt. Zwar kommen viele Tempi recht forsch daher, der Klang ist aber scharf und schneidend und das Ensemble verfügt über wenig schattierte Klangfarben. Im Vergleich mit anderen Ensembles (Cherubini, Ebené) verliert das Quartett deutlich.

"Zappelmeister" konnte er nicht leiden: Carl Schuricht (1880-1967) war ganz das Gegenbild exaltierter Selbstdarsteller am Pult. Ein Dirigent alter Schule, der mit strikter Sachlichkeit und knappen Gesten großen Zauber entfalten konnte. Davon zeugen auch die klanglich brillant aufgearbeiteten Mitschnitte vom Lucerne Festival 1961/62. Die kristalline Klarheit, mit der Schuricht und Robert Casadesus in Mozarts Klavierkonzert KV 595 jede Phrase auskosten, setzt noch heute Maßstäbe. Wunderbar auch die Zweite von Johannes Brahms mit den Wiener Philharmonikern, die enorm vielschichtig, raffiniert aufgefächert und schwärmerisch aufleuchtend klingt.

Reviewers live with the frustration of how to convey music verbally, a frustration underscored by the Quartetto di Cremona. This is Vol. 7 of its complete Beethoven cycle, which has been greeted widely as intriguing and highly original. What sets these players apart comes down to an unusual quality: intellectuality. Every phrase in these two Beethoven quartets has been thrust under a mental microscope. Let me quote from a 2014 interview that violist Simone Gramaglia gave, where the question of vibrato comes up. The interviewer comments that in their account of the “Razumovsky” Quartet No. 2, the use of vibrato seems to be minimized.

It was far from a simple topic to Gramaglia: “[Vibrato] is a matter of the performers’ taste but also of structure….In op. 59 no. 2 there are many sections in E minor that are very dark but not as dark as, for example, in the tonality of C minor. There are many extremes of violence, and it’s very important to bring brightness into the darkness.” Brightness is interpreted as calling for no vibrato in this case. Gramaglia goes on to talk about how expressivity doesn’t necessarily mean the use of vibrato; there is a wide range of bowing techniques as well as the contract point of the bow on the string that must be considered.

The interviewer is intrigued by the PR blurb for the same recording, which says, “Beethoven’s musical language is no longer balanced and ‘well seasoned’ like that of his contemporaries but is extreme in every respect—ruthless and with feeling, dramatically operatic, and full of contrapuntal finesse.” It’s very promising that so much analytical attention is being applied to middle-period Beethoven (I’ve barely skimmed the surface of the interview), and the resulting performance on this new recording of the “Razumovsky” Quartet No. 3 is original to the point of being peculiar. As much ingenuity is applied to the details of sonority as if we were hearing one of Bartók’s later quartets. In fact, I’ve never encountered Beethoven played in such a piercing, at times existential, hollow, despairing, and alienated manner. Delivering a moment of charm is almost a betrayal of the ethos the Quartetto di Cremona wants to convey.

Typically, a group that plays the drawn-out chords of the Introduzione without vibrato would be making a period performance gesture. Here, however, the effect is stark, a slash-and-burn that is unabashed. But then what to do when the main Allegro vivace, with its boisterous major-key exuberance, contradicts the opening? The same dilemma arises in the second movement, where a certain poised lightness is implied by the marking Andante con moto quasi allegretto. The Cremona rocks back and forth with a questioning pulse that’s neurotically moody. Once again it’s very effective, but the gentle strain that comes up in the violins isn’t remotely this eerie as Beethoven scores it.

One can point to many imaginative details—they crop up in practically every measure—and after a certain point the listener must either give in or rebel. I find myself strongly on the side of giving in and appreciating with fascination how a familiar work is suddenly made to sound new. The Cremonas have made the point in print that Beethoven’s mature quartets are highly intellectual and deserve this kind of intense scrutiny. The scherzo creeps in on cat’s paws and really does remind me of the lopsided Hungarian dance rhythms of Bartók. The most divisive movement is the finale, where the marking of Allegro molto is injected here with amphetamines, turning into a manic Presto that to me sounds breathless. In all fairness, however, the 5:46 timing isn’t radically faster than the Alban Berg Quartet’s 6:01 from that ensemble’s first Beethoven cycle (EMI/Warner).

