(++++) UNEXPECTED EXPRESSIVENESS

Schumann: Dichterliebe; Brahms: Cello Sonata No. 1; Schubert: An die Musik. Frank Morelli, bassoon; Wei-Yi Yang, piano. Musica Solis. $25. 

Wynton Marsalis: Meeelaan for bassoon and string quartet; Jeff Scott: Elegy for Innocence; Lori Laitman: I Never Saw Another Butterfly (version for voice and bassoon); Dominick Argento: Man with a Paint Box Aria from "Postcard from Morocco”; Nirmali Fenn: Prayer. Frank Morelli, bassoon; Wei-Yi Yang, piano; Janna Baty, mezzo-soprano; Callisto Quartet. Musica Solis. $25. 

     Vivaldi’s three dozen bassoon concertos were collectively the first works to show just how virtuosic and expressive this wind instrument could be – and they turned out to be a high point for bassoons and bassoonists, because after Vivaldi’s time there were very slim pickings for an instrument that soon found itself being used more for touches of humor than for anything substantively emotional. Certainly there were exceptions – Mozart’s, Hummel’s and Weber’s concertos come immediately to mind – but by and large, the bassoon got somewhat short shrift as a melodically elegant and multifaceted solo instrument over the years. That makes sensitive, thoughtful bassoon performances all the more welcome, and the ones by Frank Morelli on two Musica Solis CDs certainly qualify. The bassoon’s singing qualities are especially evident on the first disc, featuring bassoon arrangements of vocal works by Schubert and Schumann. Schubert’s brief An die Musik gets a beautifully sensitive handling that showcases the ways in which the bassoon can complement, if not quite duplicate, the human voice – a characteristic more often heard in the clarinet but shown by Morelli to apply equally well, if differently, to his instrument. Much more extended is Morelli’s arrangement of the entirety of Schumann’s Dichterliebe, and here the varying capabilities of the bassoon are fully explored. The loving nature of the first seven songs is thoroughly demonstrated, with very clear contrasts between, for example, the miniscule Die Rose, die Lille, die Taube, die Sonne and the following Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’. The character of Schumann’s music changes with the intense Ich grolle nicht, and the more-plaintive songs that follow bring out the poet’s and singer’s anger, grief and disappointment – all of which Morelli, ably abetted by Wei-Yi Yang, finds a way to filter through the bassoon-and-piano combination. Hör ich das Liedchen klingen is especially affecting as heard here. The final five songs become wistful and sad in ways that differentiate them from the earlier ones, and here too Morelli and Yang find ways to bring the emotions of the material to the fore even without the Heinrich Heine words that Schumann set so masterfully. The final two, comparatively upbeat-sounding songs allow the bassoon to brighten matters a bit without implying any less sensitivity to the loss of love – an expression inherently different from that of the voice but equally heartfelt. After the two presentations of vocal works, Morelli turns to Brahms’ Cello Sonata No. 1, and here his arrangement is as interesting in its way as is Brahms’ own arrangement for viola and piano of his Clarinet Sonatas, Op. 120. What this means is that while the bassoon certainly does not sound like the cello, its range is such that Brahms’ writing for cello lies quite naturally on the wind instrument almost throughout – except, obviously, for double stops, and occasionally when a change of register is needed. The breadth and warmth of Brahms would not seem especially well-suited to the bassoon, but Morelli’s highly accomplished playing demonstrates throughout this half-hour-plus work that the bassoon is fully capable of exploring the same emotional landscape that Brahms limns so thoroughly for the cello – an instrument that seems far more in tune with Brahms’ worldview and the “Brahms sound.” What Morelli does here is quite special: he shows that the bassoon is every bit as worthy for the expression of deeply felt thoughts and emotions as instruments, such as the cello, that are much more often deemed to offer a wide range of thinking and feeling alike. No one is likely to prefer the bassoon version of this Brahms sonata to the cello-and-piano original, but the fact that Morelli uses this work to demonstrate the bassoon’s capabilities so effectively is quite an accomplishment. 

