(++++) BOOKENDS

Bruckner: Symphony No. 00, “Study Symphony,” transcribed for organ by Eberhard Klotz; Fantasy in C—reconstruction by Erwin Horn of a Bruckner improvisation; Enjott Schneider: Alpha et Omega | Window on Bruckner’s “Study Symphony.” Hansjörg Albrecht, organ. Oehms. $19.99.

Bruckner: Symphony No. 9, revised and with the completed finale by Gerd Schaller, transcribed for organ by Erwin Horn; Requiem—Motet Libera me domine, transcribed for organ by Hansjörg Albrecht; Philipp Maintz: Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir | Choral prelude VIII for Organ | Window on Bruckner’s 9^th Symphony. Hansjörg Albrecht, organ. Oehms. $19.99 (2 CDs).

     The most fascinatingly quixotic of all the many Bruckner bicentennial tributes comes to an end with beautifully played versions of organ transcriptions of Bruckner’s very first (1863) symphony and his final very-nearly-finished one, here wisely offered in the excellent completion by Gerd Schaller with an additional quixotic touch of its own: Schaller, himself a fine organist, has produced an organ version of his completion, but Hansjörg Albrecht instead uses one by Erwin Horn, who has provided very fine organ versions of symphonies throughout this remarkable project.

     There are 11 Bruckner symphonies in all, so it seems a touch odd (or, again, quixotic) that the very last release in this series, of the “Study Symphony,” is designated as Volume 10 – which happens because the release of Symphony No. “0” was designated Volume 0. The tremendous underlying seriousness of this sequence, and the excellence of its production, are peppered with touches of levity when seen this way. But there is nothing the slightest bit carefree about these remarkable Oehms CDs or Albrecht’s presentation of the music, which includes complementary organ transcriptions of various shorter Bruckner works plus a series of “Bruckner Windows” by 21^st-century composers – pieces through which (as through a window) one can view Bruckner’s symphonies with varying degrees of new/different/unusual clarity. Depending on one’s viewpoint, these “windows” can deliver bursts of startling insight or can be something more akin to stained glass: having beauty in themselves but not making it very easy to see through them to Bruckner on the other side. Alpha et Omega by Enjott Schneider (born 1950) is intended as a bridge of sorts between Bruckner’s first and final symphonies, with Schneider basing it on the notion (now, however, largely discredited) that Bruckner actively desired the use of his Te Deum to conclude his Symphony No. 9 because he knew he would not live to finish the work. In truth, Alpha et Omega is more intriguing if thought of and listened to as a bridge between the two forms of music on this Volume 10 CD: the “Study Symphony” itself and Horn’s fascinating attempt to reconstruct the Bruckner improvisation performed by the composer/organist in 1886 at St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna. This was an important event on many levels, and it certainly further cemented Bruckner’s already firm reputation as a brilliant organist and, specifically, an improviser on the organ: the performance was attended by composers including Saint-Saëns and Franck, themselves organists of some repute, and they and others who heard it found Bruckner’s playing remarkable. Albrecht’s handling of this reconstruction – which is by no means a throwaway, being in three movements lasting 20 minutes – is adept, sensitive and thoughtful, with an understated virtuosity that sounds as if it reflects Bruckner’s own approach with considerable skill (although of course no recordings of Bruckner’s playing exist – only contemporary accounts, most of them fulsome with praise).

     Albrecht’s handling of the reconstruction and of Schneider’s “Window” are so interesting that they almost overshadow his version of the “Study Symphony” itself. But only “almost.” This is a student work, to be sure, but it is not the work of a young man: Bruckner was 39 when he wrote it, and although it is certainly derivative and looks ahead in only minor ways to the later symphonies, it is sure-handed in construction and approach in ways that show it to be a worthy foundation of Bruckner’s symphonic oeuvre. Interestingly, the work in some ways sounds better as an organ transcription than in its original form, which is a bit prosaic in the handling of the ensemble: Albrecht’s playing elucidates the unsurprising four-movement structure while giving the symphony an aural palette resembling that of some of the later symphonies, the organ allowing a certain level of egalitarianism to this early work that Bruckner’s orchestration does not afford it. In any case, Albrecht’s sure pacing, careful attention to detail, and overall sensitivity to Bruckner’s structure and (still-developing) sound world make this reading a worthy one not only as an organ version but also simply as a presentation of the symphony.

