| |
 
|
| |
|
| |
 Shostakovich:
Symphony No. 7 “Leningrad.” Kirov and
Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestras, Valery Gergiev, conductor.
Andrew Cornall, producer; Philip Siney and Jan Stellingwerff,
engineers. Philips 470 845
|
| |
 Prokofiev:
Scythian Suite. Alexander Nevsky. Kirov Orchestra,
Valery Gergiev, conductor; Olga Borodina, mezzo-soprano; Chorus
of the Mariinsky Theatre. Andrew Cornall, Dominic Fyfe, producers;
Philip Siney, engineer. Philips 289 473 600
|
| |
 alery
Gergiev appears to be a viable successor to Leonard Bernstein
in the cult of conductorial personality. In an age of sterile
time-beaters, it is refreshing to hear a charismatic subjectivist
who isn’t afraid to espouse an interpretive stance. Like
Bernstein, if  you
agree with his approach, Gergiev can be electrifying. If he
misses the point, it can be a long night. Such conductors tend
to generate more excitement in a live concert; Gergiev’s
recordings (frequently saddled with mediocre sound) have been
mixed bags, even when he is playing Russian music. That proves
to be the case with these two releases. Not surprisingly, Bernstein’s
Columbia and Deutsche Grammophon versions of Shostakovich’s
“Leningrad” Symphony have ruled the catalog
for nearly half a century. This massive piece requires a dynamic
conductor to make it work. It is most often remembered for the
first movement’s notorious central crescendo, and the
finale. However, the searing adagio ranks with Shostakovich’s
finest music, and the distinctly orchestrated second movement
should not be overlooked. Gergiev does just about everything
right here. He moves the opening theme along briskly without
rushing it, and also builds a sense of implacable menace at
a fairly swift tempo in the snare-drum-driven midsection. Gergiev
maintains his speed with the radiant, almost Brahmsian return
of the main theme, refusing to luxuriate in its richness as
Bernstein does so shamelessly (and effectively). Only the first
half of the fourth movement bogs down a bit—the soft,
focused sound doesn’t help here. Gergiev broadens the
tempo of the finale to something very close to Bernstein’s
ideal rendering. The expanded brass sections of the two orchestras
reach a shattering intensity without sounding bombastic. In
the end, I marginally prefer Bernstein’s slower tempos
but when you consider Philips’ sonics, the nod goes to
Gergiev. The sound is certainly not demonstration quality, but
the engineers do succeed in containing Shostakovich’s
aggressive brass climaxes without much congestion, and avoid
the deltoid-paralyzing fierceness of Bernstein’s DG recording.
Unfortunately, the pounding drums at the end are too distant
and muffled.
The Prokofiev
CD is more problematic. For anyone accustomed to Antal Dorati’s
sensational opening of the Scythian Suite, Gergiev’s
painfully slow tempo conjures up the image of The Incredible
Hulk in quicksand. The orchestral playing is less polished than
Dorati’s LSO. Some may consider this appropriate for Prokofiev’s
Sacre spawn, but Gergiev can’t match the brutal
power that Dorati generates. The conductor does well with Alexander
Nevsky’s barbaric battle scenes, and mezzo Olga Borodina
is ideal in “The Field of the Dead.” However, Gergiev
is unexpectedly matter-of-fact in the “Song of Alexander
Nevsky,” and “Alexander’s Entry into Pskov”
is anticlimactic. The sound is dull; the chorus and orchestra
are poorly balanced, and the percussion is distant and ineffective
in Alexander Nevsky, which contributes to the finale’s
lack of impact. The remarkably detailed and finely nuanced orchestration
of the Scythian Suite, so vividly presented on Mercury,
is all but inaudible here. I suppose you can make a case for
the unique Russian flavor of Gergiev’s Prokofiev, but
that is the only reason to pursue this CD. On the other hand,
Gergiev’s “Leningrad” Symphony is
a treasure.
