Early, Classical and Beyond

Liszt Metamorphosis
Charlotte Hu
Pentatone PTC 5187 259 (pentatonemusic.com/pianist-charlotte-hu-presents-liszt-metamorphosis)

It has been said that Franz Liszt quarried all available musical sources and reworked the material into showstoppers that revealed he could play octaves faster and hit the keys harder than anyone else; to even break piano keys. However, as these performances reveal that while there may indubitably be more than a dash of the showman in Liszt, his contribution to the development of 19th century music was immense. His pianistic fireworks represent just the surface, for in his symphonic approach to music he anticipated the tone poems of Strauss, the fluid structures of Wagner and the passionate romanticism of Schubert and Schumann. 

It may take more than one disc such as Liszt Metamorphosis from the prodigiously gifted pianist Charlotte Hu to demonstrate what Liszt’s enduring legacy did for not simply piano repertoire, but for music as a whole. However, Hu’s uncommonly deep dive into Liszt’s conception – and her own artistry – is a wonderful start. 

Liszt’s shining genius – and Hu’s own transmutation – is evident in the overwhelmingly powerful and authoritative readings of this performance. Hu unveils passion and piety in the Schubert transcriptions, especially Ave Maria (D 389), and the hair-raising Erlkönig (D.328).

To play Liszt’s 3 Concert Etudes S.144 requires formidable technique. To play them so that the poetry (rather than the effort) shines through – as in No. 3 Un Suspiro – requires a gift afforded to few. Hu’s Liszt shows her to be at the apogee of her art.

Johannes Brahms – The Symphonies
Chamber Orchestra of Europe; Yannick Nézet-Séguin
Deutsche Grammophon 486 6000 (deutschegrammophon.com/en/catalogue/products/brahms-the-symphonies-yannick-nezet-seguin-13508)

“I shall never write a symphony! You have no idea what it’s like, how hard it is to compose when always you hear the footsteps of that giant marching behind you,” Brahms wrote in a letter to the conductor Herman Levi in 1872, when he (Brahms) was 40 years old. So deeply had he struggled to write his first symphony, his early years spent in fear of being compared with Beethoven, that his first symphony didn’t see the light of day until 1876. 

Within a decade he had completed his second, third and fourth symphonies, a sequence so revered that many declared them to be the most distinguished symphonic music since Beethoven. Hans von Bulow, who conducted the premiere of Symphony No.4, famously declared that his favourite key was E flat (signified by the letter b in German),  for its three flat notes symbolised for him the “Holy Trinity” of Bach, Beethoven and now Brahms. 

No such shadows pursue Yannick Nézet-Séguin as he conducts the Chamber Orchestra of Europe through his cycle of Johannes Brahms: The Symphonies. He appears unfazed despite the fact that he follows such giants as Wilhelm Furtwangler whose 1940s/1950s cycle seethes with brooding energy and an overriding sense of tragedy. Nor is he affected by Herbert von Karajan’s traditionalist cycle. He does appear to give Nikolaus Harnoncourt’s brilliant cerebral cycle on period instruments a run for its money, though.  

The quality of the conducting by Nézet-Séguin, and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe’s playing on this cycle, is altogether exceptional. Nézet-Séguin takes nothing for granted in his Brahms, nor should we while listening, even if you know how Brahms “goes.” Not that he does anything wildly idiosyncratic, let alone provocatively iconoclastic, à la Glenn Gould and Leonard Bernstein. Rather, he plainly understands that every interpretation is just one possibility, and he offers us a very enticing opportunity to open our minds, especially to a familiar composer (and his works) most burdened by the weight of his great idol who bridged between the German Classical and Romantic tradition.

In the mighty rumble of timpani that opens the first movement of Symphony No.1 in C Minor Op.68 we find drama and power, followed by epic strivings, that develop into exultant triumphalism. At the end of the fourth movement we marvel at the degree of sage poetry that Nézet-Séguin imparts to Brahms’ epic achievement. This is followed by the refined, lustrous orchestral performance of Symphony No.2 in D Major Op.73. Particularly impressive are the massed cellos in their great melody in the slow movement, and the finale which develops bounding energy as it progresses.

Nézet-Séguin’s use of pivotal phrases to change the pace and emotional temperature allows him to suggest immense breadth of emotion coloured by an autumnal resignation in Symphony No.3 in F Major Op.90. Nézet-Séguin’s shepherding of the orchestra in an emotional rollercoaster of a performance of Symphony No.4 in E Minor Op.98 highlights the inner logic of Brahms’ brilliantly grave symphonic work. The performance of No.4 is evocative only of Carlos Kleiber’s version with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Nézet-Séguin certainly challenges that great master in the command of orchestral colour and electrifying dynamism in his performance. Overall we have a cycle of Brahms that is superlatively judged by Nézet-Séguin on his own terms. Bravo!

Forgotten Sounds
Graeme Steele Johnson; various artists
Delos DE3603 (naxos.com/CatalogueDetail/?id=DE3603)

Whether ‘tis nobler to let sleeping dogs lie, some folks will play archaeologist and unearth the bones of former titans, or giants, or mere mortals perhaps. Such is the admirable effort displayed on this disc by clarinetist Graeme Steele Johnson, assisted by some very fine chamber players. Forgotten Sounds is the title of both the album and the last track, an arrangement of Charles Loeffler’s pretty little bit of fluff originally for voice and piano, here played by Johnson with Bridget Kibbey on harp.