     Matters are of course far more fraught and complex when it comes to Bruckner’s Ninth. Here Albrecht’s transcription of the early (1854) Requiem, a motet originally for chorus, three trombones, cello, bass, and organ, serves as a brief curtain-raiser and mood-setter for the symphony, and is followed by the fourth “Bruckner Window” by Philipp Maintz (born 1977), whose works also complement the organ versions of Symphonies Nos. 0, 4 and 7 in this series. Maintz’ fondness, perhaps over-fondness, for dissonance, works for Symphony No. 9 rather better than for the earlier Bruckner symphonies, notably in an abrupt final chordal exclamation somewhat along the lines of Charles Ives’ conclusion of his Symphony No. 2. Maintz limns a somewhat distorted from-darkness-to-light musical painting here – an intriguing viewpoint through which to see Bruckner’s final symphony. It is, however, Schaller’s completion of the symphony, and Albrecht’s interpretation of that completion, that truly provide a “Bruckner window” of great clarity, strength and meaningfulness. Albrecht thoroughly understands every nuance of the symphony, and his very carefully chosen pacing gives the work tremendous power and communicative strength – or, more accurately, unleashes the power and strength that Bruckner put into it. The concluding movement, of which Bruckner finished some 90%, acts as a genuine capstone in Schaller’s finely hewed completion, and is enormously effective both in its orchestral version (which Schaller has conducted to excellent effect) and in this organ transcription. Although the long-established three-movement version of the symphony has undoubted power and packs a substantial emotional punch, it is clear when listening to the work’s four-movement form that this is what Bruckner wanted, this is what he intended, and this is what serves as an offering “to my dear God.” Both Schaller and Albrecht thoroughly comprehend the underpinnings of Bruckner’s Ninth, and the result in Albrecht’s organ performance is a completely convincing presentation that mounts the pinnacle toward which the symphony’s first three movements ascend and then takes musical and spiritual matters even higher, into the realm of the ineffable. This performance alone more than justifies the decision to release all the Bruckner symphonies in organ transcriptions, although, in truth, this entire sequence is its own justification: Bruckner preferred to extemporize upon the organ, not write for it (he created very little organ music); but his symphonies, in the sensitively conceived and beautifully played versions offered by Albrecht, show the substantial extent to which Bruckner’s musical conceptualizations and aural thinking were colored by the tremendous depth of feeling that contemporary audiences heard him display when performing on his chosen instrument.

(+++) OLD-FASHIONED AND NEWFANGLED

Idil Biret Archive Edition, Volume 24: Bach—Concertos for One, Two, Three and Four Keyboards. Idil Biret, Ayşegül Sarıca, Hande Dalkıhç, and Erol Erdinç, pianos; Bilkent Symphony Orchestra conducted by Gürer Eykal and Erol Erdinç. IBA. $19.99.

Stephen Sondheim: Music reimagined by Anthony de Mare, Christopher Cerrone, Conrad Tao, Jeff Beal, Jon Batiste, Kevin Puts, Marc Schubring, Mark Bennett, Max Richter, Meredith Monk, Paola Prestini, Stephen Hough, Ted Hearne, and Timo Andres. Anthony de Mare, piano, with Conrad Tao, piano. AVIE. $19.99.

