Early, Classical and Beyond

Chopin – Complete Mazurkas
Janina Fialkowska
ATMA ACD2 2682

Chopin – 24 Preludes
Alain Lefèvre
Analekta AN 2 9287

Chopin – Preludes
Ingrid Fliter
Linn Records CRD 475

In the ridiculous horror-parody film, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, the bloodthirsty veggies can only be defeated when shown the sheet music of Donny Osmond. That makes them explode in fear. In the real world, the truly scary scores are those of Frédéric Chopin. The sheer complexity of the writing, the crowded added lines and bars bursting with fractal notes are enough to send a casual, sight-reading pianist scrambling. Chopin’s music requires a lot of great technique, to be sure. But technique alone is not enough – the best example of that is the pianist that this reviewer calls Bang Bang in obvious reference to his overuse of the forte pedal. Lots of bravado there, but very little heart and soul.

In fact, I would venture to say that the music of Chopin is a lot like wine – it is a result of the terroir, the quality of grapes and the winemaking technique. As for terroir, there is something magical when one hears that music at the Royal Baths Gardens in Warsaw, near the statue of Chopin (wrapped by two bronze weeping willows) or at Chopin’s family cottage in Zelazowa Wola, where his alleged piano is still in working order. Alas, that’s a pleasure not accorded to many. Still, there is something uncanny in the ability of Polish pianists to re-capture that ever-important terroir. Then there are the grapes – the beauty of Chopin’s writing was that no piece, no matter how slight, could be considered minor. The Minute Waltz, the Preludes, the Mazurkas or songs, regardless of length, command attention equal to that of the Piano Concerti. If all his scores are difficult, then the Mazurkas are particularly so, as their intuitive, internal rhythm has tripped up many a virtuoso. There is a reason, after all, for a separate award category for Mazurka interpretation at the Chopin International Piano Competition – a prize so elusive, that on several occasions it was not awarded. Finally we come to the winemaking technique. All three of the pianists in this review are no amateurs and their technique can be vouched for by the international prizes they have garnered – Ingrid Fliter was a silver medalist of the 2000 Chopin Piano Competition, Janina Fialkowska won the inaugural 1974 Arthur Rubinstein competition and Alain Lefèvre scored a JUNO, Prix Opus and ten (That’s ten!) Prix Felix. So, how do they fare?

All three discs are a true delight – so any criticism that follows will be merely an exercise in splitting hairs.

If I were to pick the weakest link, it would be the Argentine-born Ingrid Fliter. Though some would argue that hers is the finest technique of the three, her approach to Chopin is almost too conservative and because of that it seems fearful. No room for fear when playing Chopin – this is a counterphobe’s territory. I would also add that despite her triumph at the Warsaw competition, her recording pays the least homage to the actual terroir of the music. A notable exception is the “Raindrop” Prelude – possibly the best performance I have heard in years.

Lefèvre is fearless and bold, taking no prisoners in his approach and perhaps losing some clarity in the process. However, by leading with the heart, you cannot lose when playing Chopin.

Finally, Fialkowska is in fine form, proving once again that it is the combination of emotional presence, technique and experience or the grapes, terroir and winemaking, that delivers the stunning results. Hers is the crown of Mazurkas, those frustrating, intimidating gems that Schumann called “cannons under flowers” referring to their potent political message dressed as “small” piano pieces.

Étienne Moulinié – Meslanges pour la Chapelle d’un Prince
Ensemble Correspondances; Sébastien Daucé
Harmonia Mundi HMC 902194

Étienne Moulinié served for 30 years as musician to Louis XIII’s brother the Duke of Orléans; his sacred music is important to the development of mid-seventeenth-century French music. This CD brings together twelve singers in imitation of the original standard configuration, and ten musicians.