The centrepiece of this disc is Loeffler’s Octet (clarinets, strings and harp) discovered and recomposed by Johnson. It includes two clarinet parts just as Brahms’ original sketches for a nonet* did. Coincidence, you ask? Hmmm.  

Loeffler is referred to as a “cosmopolitan” composer, a European living in the U.S, acclaimed in his lifetime, ignored since. His style places him in the conservative end of the spectrum of post-Brahmsians, tonally less inventive than either Schoenberg or Zemlinksy, with quirky structural and timbral tropes both puzzling but pleasant. There’s no way of knowing how much the piece reflects decisions only the arranger could make, but verbatim it seems, like Saint-Saëns, Loeffler “lacked only inexperience.” Some of his compositional gambits make me wonder whether he wasn’t a bit cynical, providing what was expected of a European artist. Unoriginal post-colonial kitsch, if you will. 

A reduction for similar forces (minus clarinet two) opens the proceedings with a version of Prelude à l’après-midi d’un faune. Steele’s arrangement gives pride of place to the flute voice, played with enchanting lyricism by Ji Weon Ryu. Loeffler’s dabs of whole-tone scale colour indicates he respected the Frenchman’s music enough to borrow some of it for his own piece.

*(An aside: Brahms’ didn’t publish his nonet; it was rescued by his editor, with Brahms’ consent. Brahms showed the original chamber piece to Clara Schumann, who prompted him to rework it for orchestra. Eager to please, he abandoned his notion of answering the Beethoven Septet, and Schubert Octet. Using the same content he wrote his first orchestral serenade. Thank goodness for that editor, it’s a truly lovely chamber work.)

Schoenberg – Verklärte Nacht; Strauss – Eine Alpensinfonie
Vienna Philhamonic; Christian Thielemann
Cmajor DVD 766908 (naxos.com/CatalogueDetail/?id=766908)

Both of these celebrated tone poems were initially conceived in the final year of the 19th century. Schoenberg composed his string sextet in a mere three weeks; it took Strauss sixteen years and several false starts to complete his far more massive work. Curiously, both works begin with a similar slowly descending scale pattern.

Schoenberg’s work is presented here in his 1946 version for string orchestra, which is itself a minor revision of an earlier edition from 1917. A performance with a full string section (including eight double basses) always carries with it a risk of bloviation, but fortunately Christian Thielemann, with the sensitive assistance of concertmaster Rainer Honeck, manages to preserve the intimacy of the original chamber setting while providing moments of high passion when appropriate. Altogether, it’s a beautiful performance indeed.

The stage is packed to the gills in the massively scored Strauss tone poem, which requires the services of 125 players including such niceties as 12 off-stage horns, heckelphone, four-manual organ, two timpanists and quadruple winds. No other orchestra in the world has quite the same luscious sound as the Wiener Philharmoniker. This is due in large part to the unique construction of the trumpets, horns, clarinets and oboes that thrive only in Vienna. One might call this an “historically informed” performance, except that it has changed so little in the 154 years of the orchestra’s existence. 

Thielemann’s conducting of this flawless Strauss performance is largely non-interventionist compared to his occasional passionate gestures in the Schoenberg. In fact, it’s quite reminiscent of videos I have seen of Strauss’ own seemingly uninvolved conducting. They both lead with minimal gestures, but believe me, they have their eyes on you. Technically, I greatly appreciated the titles provided in the DVD identifying the 22 programmatic episodes of the work. The video quality itself is on the garish side, suitable for television transmission, and the camera work is excellent overall.

The fearsome Vienna Philharmonic is, notoriously, an orchestra without a permanent conductor that has their own way of doing things. I was reminded of the time they performed in Toronto at Roy Thomson Hall where, sitting in the choral balcony, I couldn’t help but notice how they consistently responded a microsecond behind the beat of the conductor, Franz Welser-Möst. Later, in the company of Robert Aitken, we met up with the flute section at a local pub where Bob asked them what they thought of their conductor for the evening. After some initial hesitation, one player volunteered, “We like him. He doesn’t get in the way!” That should tell you all you need to know.

Schoenberg – Pelleas und Melisande & Verklärte Nacht
Orchestre symphonique de Montréal; Rafael Payare
Pentatone PTC5187218 (osm.ca/en/news/pelleas-und-melisande-et-verklarte-nacht-by-schoenberg)

Mostly to infuriate the various factional music theorists, I hold that Arnold Schoenberg failed magnificently to escape tonality. He lived before “hardwired” entered the lexicon, but it seems he proved as well as anybody could that we no more invented “tonality” than we did “rhythm,” we unmasked our propensity to enjoy and exchange our thoughts with others through them. 

Both the works on this glorious disc display his thoughts in tone poems that are well-known if only partially loved. I belong to the group who is partial to all of Schoenberg’s thoughts; let the gorgeous playing of the MSO led by Rafael Payare, tell you the story (repeated in every age) of the young lovers who usurp the marriage of the woman to an older more powerful man, with tragic results for all. Pelleas  und Melisande in the hands of a German, more expressionist than impressionist, goes right there, all turbulent weather and sultry evenings. This is a tone poem, it’s music at the ultimate point of ripening, and these musicians are equal to the job of plucking its fruitful bounty.  

In a more modern take, Verklärte Nacht (from the poem of the same name) sets a scene where a lover tells his doubting beloved that the child she carries, though not “his,” will be his to love. I wish you could hear the strings right now as you read this. Compared to the other, larger work, this is almost restrained, but once the motifs start to overlap, one is delightfully lost between tonic and dominant.  

Liner notes are fascinating and informative. Buy two and give one away!