     The long-running Idil Biret Archive Edition is as much for fans of the Turkish pianist as for listeners enamored of the music she performs on the CDs. These are, in the main, older recordings by Biret (born 1941) that do not always conform to more-recent scholarship about performance practice or more-recent expectations regarding sound quality. They are certainly worth hearing for insight into the exceptional talent that Biret has shown throughout her long career, but often their value is more historic than musical. That is the case with Volume 24 in the series, which offers Biret and colleagues performing four of Bach’s harpsichord concertos – which are often, as here, called “keyboard concertos” to distract attention from the fact that they were not written for pianos even though they are often performed on them. Biret is the soloist for the solo concerto in D minor, BWV 1052. The dual concerto in C minor, BWV 1060, features her and Ayşegül Sarıca. BWV 1064, in C, adds Hande Dalkıhç; and BWV 1065, in A minor, also includes Erol Erdinç – one of the two conductors under whom the Bilkent Symphony Orchestra accompanies the soloists. The recordings are actually among the more-recent ones in this IBA series: BWV 1052 was recorded in 1998, the other three concertos as recently as 2002. The sound, unfortunately, is rather subpar, especially in the 2002 recordings, which were transferred to CD from VHS originals – indeed, the accompanying booklet draws attention, rather apologetically, to the situation. As a result, the main attraction of this CD is the chance to hear Biret’s way with Bach – whose music has not previously appeared in the Archive Edition. BWV 1052 has been a staple of Biret’s concerts since she was a remarkable five-year-old prodigy, but the other concertos are not ones she has played frequently – indeed, the performance of BWV 1064 heard on this disc is the only one in which she has ever participated. So while Bach is in a sense foundational in Biret’s career, his music has not been a major, ongoing part of it – and that shows in the interpretations heard here. Everything is in its place, all the pianists perform accurately, the tempos are fine, and the balance between soloists and ensemble is as it should be. But there is nothing historically informed about these performances, no attempt to downplay the differences between an instrument whose sound comes from hammers striking strings and one whose strings are plucked; nor is there diminution of pedal use (although the pedals are not overused) or any hesitation in making the slow movements of the concertos somewhat over-expressive (although none of these pianists indulges in sweeping Romantic gestures and sounds). These are pleasant performances, in other words, and they are old-fashioned in the sense that they employ the piano’s resources as if Bach had written for the piano rather than the harpsichord. This CD is a welcome addition to the Archive Edition and will certainly be of interest to listeners appreciative of Biret’s considerable skill. But these readings will scarcely be anybody’s first choice for the music itself: the disc serves Biret well enough but does less credit to Bach.

     The credit goes to Stephen Sondheim (1930-2021) for a new AVIE disc that looks back on Sondheim’s 20 full-length musicals and offers interpretations and reimaginings of some of his music. Pianist Anthony de Mare is the driving force behind this retrospective-plus-reinterpretation project, which he began in 2012 as a tribute to Sondheim and which has now metamorphosed into a tribute-cum-memorial. De Mare himself contributes one piece to this collection: All Things Bright and Beautiful, which de Mare plays at the end of the CD as a sort of summation. There is one other work here played by its composer: Move On by Conrad Tao. The rest of the music is a mixture of piano arrangements of Sondheim songs (Another National Anthem by Ted Hearne, Kiss Me by Christopher Cerrone, Not a Day Goes By by Jeff Beal, etc.) and rethinkings of specific Sondheim numbers (Marc Schubring’s Rhapsody in Red is based on Goodbye for Now, Meredith Monk’s Dialogue on Poems, Paola Prestini’s Always on I Wish I Could Forget You, etc.). All the music is nicely played in what is mostly a pop-music vein, transforming theatrical experiences into something akin to a Sondheim salon selection. Sondheim was expert at writing music that fit specific theatrical purposes, but less so at crafting memorable standalone material; indeed, nothing on this CD was designed for the recital space, much less the concert hall, and bereft of their theatrical trappings, the pieces come across as rather thin and unidimensional. Pleasant wistfulness pervades many of the selections: nothing here has real depth, or claims to have it. In the context of entertainment that wears its heart proudly on its sleeve, as so many Sondheim musicals do, these 14 little works – mostly in the four-minute range – make sense and produce their desired effects. As piano arrangements/tributes, however, they come across rather less well: the CD will be of strong interest only to people already familiar with the original tunes – or, better still, with the works in which the original tunes appear. Those listeners will find this disc to offer some pleasant meandering through territory they already know well, and will find the “memorial” aspect of this recording especially emotive. For people who are not already dyed-in-the-wool Sondheim fans, there is less to enjoy here: the music, shorn of its original reasons for being, is for the most part pleasantly vacuous without being, on its own, especially gripping or involving. De Mare is a strong and consistent advocate for this material, in which he clearly believes, and certainly the contributing composers are duly respectful of Sondheim while putting their own stamps on his tunes. There is, however, a certain amount of navel-gazing going on here: for de Mare himself, for the contributors to his project, and for like-minded listeners, this is something of a Sondheim feast; for others, it is rather thin gruel.