The serenity of this arrangement – together with its sometimes excitable stretches – is brought home in the first three pieces by Moulinié. Antoine Boësset’s Jesu nostra redemptio is far more spiritual, introducing parts for higher vocal registers as well as organ and viol. This ethereal quality continues in Cantate Domino (despite the words which exhort the listener to praise God with trumpets, cornets and horns – direct biblical quotations) and the organ playing of director Sébastien Daucé in O bone Jesu. Reflecting the sound choice of pieces on the CD, Boësset’s Populus meus sets words of reproach to yet another celestial arrangement.

Two allemandes by François de Chancy are included in the anthology. They demonstrate the compositions thatMoulinié could incorporate into his repertoire, reinforcing his position with the duke, and also the early stages whereby country dances such as the allemande were adopted by court circles and eventually became staples as baroque movements.

The duke took a second wife in 1632, a pious lady to whom Moulinié dedicated the most inspiring and yearning piece in this compilation. The Litanies de la Vierge comprises a series of entreaties to the Trinity and many other sacred beings. Eleven voices create a moving spirituality, imploring but never despairing.

Lamento (Kapsperger; Rossi; Carissimi; Strozzi; Frescobaldi; Monteverdi; Provenzale)
Romina Basso; Latinitas Nostra
naïve V5390

Monteverdi’s Lamento d’Arianna pioneered the art form known as the lamento, where the death of a famous figure was commemorated by a solo singer accompanied by basso continuo. In addition, techniques such as dissonant chords and melodies with wide leaps would add their own sense of lamentation.

 Latinitas Nostra is a Greek ensemble; their west-looking title refers to the flourishing Greek communities in places such as London and Venice. Soprano Romina Basso begins with Luigi Rossi’s lament by the Queen of Sweden for her husband Gustavus II Adolphus, the brilliant commander killed at Lützen in 1632. The lament combines the Queen’s sense of desperation with an exhortation to kill and strike the Germans, Spaniards and Italians without mercy. Romina Basso rises to this varied emotional challenge with passion, whether one considers this to be a true lament or a plea to crush Sweden’s enemies.

Mary Queen of Scots is the next subject of lament, in this case by Carissimi. Here the tone is again a mix of lamentation and anger: Mary protests her death sentence and expresses resentment against the English regime that created this situation. Vibrato effects enhance the sense of anger. Basso and her continuo admirably meet the demands of the lament.

 Then, one of the most accomplished lady composers of all time, Barbara Strozzi. Lagrime mie lingers over its text and uses pauses to reinforce the emotion. Strozzi’s interpretation makes full use of what one might call surges of melody to reinforce the intended effects of the lament.

And then to Monteverdi with Lamento d’Arianne in its five parts. If ever there was a fine basso continuo accompanying a lamento this was it. All the instruments involved make their presence felt, sometimes supporting and enhancing the plaintive singing, sometimes almost mocking it.

Finally, and to be frank, out of place, is Francesco Provenzale’s “lament” for Gustavus II Adolphus. This is less respectful in its lyrics, almost poking fun at his queen as she learns of his fate. There are exchanges of dialogue which, from the English translation, contain double entendres and undignified comments. In fact, this is not a solo lament; it is accompanied by other voices and the sleeve notes inform us that musicologists have not quite worked out why it was composed. It may just have coincided with Gustavus’ daughter Christina’s spectacular conversion to Catholicism in 1655.

This CD is a fine introduction to a musical form both delicate and forceful.

Rimsky-Korsakov – Scheherazade
Toronto Symphony Orchestra; Peter Oundjian
Chandos CHSA 5145

Rimsky-Korsakov – Scheherazade
Borusan Istanbul Philharmonic Orchestra; Sascha Goetzel
Onyx 4124

About half a century ago the question was asked by some aspiring record company person “How do you decide what to record?” The sage answer was “Look in the Schwann catalogue and find the most recorded work and make one more.”