Arthur B. Lintgen
|
| |
 Kabalevsky:
Piano Concertos Nos. 2 and 3. The Comedians. Colas
Breugnon Overture. Kathryn Stott, piano; BBC Philharmonic,
Vassily Sinaisky, conductor. Ralph Couzens and Mike George,
producers; Stephen Rinker, engineer. Chandos 10052
|
| |
 amille
Saint-Saëns once described himself, with disenchanted clear-sightedness,
as “the best of the second-rate.” This assessment
applies as aptly to Dmitri Kabalevsky, a cultivated and skillful
composer who lived his life under the shadow of his more famous
countrymen. Khachaturian, though a lesser talent, had more color
and flamboyance; Prokofiev had inimitable pungency and melodic
genius; Shostakovich ranged from epic defiance and heart-searing
sorrow to bitter mockery and manic exuberance. Each spoke in
an instantly identifiable voice.
Comfortable
with traditional harmonies and forms, too much the gentleman
to explore emotional extremes, and always willing to write according
to the required populist aesthetic, Kabalevsky was merely a
very good composer. No lesser a one could have tossed off his
two concert favorites: the scurrying, joyous Colas Breugnon
Overture and The Comedians. Even folks who dislike
classical music will smile and tap their feet at the familiar
Gallop’s gleeful, skeletal xylophones.
But
the two piano concertos on this Chandos anthology are the real
reasons to buy it. The Second Concerto, from 1936, is the bigger,
showier—and better—of the pair. It sounds like a
sparkling blend of Rachmaninoff and Prokofiev, right from the
dandy opening tune spun out by the piano over tick-tocking strings
and woodwind curlicues. The central andantino recalls the adagio
of Ravel’s Concerto in G; it has a similar moonlit, swaying
lilt and pensive, Chopinesque elegance that darkens into passion
as elaborate pianistic embroidery adorns plush, sweeping strings.
Appropriate pyrotechnics light up the exciting finale to bring
it all to a bravura conclusion.
The
Third Concerto is a lighter, simpler, insouciant creation—very
much major-key, in sharp contrast to the Second Concerto’s
G Minor. There’s a touch of the patronizing in this work,
which Kabalevsky dedicated “to Soviet youth,” though
it’s certainly tuneful and lively enough. Recommend it
to your friends who adore The Comedians.
Kathryn
Stott plays the socks off Kabalevsky’s concertos, and
the versatile BBC Philharmonic led by Vassily Sinaisky provides
expert and sympathetic accompaniment. Chandos renders Stott’s
piano in big, up-close sound, showing off her virtuosity and
beautiful tonal palette. It’s not too close for me, but
purists might find the recording a bit unbalanced, especially
as the further-back orchestra isn’t quite as vivid, a
fact made clear by comparison with Reiner’s 1959 Living
Stereo Colas Breugnon, which has more oomph, bite,
detail, presence, and air. Mark Lehman
|
| |
 Bach:
Partitas Nos. 1, 3, and 6. Richard Goode, piano. Max Wilcox,
producer; Max Wilcox and Dirk Sobotka, engineers. Nonesuch
79698
Buy
CD |
| |
 hen
Richard Goode ambles onstage for a recital, his image is not
that of a central casting concert pianist. Rather, he reminds
you more of a rumpled, trusted pediatrician or your smartest
uncle. Goode rarely dazzles but always engages the mind,  whatever
the repertoire. His playing never comes off as calculated or
brainy, though; there’s just the perception of Goode discovering
the logic and emotional core of the music, and laying it out
for his audience to savor.
Bach
is a Goode staple (Partitas 2, 4, and 5 were released in 1999
on Nonesuch 79483) and his performances are infused with warmth
and color, though the pianist doesn’t come close to romanticizing
these pieces. Despite subtle modulations in tempo, the Correntes
and Gigues have wonderful forward momentum. Partita No. 1’s
Preludium has a gentle, flowing quality; a sense of harmonic
direction is ever-present on the substantial Toccata that opens
No. 6. Goode makes expert, discreet use of the sustain pedal
to add harmonic richness, as with the Sarabande in No. 6. On
this disc, as in person, Goode is capable of getting a full,
weighty sound without clobbering the piano. These readings make
for a wonderful companion to Glenn Gould’s considerably
more tightly wound versions.