(++++) A SENSE OF THE ALL-ENCOMPASSING

Mahler: Symphony No. 3. Catriona Morison, mezzo-soprano; Prague Philharmonic Choir, Pueri gaudentes and Czech Philharmonic conducted by Semyon Bychkov. Pentatone. $26.99 (2 CDs).

     The famous exchange of opinions about symphonies between Jean Sibelius and Gustav Mahler is often misunderstood. It is known only from Sibelius’ recollection of it, in which he remembers Mahler saying, Die Symphonie muss sein wie der Welt – es muss alles umfassen. If Sibelius' memory is accurate, the last word is crucial and often mistranslated. “The symphony must be like the world – it must encompass everything” is the English version: not so much “contain” or “embrace” or “consist of,” as translations often state, but, at least in this case, “include.” Yet that does not mean that a symphony’s musically massed contents must be metaphorically thrown at listeners’ ears in the hope that some will penetrate and stick. Sibelius says Mahler made his comment after he himself “said that I admired [the symphony’s] strictness and style and deep logic, which requires that all its motifs must be linked to each other.” But “deep logic” and linked motifs are precisely the most integral building blocks of Mahler’s symphonies – notably his Symphony No. 8, written just a year before he and Sibelius had their discussion in 1907. Indeed, the merger of “deep logic” and linked motifs dates back to the very start of Mahler’s symphonic production – and is combined with the notion of es muss alles imfassen in his Symphony No. 3, completed more than a decade earlier (1896). Mahler’s Third, his longest symphony and the one conceived on the grandest scale, opens with a horn fanfare whose notes and patterning pervade all six movements: this work of operatic length (more than 100 minutes) all flows and grows from its first minute or two. This is motivic linkage taken to an extreme – but combined with a scale and scope that do indeed include pretty much everything in the world, from the changing seasons to elements of nature (notably, birdsong) to quotidian human concerns (the posthorn) to human despair and striving (Nietzsche) to an all-embracing love that exists so far beyond words that it can be communicated only orchestrally (the finale).

     It is the sheer vastness of Mahler’s Third that Semyon Bychkov explores thoroughly convincingly in a new Pentatone recording that is the fifth in Bychkov’s Mahler cycle: Symphonies Nos. 1-5 have now been released. Bychkov’s understanding of Mahler is at the highest level in Symphony No. 3: he beautifully grasps the solo-vs.-ensemble elements of the score, its individualism paired with gigantism, its extended pauses (notably amid the sections of the first movement and at key points in the finale) contrasted with its headlong forward progress. The brass and percussion sections of the Czech Philharmonic are simply wonderful here, abetted by a recording that picks out individual instruments to perfection while allowing full-orchestra massed sound to flower unimpeded. Bychkov has no fear of Mahler’s Third fragmenting into a series of disconnected episodes, as it can in less-thought-through performances: he does allow individual portions to emerge, flourish and disappear – again, this is especially notable in the first movement – but he keeps everything within an overall vision, an overarching structure, that does indeed include everything Mahler perceived and imagined, presenting it all with a foundational understanding through which the pervasive material from the opening fanfare makes perfect sense as a transcendent conclusion more than an hour and a half later.