The TSO disc contains a live performance from Roy Thomson Hall recorded in June 2013. The orchestra is in top form and the playing is rock solid with Oundjian conducting an interpretation that does not stray from the usual way in which this popular orchestral showpiece is heard. There are some lovely turns of phrase and the tuttis are thrillingly open and dynamic. The“star of any Scheherazade is the first violin, the voice of the storyteller who must hold the attention of the imperious Sultan Shahryār or lose her head. Concertmaster Jonathan Crow’s engaging charm makes her irresistible.
I would have liked to have the luxurious recorded sound more articulate but this is a slight quibble. The audience is not heard from but I am sure they leapt to their feet in appreciation as Toronto audiences now seem to do no matter what.

Sascha Goetzel is the Austrian music director of the Borusan Instanbul Philharmonic that began as a chamber orchestra in 1993 and was augmented to become the Philharmonic in 1999. This is their third CD. Part of the uniqueness of this Scheherazade is the use of oriental instruments. The opening of the first tale finds her accompanied, not by a harp but a qanun, a plucked zither or dulcimer-like instrument. It is innocently gentle and appropriate. Before the second movement begins there is a mood-setting solo from the oud, a lute-like instrument, and before the final movement we briefly hear the qanun which supports her in the final pages. Throughout, there is an ebullient texture to the orchestral playing, revealing subtle flavours in familiar passages, particularly the quieter episodes. The uncluttered, spacious recording is as vital as the performance. 

Balakirev’s knuckle-breaking piano spectacular Islamey is heard in the orchestration by Lyapunov and although not a major work in the great scheme of things, it is a dashing showpiece. The two Ippolitov-Ivanov Caucasian Sketches are Procession of the Sardar and a disarmingly tranquil In the Village, featuring the slightly breathy ney flute, a classical Turkish reed instrument. The final piece on this generously filled 77-minute disc, Köçekçe is new to me. It is a dance rhapsody for orchestra. Turkish composer Ulvi Cemal Erkin (1906-1972), a member of the “Turkish Five,” studied in Paris with, of course, Nadia Boulanger and Köçekçeis his most popular work.

Bottom line: Not just another Scheherazade but a unique and arresting performance with oriental overtones together with some very tasty encores, recorded to perfection. I know that it’s pedestrian but I would like to hear an all-out Polovtsian Dances from this group.

The Romantic Violin Concerto Vol.16: Busoni; Strauss
Tanja Becker-Bender; BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra; Garry Walker
Hyperion CDA68044

The 16th instalment of Hyperion’s ongoing survey of Romantic violin concertos is devoted to two early works by Richard Strauss (1864-1949) and Ferruccio Busoni (1866-1924). Though Strauss is immensely better known than his near-contemporary, his Violin Concerto is clearly the weaker of the two works. A product of his teenage years, this D minor concerto was composed in1881-2 for his violin teacher Benno Walter. While Strauss would later admit that he found learning the violin unpleasant and physically taxing, it’s quite evident he well understood the bravura aspects of the now-forgotten showpiece concertos by the likes of Ernst, Spohr and Léonard his teacher favoured. The three movements of the concerto are textbook examples of proper academic form and conventional orchestration without a trace of any distinct personality, though the sprightly finale does provide moments of comic relief from the otherwise echt-Deutsch ponderousness of this dismally anodyne work.

Thankfully a distinct voice and a fascinating amalgam of a unique pan-European viewpoint is magnificently evident in Busoni’s D-Major concerto, conceived in 1896-7 for the Dutch violinist Henri Petri (father of the pianist Egon Petri) and championed in the 20th century by Joseph Szigeti, whose still-available 1958 recording is unfortunately compromised by his arthritic condition at the time, but is musically electrifying. Were it not for Szigeti’s advocacy, Busoni might have willingly disavowed this fascinating work which grows more impressive with repeated hearings and clearly deserves a more prominent place in the violin repertoire than that afforded the Strauss concerto.

Tanja Becker-Bender, the Hamburg-based German violinist and champion of both neglected and contemporary works, is the outstanding soloist, drawing a beautiful tone from a loaned 1710 Stradivarius and exhibiting complete technical mastery. Garry Walker and the Scots BBC orchestra provide a crisp and spirited accompaniment in this nicely recorded disc. Come for the Strauss if you must, but stay for the Busoni; you won’t be disappointed.