The second quartet from the op. 18 set fulfills Monty Python’s “and now for something completely different.” The Hamlet-like mood of the Cremonas’ “Razumovsky” performance is discarded in favor of comic relief. Using a bright tone made brighter without vibrato, they take the first movement and extend its Haydnesque animation into Beethoven’s unbuttoned brio. The four members of the Quartetto di Cremona—Cristiano Gualco and Paolo Andreoli, violins, Simone Gramaglia, viola, and Giovanni Scaglione, cello—are carefree and confident no matter how fast the passagework is. Every movement of their op. 18/2 wears a smile, and the performance exults in its own playfulness. The ensemble’s tone changes in weight and color quite impressively to match the moment, although the general tendency is toward a contemporary lightness and even edginess.

In all, this is a disc that makes me want to hear all of the Cremonas’ Beethoven to date. In the Fanfare Archive I found only one review so far, Jerry Dubins’s of Vol. 2 from 2014, which pairs the Second “Razumovsky” with op. 127. He seconds my opinion that this is a group to get excited about. Bright, lifelike sound from Audite adds to the immediacy of the performances.

I happen to be one of those (probably rare) listeners for whom Stravinskian Neoclassicism constitutes daily bread. I could listen to this kind of music literally every day, and a disc of Stravinsky’s violin music is enough to put me in seventh heaven. While this recording does not include the cool and cerebral Duo concertant, Stravinsky’s masterpiece in the violin-and-piano medium, it does make us aware of what a good piece the often overlooked Divertimento is. It is an arrangement of movements from the ballet The Fairy’s Kiss, which is in turn based on early piano pieces and songs of Tchaikovsky. Like many of Stravinsky’s works in this medium, it originated as an effort to create repertoire for him and violinist Samuel Dushkin to play on their tours together. Similar to much of Stravinsky’s work from Petrushka on, the five-movement suite is a sort of apotheosis of 19th-century salon music. Notable is how Stravinsky often lets Tchaikovsky’s melodies speak for themselves rather than throwing them off-kilter in his usual fashion. There is more sweetness and affection than irony in this particular hommage.

These performances by the Russian violinist Liana Gourdjia are thoughtful, measured, and alive to the quiet moments of reflective beauty in Stravinsky’s music. Many a violinist has tried to play Stravinsky as if he were Borodin or Glazunov, and so Gourdjia’s restrained, sensitively varied tone is most welcome. The partnership of Gourdjia and Katia Skanavi is defined by filigree counterpoint, careful articulation, and wit. Listen, for instance, to the delightful rubato they apply to the Pas de deux of the Divertimento. The last movement of the Divertimento is a delightful romp, the two musicians enjoying its quirky eccentricity.

My test for a Stravinsky violinist is how he or she handles something as simple as the Serenata or Gavotta of the Suite italienne. Pieces like these (one might also mention Ravel’s Tombeau de Couperin) reflect a distinctive post-World War I mood, a nostalgic backward glance backward to a gentler epoch. It was from such works that the Neoclassical movement grew. When done just right, the haunting quality of these pieces can make your throat ache; Gourdjia and Skanavi achieve this.

In the concerto, Gourdjia reveals the Russian hearth that lies behind the work’s Neoclasssical facade, as shown in the many passages of joyous “fiddler on the roof” scratching and scraping. In these passages Gourdjia flashes and slashes, not attempting to make the rough places plain. (Compare her tensile declamation of the Aria I with Hilary Hahn’s smooth cantilena on her Sony recording.) On the debit side, the more deliberate tempos often result in a loss of energy and drive. This is particularly true of the Capriccio, which lacks the brio and sense of catharsis it has in some performances; one has the impression that Gourdjia wants this movement to go faster. There are, moreover, a couple of crucial moments—such as the opening of Aria II—where Gourdjia and the orchestra are not glued together as closely as they might be.