     This is not to say that Mahler’s Third is not discursive. Bychkov embraces this element of the music, too: no matter how far things seem to diverge from the path set forth in the first movement – which Mahler wrote last, knowing by the time he created it exactly how it would set the scene for all that would follow – Bychkov remains aware of how the puzzle pieces will eventually coalesce into a fully realized whole that is so much greater than the sum of its parts. Thus, the graceful woodwinds and strings of the second movement, and its gentle Tempo di minuetto pacing, are all the more affecting because of the way they contrast with the rhythmically pounding, brass-heavy march that pervades the first movement and eventually crowns it. The second movement sounds as if it is always airborne or about to take flight, gliding gently along with a beauty of simplicity that brings a pervasive calm that lays to rest the turmoil of the first movement – which, however (and Bychkov clearly understands this) has been necessary to set the scene for this island of tranquility. Then, in the third movement, birdsong-reflecting elements conceal, or at least dress up, something more complex: Mahler starts the movement by quoting his own setting of Ablösung im Sommer, a “changing of the guard for the new season” song in which the death at the end of spring of the simple-sounding cuckoo (symbol of lovers’ infidelity) paves the way for the nightingale’s extended, florid song anticipating new love and a flowering of nature that recalls Pan from the first movement but provides an entirely different context, now expanded into the human realm – even though the distant sound of the posthorn and the human existence it represents are, for the time being, largely ignored by the natural world.

     The fourth movement then focuses matters firmly on human concerns, and Bychkov elegantly explores the major mood change associated with the introduction of the human voice and Nietzsche’s words, sung with appropriate depth of sound and dour expressiveness by Catriona Morison. The movement emerges from complete silence – the orchestra’s ability to play almost inaudibly is exceptional – and Morison gives the opening words a sense of both pleading and near-despair, a strong contrast to the delicacy and exuberance of what has come just before. By the time she reaches the words Die Welt is tief, the depth of troubled human expressiveness is abundantly clear – but Bychkov ensures that the instrumental elements, while sometimes reinforcing the words, at other times sound in contrast to them, recalling earlier and less-fraught moods while setting the stage for the uplift that the fifth movement will bring. That light and lovely children’s-choral movement is refreshingly brief, emerging almost as a kind of purgatory between the pain of the fourth movement and the still-to-come gorgeous beauty of the finale. (Interestingly, the only other Mahler symphonic movement as short as this one is in Symphony No. 10 and is labeled Purgatorio.) The fifth movement, as naïve in expression as it seems mostly to be, is not without darkness: Morison returns to sing of bitterness and ask for pity, and the bell sounds after her plea initially cast a pall over the uplifting choral message. But then the words Die himmlische Freud’ are sung three times, pointing to heavenly joy that will literally elevate human beings above all their turmoil and distress.

     And then the finale moves beyond words – a brilliant concept by Mahler, and one that allows Bychkov to call again upon the tremendous expressiveness of which the Czech Philharmonic seems to possess an unending supply. The gentle opening of the finale restores the quietude of the nonverbal second and third movements, but in a new context and almost at the length of the first movement. Placidity is what Bychkov emphasizes here, but this is not the simple acceptance of existence of the second movement: this is the fulfillment of the striving of the fourth movement and the promise of the fifth, turning this vast canvas from a natural-world-centered one into one with a distinctly human focus – until the very end, when Mahler shows that the two disparate portraits of the world are really one and the same, and Bychkov allows the first-movement-echoing music to burst forth in a resplendent D major with beauty and joy and an affirmation that everything, everything, is pervaded by love (if not always peace) that “passeth all understanding.” It is a wonderfully knowing and poised conclusion to an absolutely first-rate performance that displays tremendous understanding of Mahler’s messaging and of the way the composer not only includes the entire world in his Symphony No. 3 but also produces a work of pervasive “style and deep logic” subsumed within an emotional landscape of surpassing beauty, meaning and tenderness.