     Morelli’s playing is every bit as impressive on a disc offering contemporary, much more personal music, some composed for him – and if this recording is ultimately a (+++) disc, that is because the works themselves are less inherently attractive than those on the Schubert/Schumann/Brahms recording. That being said, there are certainly many interesting elements here, if not necessarily emotionally gripping ones. Wynton Marsalis’ Meeelaan for bassoon and string quartet (the title reflecting the way Marsalis liked to greet bassoonist Milan Turkovic) not only combines the instruments in intriguing ways but also features rapid changes of pace, emotion and expressiveness throughout – all of which Morelli and the Callisto Quartet execute with élan and apparent ease. Jeff Scott’s Elegy for Innocence opens with simple warmth in the piano, sounding like a berceuse, then eventually goes through its own emotive differences, particularly in a darker central section that eventually gives way to a faster, brighter, more-optimistic conclusion. Lori Laitman’s six-song cycle I Never Saw Another Butterfly is feelingly presented by Janna Baty in a version for soprano and bassoon, but here the combination feels somewhat forced no matter how elegantly Morelli backs up the mezzo-soprano voice. The issue is more in the rather conventional and not altogether convincing settings of the poetry than in the actual performance: the texts come from poems written by imprisoned children at the Nazis’ Terezin concentration camp, but the maturity of the vocalizing and the range required to deliver the words seem like a veneer of sophistication that does not fit the material particularly well. Certainly Morelli, for whom this version of the work (originally for solo voice and alto saxophone) was composed, approaches the material with engagement and involvement; but the piece as a whole, however well-meaning, does not sustain particularly well. Dominick Argento’s Man with a Paint Box Aria from "Postcard from Morocco” is, like the Schubert and Schumann transcriptions that Morelli plays, a vocal work – in this case an opera aria – heard in a bassoon arrangement. This is not a very effective transcription, however: Yang’s pianism carries more weight and greater lyricism than does Morelli’s bassoon playing, and there is throughout the work a feeling that Argento is trying a bit too hard to evoke emotions and, as a result, matters seem more forced than heartfelt. The case is quite different with Nirmali Fenn’s Prayer, written for Morelli. Here the bassoon is supposed to imitate the sound of the oboe-like duduk, an Armenian instrument, and as a result the aural world of this work is substantively different from that of the others on this CD. The piece is not, however, particularly evocative of prayer as the audience may expect to understand the term: it is intended to evoke the Muslim call to prayer rather than being a prayer in and of itself. The sounds that Fenn calls for and Morelli delivers are intellectually intriguing, and Morelli’s ability to clothe his instrument in the garments of a different one certainly speaks to his sheer skill in performance. However, Fenn’s piece itself – in which the piano repeatedly puts in appearances that seem more intrusive than collaborative – does not remain engaging throughout its 10-minute duration. Like most of the other music here, it abundantly showcases Morelli’s passionate attachment to the bassoon and his ability to communicate through the instrument in multiple ways and forms. But it is hard to imagine most listeners returning repeatedly to this disc for any sort of listening pleasure or involvement. The CD bears the title “From the Soul,” but the sense here is more of a demonstration project than of the expression of a deeply meaningful connection to a broad audience.

(+++) NOW VS. THEN

Strauss: Waldmeister. Andreja Zidaric, Sophia Keiler, and Riccarda Schönerstedt, sopranos; Regina Schörg and Anna-Katharina Tonauer, mezzo-sopranos; Matteo Ivan Rašić, Daniel Prohaska, and Caspar Krieger, tenors; Robert Meyer, Daniel Gutmann, and Alexander Paul Findewirth, baritones; Chorus of the Staatstheater am Gärtnerplatz and Orchestra of the Staatstheater am Gärtnerplatz conducted by Michael Brandstätter. CPO. $18.99. 

     What a well-performed mess. Not content with the opportunity to offer some of the rare modern-day performances of Johann Strauss Jr.’s penultimate operetta, Waldmeister, the management of the Staatstheater am Gärtnerplatz decided that this very tuneful but dramatically flawed work would be improved by changing its plot, rewriting its lyrics, altering its characters, making its premise into something different, and redoing its settings. What this new version by Josef E. Köpplinger ends up proving is that modern librettists can do just as poor a job of producing a coherent dramatic scenario for Waldmeister as original libretto creator Gustav Davis did. 

     Given the paucity of recordings of most of Strauss’ other theatrical works, the existence of this second recording of Waldmeister – the first, led by Dario Salvi, appeared five years ago – should probably be celebrated. And given the generally pleasant sound of all the principals’ voices and the bouncily upbeat chorus and orchestra led by Michael Brandstätter, it is hard not to like this CPO release despite its many underlying flaws. But there are so many of those that it is impossible not to regard the whole enterprise as a missed opportunity that quickly derails for anyone who did not happen to be in Vienna in April 2025, when the performances from which this live recording were made occurred. 