Max
Wilcox’s recording provides a close-up sonic vantage point
in a warm acoustic environment, the American Academy of Arts
and Letters in New York City. (This is evidently a preferred
Wilcox venue—the Guarneri Quartet’s program of Ravel,
Debussy, and Fauré, reviewed in Issue 136, was recorded
there.) Getting absolute phase correct, if your CD player or
preamp allows you to invert it easily, is important to getting
each note’s initial attack characteristics right—the
effect of hammer striking string. Andrew Quint
|
| |
 Canteloube:
Chants d’Auvergne. Karina Gauvin, soprano;
Canadian Chamber Ensemble, Raffi Armenian, conductor. Karen
Wilson, producer; Peter Cook, engineer. CBC Records 5224
|
| |
 oseph
Canteloube’s arrangements of folk songs from his native
region, Songs of the Auvergne, have had many recordings,
most recently this CBC release. It features 21 of the 30 songs
in conductor Raffi Armenian’s skillful reduction of Canteloube’s
orchestration performed by a 16-member chamber ensemble and
Karina Gauvin, a French-Canadian soprano who’s won accolades
for her Baroque recordings. A big plus is the disc’s natural
sonics, with a wide soundstage, realistic balance between voice
and instruments, and high percussion, like the tambourine in
“Obal, din lou Limouzi” that cuts through the orchestra
without being spotlit.
Despite
favorable buzz about this disc, I find myself distinctly underwhelmed
after repeated listens and comparisons with other versions.
Armenian’s arrangements of the original orchestration
are fine, as is the playing of his ensemble. Of necessity it’s
thin in the string section, but that’s OK; Canteloube’s
original tilts toward the winds anyway and they’re excellent
here, especially the oboe and clarinet soloists.
But
Gauvin’s voice production sounds artificial; the middle
register often turns cloudy. And while her top notes are easeful,
they often remind me of countertenors’ hooting. It may
not bother you, but it bothered me. Worse, her interpretive
approach is mannered, sometimes “cutesy.” She stresses
syllables and words, breaking the musical line of folk songs
that benefit from stressing the arch of a phrase, not its component
parts. Thus, in everybody’s favorite, “Baïlèro,”
Gauvin’s emoting, full of shadings and colorings, detracts
from the sheer beauty of the song. Typical of the entire recital,
she also takes it far more slowly than others do. In “Per
l’èfon,” a lullaby, it was a toss-up who’d
fall asleep first, me or the baby. In the first of the Trois
Bourrées, the singer lets out repeated cries that
sound out of place in her artsy approach. True, Victoria de
los Angeles, in her version, makes those “yip” sounds
in a manner that suggests hiccups, but she’s got the charm
to bring it off. My favorite remains Natalia Davrath’s
spectacularly recorded 1960s Vanguard of the complete collection,
a selection from which was also released on a hybrid SACD. Connoisseurs
will also want the eleven songs recorded by Madeleine Grey in
1930, currently available only in a mediocre transfer on Pearl.
Dan Davis
|
| |
 Debussy/Mozart:
Songs. Juliane Banse, soprano; András Schiff, piano.
Manfred Eicher, producer; Stephan Schellmann, engineer. ECM
1772
Buy
CD |
| |
uliane
Banse and András Schiff have been performing together
at the Mondsee Festival in Austria for close to a decade. Their
first recording for ECM programs fourteen songs by Debussy,
central to their concert repertoire, and eight by Mozart. On
this disc are  Debussy
settings of verse by Verlaine, Mallarmé, and others;
the poetry is evocative to begin with and the music further
highlights the sense of a scene appearing before one’s
eyes. The fecundity of the composer’s imagination is underscored
by the inclusion of two versions of “Clair de lune”—each
seems perfect, yet they are subtly different in mood and effect.
The Mozart selections splendidly complement the Debussy pieces.
Banse observes: “You have to dare to sing the Mozart lieder
as if they were impressionistic songs—then they suddenly
become what they really are.” Particularly delightful
is “Warnung” (“Warning”), with words
by Carlo Goldoni. Here, the sexually savvy Mozart of Così
fan tutte admonishes all fathers to lock up their daughters
because “Men always love to nibble.”
Banse
has an interesting and richly textured voice with a confident
top. It’s a flexible instrument, as manifested by the
trills of “Pierrot” or the gorgeous melismatic passages
of “Pantomime.” The singer is clearly capable of
power but knows when to scale back to suit the material. She
sings with an extraordinary sensitivity to the texts. The very
first selection on the disc, “Beau Soir”—words
by Paul Bourget—begins by creating an aura of peace and
contentment yet ends two minutes later with a reminder that
all life’s pleasures inevitably end at the grave—the
soprano’s tone changes from youthful vibrancy to something
much more quiet and reserved.