For listeners who are primarily interested in the concerto (which is not “rarely performed,” as the blurb on the back of the disc has it) there are many other versions to choose from; my favorites are those by Hahn and Anne-Sophie Mutter, both of which outshine this one. But what sets this disc apart is the unique combination of pieces. Where else can you find this assortment of miniatures—transcriptions of movements from earlier works including Mavra, Petrushka and The Firebird? Stravinsky’s reinvention of a Tango (transcribed from the original for piano) has playful mischief, and the Chanson Russe (transcribed from Mavra) a songful pathos in these accounts.

So, a few reservations about the concerto but none whatsoever about the other works, especially the Divertimento which sounds most satisfying. Gourdjia’s playing combines Classical restraint and Russian fervor. It’s unfortunate she avoided the Duo concertant, and I hope she records it in future. With excellent recorded sound, this disc is recommended to Stravinskians as well as violin lovers who are normally resistant to Stravinsky.

My introduction to this fine German brass ensemble came only recently, in a recording of lively big band-style arrangements (M/J 2017: 155). This program is nothing like that one, though there are big-band moments. Actually, I am smitten.
After an exciting account of the little Toccata from Monteverdi’s Orfeo, next comes my number one favorite piece of music: Giovanni Gabrieli’s profound ‘Sonata Pian’ e Forte’. It is also a brass-ensemble test piece. Can they express the sadness, beauty, wonder, and courage without taking the bait and playing giant fortissimos instead of dignified fortes? In this case, the answer is yes. Salaputia Brass maintains gravity and taste at all times. They could go a little slower and express more depth of feeling, give the impression they don’t want this wondrous work to end. But it is a lovely reading, and so are their accounts of four other Gabrieli canzonas. In the little ‘La Spiritata’ quartet, they do interesting things with articulation and add tasteful yet virtuosic ornaments. In the famous ‘Canzon per Sonar Septimi Toni 2’ they seem ready to end with a very loud chord, but instead they make it golden. The lively triple-meter portions are given dance pulses and articulations. This brass ensemble really understands Gabrieli’s music.

How about the rest of the program? It is wonderful. I am moved and impressed by Boris Netsvetaev’s arrangements of Gershwin’s ‘Summertime’, Duke Ellington’s ‘Come Sunday’, and the spirituals ‘Sometimes I feel Like a Motherless Child’ and ‘Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen’.

Toru Takemitsu’s little 2-movement, 5-minute Signals from Heaven also manages to recall Gabrieli while indulging in rich harmonies.

Belgian trumpeter Jeroen Berwaerts is the center of attention in this recording. I have heard him in excellent albums by Stockholm Chamber Brass (J/A 2013: 171) and of the Hindemith brass sonatas (M/J 2015). Here he is not only solo trumpeter but also vocalist in ‘Summertime’ and three spirituals. He has a terrific voice and singing style.

The album ends with Peter Dorpinghaus’s setting of ‘Swing Low’, which begins with a long and beautiful study on Gabrieli’s ‘Sonata Pian’e Forte’. Berwaerts then sings the song, there is a moment of call-and-response singing (with brass players who sing very well), and then the arranger has a field day, moving skillfully from one style to another. At the very end of this amazing album, and especially in the very last chord, the players finally let loose with some brilliance.

leider kein Sendebeleg verfügbar!...

Mozarts letztes Klavierkonzert mit dem Pianisten Robert Casadesus: singend, klar, das Orchester, klassizistisch hingetupft der Klavierpart. Ruhig fließend auch der Brahms mit den Wienern, durchaus jedoch mit eigenwilligen Farbgebungen und Temporückungen.