     That provenance is really the heart of what works and what does not work here. Waldmeister is a kind of Black Forest idyll, complete with prominent hunting horns, grafted onto a comedy of manners. Strauss himself, when evaluating the work after deciding that his early enthusiasm for the libretto had been misplaced, made clear where his interest lay: “Diese Dialekt-rolle ist der ganze Zauber dieser höchst mageren Handlung. Nehmen wir diese weg, so ist die ganze Geschichte des Waldmeisters nichts werth.” That is, “This dialect role is the whole magic of this very thin plot. If we take it out, then the entire story of the Waldmeister is worth nothing.” Strauss was referring to the Saxon dialect of a professor of botany named Erasmus Friedrich Müller – whose name means “miller” and whose manner of speaking and repeated confusion with an actual miller are supposed to provide a considerable amount of the operetta’s fun. But in today’s offend-nobody theatrical environment, the entire dialect role was eliminated for this production, and that in turn led to a cascade of decisions involving relocating the action, altering the spoken and sung words, switching character backgrounds and motivations, and much more. This turned Waldmeister, which was already a thematic mishmash, into a much bigger one – but the idea was that the audience attending the 2025 performances in Vienna would be offended, even horrified, perhaps even bored (which might be worse), if the original approach of Davis and Strauss had been honored. 

     Given the fact that CPO offers only some of the music and none of the dialogue of Waldmeister, the full extent of the emendations is not entirely clear, which may be just as well. Fluency in German is an absolute necessity for understanding what is being sung here, since no texts are provided and there is no link to an online Waldmeister libretto – and even if there were, it would have to be to the Köpplinger version, not the original, to allow listeners to follow along. 

     It is worth noting that Davis, coauthor of the libretto for Jabuka, the previous Strauss operetta, tried to make Waldmeister theatrically attractive by including elements of Strauss’ best stage work, Die Fledermaus, that had made it so successful: mistaken identity, an alcohol-fueled party and, yes, an important character speaking in not-always-perfect dialect (Prince Orlofsky in the earlier operetta). But Davis, like far too many librettists, over-complicated matters, creating a work whose many themes include the supposed discovery of a new form of Waldmeister (the plant known as woodruff in English), the overly strict morals of rural districts and their rulers, and the importance of brand-new technology such as photography (used here more extensively than W.S. Gilbert used the telephone in HMS Pinafore). The relocated and updated version of Waldmeister misses the point of nearly all of this. 

     However, it is important to recognize that Strauss here continued to take much the same approach that he had used since his first completed operetta, Indigo und die vierzig Räuber, in 1871: he strung together a slew of wonderful dance tunes (mostly waltzes in Waldmeister) and let them carry the plot along to the extent possible. As a result, even with the rewritten (and in several cases significantly truncated) arias heard in this recording, even with the 21^st-century dislocation of dialogue and character development for the sake of political correctness, the music itself is simply wonderful to hear, and that will be sufficient reason for Strauss lovers to celebrate this release despite its many manifest flaws. In fairness, though, it should be pointed out that, as with his other operettas, Strauss extracted music from Waldmeister for concert presentation: his works Opp. 463-468 all come from this operetta. And while the stage context does represent their original reason for being, the pieces generally seem paler in the theatrical venue than they do when heard independently of their origin. So Strauss lovers may be just as happy – maybe even happier – to listen to the concert-hall versions of waltz, polka and march music from Waldmeister as they will be to hear the music as presented by the Staatstheater am Gärtnerplatz forces.

(++++) SONORITIES

Ravel: Complete Works for Solo Piano, Volume 2—Menuet antique; Menuet en ut dièse mineur; Introduction et Allegro; Gaspard de la Nuit; Menuet sur le nom de Haydn; Prélude; Le Tombeau de Couperin; Berceuse sur le nom de Gabriel Fauré. Vincent Larderet, piano. AVIE. $19.99. 