Schiff,
of course, functions here as far more than a mere “accompanist”—he’s
an equal partner. The piano parts for the Debussy songs are
nearly as remarkable as the composer’s much better known
solo keyboard pieces, and Schiff is fully responsive to the
possibilities. The recording captures all those delicate shadings
and half-tints, and both the piano and singer are surrounded
by a halo of natural reverberation. It’s a credible presentation
of vocalist and keyboard as heard fairly close up in an empty-sounding
hall. AQ
|
| |
 Bizet:
Carmen. Angela Gheorghiu (Carmen); Roberto Alagna
(Don José); Thomas Hampson (Escamillo); Toulouse Capitole
Orchestra, Michel Plasson, conductor. David Groves, producer;
Alain Lanceron, engineer. EMI 57434 (3 CDs)
|
| |
 Hindemith:
Die Harmonie der Welt. François Le Roux (Kepler);
Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, Marek Janowski,
conductor. Helge Jörns, producer; Geert Puhlmann, engineer.
Wergo 6652 (3 CDs)
|
| |
recording of Hindemith’s opera Die Harmonie der Welt
is long overdue, but why a new Carmen when there are so
many good ones?
Well, it’s the Golden Couple again—Gheorghiu and
Alagna in the lead roles. Is that enough, since Gheorghiu, despite
her immense artistry and a voice that sends chills down the
spine, isn’t the warm, sensuous seductress you want for
an ideal Carmen? The answer is yes, because this release has
a lot going for it, beginning with Alagna’s portrayal
of Don José as her hapless lover. He’s always been
at his best in French opera; here he’s one of the best
Don Josés on disc, smoothly tracing the character’s
development from mama’s boy to besotted lover to crazed
knife-wielder. Alagna encompasses the role with golden tones
and an intensity we don’t often hear from him, and he’s
alive to every dramatic nuance. In every way, his is a complete
performance.
Gheorghiu,
like such predecessors as de los Angeles, Price, and Callas,
is a soprano Carmen in a part Bizet wrote for a mezzo, but that’s
not the problem. She has the range, but not the temperament.
This Carmen lacks the irony, warmth, or coarseness to convince,
though her individual timbre and dramatic power are big pluses,
especially in the Card Scene and the gripping finale.
Thomas
Hampson’s Escamilio is too understated and debonair to
fully satisfy as the down-and-dirty matador. Inva Mula, despite
a tendency to shrillness, is an average Micaela; the rest of
the cast and the chorus are excellent, as is the orchestra under
Plasson’s knowing direction. His tempos are unerringly
right, and he knows when to give the singers leeway and when
to rein them in. He uses the old Guiraud edition with sung (rather
than the original spoken) recitatives, and an unnecessary curiosity—a
discarded version of the Habañera—is inserted right
after the familiar, better one. Except for the up-front recording
of the voice, the engineering is fine, with a wide, deep soundstage
and huge dynamic range.
Die
Harmonie der Welt is Carmen’s polar opposite,
an opera of philosophical ideas in the tradition of Pfitzner’s
Palestrina and Hindemith’s own Mathis der
Maler, rather than an opera of earthy passions. It focuses
on Renaissance astronomer Johannes Kepler and its multi-layered
concerns include the dilemma of the creative thinker in a hidebound
society, humanity’s role in the universe, and the ultimate
harmony of the cosmos.
Not exactly verismo stuff!
Hindemith’s opera wins our respect, not our love, because
it doesn’t fully engage our emotions. He tries to pierce
the veil of abstraction with some dramatic confrontation scenes
and a love interest. But even the latter is based on Kepler’s
wife’s sympathy for his scientific theories, and she’s
here sung by a soprano, Sophia Larson, who’s downright
painful to listen to. There is a fascinating portrait of Wallenstein,
the general whose idea of harmony is world conquest, his big
monologue set to jagged, manic phrases. The crowd scenes are
colorfully vital, and Hindemith does try to lighten all the
intellectual heavy lifting with some astute depictions of ambitious
politicos, a mother-in-law from Hell, and more—to no avail.