     It is taking quite a while for the planned four-volume set of Ravel’s complete solo-piano music played by Vincent Larderet to appear: the first AVIE release in the series came out almost two years ago. But the recordings are worth waiting for with only a modicum of impatience, partly because Larderet has a firm grasp not only of Ravel’s musical style but also of the particular care with which the composer shapes the actual sound of the piano to accommodate his Impressionistic presentations and portrayals. As with the first disc in Larderet’s series, the works on this second CD are something of a hodgepodge – but happily, and unlike the situation on the first disc, this time the pieces are presented in chronological order, making it possible to hear the ways in which Ravel’s style evolved (and did not evolve) during the nearly three-decade-long period in which the music was composed. Larderet finds and brings forth grace, fluidity and coloristic sensitivity in all eight works on this CD, and is cognizant enough of Ravel’s intentions to apply those characteristics in the different ways that the pieces require. Thus, Menuet antique (1895) has an emphatic sound bordering on the harsh, while Menuet en ut dièse mineur (1904, published posthumously) is altogether gentler. Somewhat similar sonically and in mood to the C-sharp-minor Menuet is the slower and much-more-extended portion of Introduction et Allegro (1905), here receiving its world première recording in a transcription by Lucien Garban. Next on the disc, Gaspard de la Nuit (1908) offers one of the clearest of all examples of Ravel’s use of specific piano ranges and techniques for illustrative purposes, with Larderet perfectly capturing the waterfall effects of the first movement, the strangeness of the scene-painting in Le Gibet, and the very different oddity – or rather set of oddities – pervading the quicksilver changes in Scarbo. After this, Menuet sur le nom de Haydn (1909) returns to some extent to the sound world of Menuet antique, but now with much more assurance and with unashamed dissonance grafted onto the old dance form. Prélude (1913) is nuanced in its delicacy, while the six movements of Le Tombeau de Couperin (1914-1917) blend many of the aural elements of the earlier works on this disc – differently emphasized from piece to piece, and particularly well-contrasted by Larderet to showcase, for example, the comparative density of the opening Prélude with the much-greater-transparency of the Fugue that follows. The Rigaudon, Forlane, Menuet and concluding Toccata emerge here not only as differing thematic explorations but also as different sound worlds, collectively exploring a musical universe to which the rhythmic intensity of the Forlane and the gentle lyricism of the Menuet belong equally. The CD concludes with Berceuse sur le nom de Gabriel Fauré (1922) – also a world-première recording of a Garban transcription – and here the prettiness and tender warmth, with occasional hints of dissonance, combine to produce a feeling that is both lullaby-like and somewhat disquieting, as if to suggest that sleep will not necessarily be accompanied by untroubled dreams. 

     Collectively, the works on this disc showcase Ravel as a more-variegated piano composer than he is sometimes credited with being, and show how thoroughly Larderet understands not only the notes to be played but also the aural context in which to play them. Even more than the first Larderet disc, this second volume confirms the pianist as a top-of-the-line interpreter of Ravel – leading to a hope that the remaining two planned discs in the sequence will be released somewhat more expeditiously than the first two.

(++++) ADAPTING TO MODERN TIMES

Frank Martin: Piano Quintet; Trio for Strings; Quartet for Strings. Utrecht String Quartet (Eeva Koskinen and Katherine Routley, violins; Mikhail Zemtsov, viola; Sebastian Koloski, cello); Ilona Timchenko, piano. MDG Scene. $23.99. 

Igor Santos: portrait RE; George Lewis; Flux; Carola Bauckholt: Pacific Time. Ensemble Dal Niente conducted by Michael Lewanski. New Focus Recordings. $18.99. 

     Frank Martin’s music remains popular in his native Switzerland and much of continental Europe, but it has never traveled particularly well internationally. One reason may be the unusual and highly personalized way in which Martin adapted his musical style to the times in which he lived (1890-1974). Martin, in common with many composers in the early 20^th century, spent years searching for his own musical voice in the post-Romantic landscape after World War I, in which he served. Martin also spent years seeking his own personal faith: he was the youngest of 10 children of a Calvinist pastor but had a much more expansive view of Christianity than Calvinism offers. Nevertheless, Martin’s faith informed much of his music – in which, at the same time, he tried to come to grips with important secular trends, notably Schoenberg’s twelvetone method and the school that followed it. The result during his compositional career was the production of a number of works in conventional forms – albeit often without conventional harmonies – as well as ones for unusual instrumental combinations: two pianos and small orchestra; alto saxophone or basset horn, string orchestra, piano, timpani and percussion; flute, string orchestra and piano; harp, harpsichord, piano and two string orchestras; harpsichord and small orchestra; oboe, harp, string quintet and string orchestra; viola, wind orchestra, harpsichord, harp, timpani and percussion; and others. Martin, who was scarcely prolific, wrote only a small amount of chamber music, a dozen or so significant pieces in all. A few showcase his interest in less-common instrumental combinations: Rhapsodie for two violins, two violas and double bass and Sonata da chiesa for viola d'amore and organ, for example. But others, including the three works on a new MDG Scene CD, may provide better insight into the thinking underlying Martin’s compositional processes. The works on this disc collectively span the three major periods of Martin’s music. The Piano Quintet of 1919 dates from the years in which he was looking to the past and trying to find his own way through it to something more up-to-date but still respectful of older forms and approaches. Elements of Bach are clear in the four-movement work (Martin elsewhere paid direct tribute to Bach and Mozart), combined with a sound reminiscent of César Franck’s and themes that in part reflect folk melodies that Martin heard during the Great War. But already there is enough dissonance and harmonic ambiguity in this piece to show a kind of restlessness in Martin’s search for personal expression. Ilona Timchenko and the Utrecht String Quartet perform the quintet with great sensitivity, providing stylistic clarity that highlights both its more-traditional elements and those with a slight hint of experimentation. The Trio for Strings then takes matters to what may be thought of as Martin’s middle period: it dates to 1936 and is a strongly exploratory work, its chordal density, especially in the Grave first movement, sounding quite modern even today. The highly chromatic and rather frenetic second movement leads to a finale that eventually returns to a chordal dimension – and throughout the piece, lyricism creeps in here and there, as if Martin is trying to retain at least a smidgen of Romantic-era expressiveness while producing music that reflects a Schoenbergian approach without following it slavishly. Interestingly, Martin wrote little chamber music after the 1930s, turning mostly to larger-scale works – but then, in 1966, produced his String Quartet, a remarkable piece that gave the 75-year-old composer considerable creative difficulty but that repays listeners and performers alike with elements that collectively sum up much of Martin’s musical vision. The Utrecht Quartet takes the full measure of this piece and plays with real panache, finding a level of underlying stylistic consistency in its four movements despite a whole slew of disparate influences ranging from, yes, Bach, to flashes of instrumental humor, to twelvetone used with considerable subtlety, to a vaguely dancelike concluding Allegretto leggero that has an otherworldly quality about it. There is enough stylistic restlessness here and throughout his music to show that Martin never quite figured out where he might fit in the panoply of 20^th-centuiry composers; and perhaps that explains the comparative obscurity that continues to haunt his works. But these very fine performances show that even if Martin’s ultimate stylistic goal remained unsettled, his lengthy search for it is one to which it is more than worthwhile for audiences to be attuned. 

     Many of today’s composers have none of Martin’s hesitation about fitting into the latest fads and trends: they embrace them wholeheartedly, proudly proclaiming themselves members of the avant-garde through their works if not necessarily their words (although often through those as well). Performance extremes, sonic exploration, amplification, technique extension, and electronics of all sorts are among the elements enthusiastically employed by many contemporary composers, often in direct collaboration with performers who will bring the works to life. That is the situation with the three composers and three pieces on a (+++) New Focus Recordings release featuring Ensemble Dal Niente – a short CD (47 minutes) that packs a great deal of “today-ness” into its duration. It opens with Igor Santos’ portrait RE (spelled that way), which uses traditional instruments that rarely sound traditional: strings behave like percussion, acoustic sound is electronically amplified and modified, and the ensemble (led by Michael Lewanski) initially produces a constantly metamorphosing sound cloud. Then sudden chords lead into a vocal segment – not sung but spoken, with a Brazilian philosopher named Paulo Freire urging self-awareness of the oppressed. And then instruments, individually and collectively, interact with and comment on the spoken material. The totality is considerably less than the sum of its parts: as is often the case with avant-garde music, the work reaches out to listeners who will accept its approaches and techniques unquestioningly and nod their heads (figuratively if not literally) in agreement. Much the same sort of audience will find Flux by George Lewis appealing. Like the Santos work, Lewis’ aims for societal connection and commentary beyond what the instruments themselves provide. Flux is specifically tied to a painting called JamPact JelliTite (for Jamila) by Jeff Donaldson, and is supposed to be a commentary on and response to that work – which means audiences unfamiliar with it have no real basis for fully understanding and appreciating, much less judging, the musical material. Strictly on an aural basis, Lewis’ use of percussion is extensive and often impressive, although the sheer density of the sonic environment treads a thin line between music and noise (as is common in avant-garde material). The third piece here, Pacific Time by Carola Bauckholt, also focuses on percussion, but not until it has first emerged from a cloud of white noise that sounds like an extensive and extended escape of steam from a particularly large kettle, followed in turn by organized cacophony in which a largely successful attempt is made to have acoustic instruments sound as if they are electronic. There is some intriguing sound here, mostly percussive and at times involving unexpected instruments such as the güiro (a hollowed, notched gourd played by scraping a stick across its surface). But the overall point is not exoticism so much as sonic exploration for its own sake – and there is quite a bit of it: lasting more than 19 minutes, this is the longest work on the CD. All the pieces here are experiential in nature and intent, aimed less at any traditional notion of music than at audiences interested in how far musical instruments can go in nonmusical directions, being played more in ways that go against their inherent nature than in ones that explore it. To those not already committed to performances of this sort, the CD will have little to recommend it; but the “in” group that instinctively and intellectually embraces extended sounds and techniques will find Ensemble Dal Niente neatly tuned into its interests and concerns.