There are acres of dialogue sung almost in recitative fashion,
melodic richness often discerned only as fragments of short-breathed
tunes, and not a single “aria” you can whistle in
the shower. On the plus side, he doesn’t put his singers
through gargling exercises like some of his contemporaries (the
opera was completed in 1957), and the brilliant orchestration
is worth the price of admission.
The opera
can be made to work in a sympathetic performance, and it gets
one here. Janowski leads a tight-knit effort with a good cast
(Larson excepted) headed by Francois Le Roux’s Kepler,
a dynamite chorus, and a fine orchestra whose contributions
are too often blanketed by the up-front singers. Doesn’t
anybody record operas in realistic perspective these days? DD
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
 Barry:
From Russia With Love. Eric Tomlinson, engineer;
Frank Collura, reissue producer; Bob Fisher, remastering.
Capitol 80588
Buy
CD |
| |
 Barry:
Goldfinger. John Richards, engineer; Frank Collura,
reissue producer; Bob Fisher, remastering. Capitol 80891
Buy
CD |
| |
 Barry:
Thunderball. John Richards, engineer; Lukas Kendall,
reissue producer; Doug Schwartz, remastering. Capitol 80589
Buy
CD |
| |
 Serra:
Goldeneye. Steve Price, engineer; Gregg Ogorzelec,
reissue producer; Bob Fisher, remastering. Capitol 41423
Buy
CD |
| |
|
| |
 rom
a musical standpoint, Capitol’s James Bond series started
inauspiciously. Dr.
No did introduce John Barry’s dazzling orchestration
of the signature James Bond theme, but the rest of Monty Norman’s
score is little more than a compilation of mediocre pop and
source music. Presumably because of his arrangement of the Bond
theme, Barry was known primarily as a jazz musician when he
was selected to score From
Russia With Love. The rest, as they say, is history.
With From Russia With
Love, Barry established a highly personal sound that majorly
contributed to the success of the series. Barry’s music
defined the style of the Bond films as much as Sean Connery
did. Far from the high-class Muzak heard in his later low-key
scores (exemplified by Somewhere in Time), the flashy
Bond music reflects Barry’s penchant for melody, punctuated
by jazz overtones, pungent brass chords, and woodwind sonorities
that sometimes resemble Bernard Herrmann’s instrumental
effects. He also composed his own pulsating 007 theme for From
Russia With Love. This reissue is identical in content
to the original soundtrack recording—no other unreleased
cues were available.
In Goldfinger,
Barry’s music for James Bond reaches its fullest potential
with the most completely developed symphonic score in the series.
The centerpiece is the lengthy and dramatic “Dawn Raid
on Fort Knox,” featuring the rhythmic beat of snare drums
underpinning shrieking brass playing against the principal theme.
Goldfinger’s title song is also Barry’s
best: Preceded by raucous brass chords, Shirley Bassey’s
rendition anchors a memorable Main Title sequence. This remastering
contains four significant additional cues not heard on the original
soundtrack recording, highlighted by the shimmering music underscoring
Bond’s discovery of Jill Masterson’s gold-painted
body.
Thunderball
is another very melodic, jazz-inflected dramatic score in which
Barry more extensively develops his 007 motif. The defining
musical moments of Thunderball are the atmospheric
waves of orchestral sound accompanying the numerous underwater
scenes. This expanded version contains for the first time nearly
half of the original score, including much of the previously
unreleased underwater music.
Goldeneye
is one of the few Bond pictures not scored by Barry. Eric
Serra’s generic electronics and rock beat represent a
feeble attempt to modernize the Bond sound, but pale in comparison
to Barry, reminding us that there is no substitute for talent.
The Barry soundtracks
are consistently miked closely with a bright, brassy high end
and clear incisive midrange, but little bass. The engineers
never fail to convincingly capture Barry’s unique soundworld.
You’d have to
be a real zealot to want all the Barry scores. Stick with these
three and you will have a concise musical portrait of Barry
and Bond. There are some excellent isolated tracks on the other
Barry CDs, but they inevitably become repetitive and there is
nothing sustained on this level. EMI should be congratulated
for making these reissues available with much substantive new
music, in productions that are uniformly excellent.
ABL
|
|
