Brahms: Symphonies Nos. 1-4;
Variations on a Theme by Haydn; Academic Festival Overture; Tragic Overture.
Helsingborg Symphony Orchestra conducted by Andrew Manze. CPO. $50.99 (3 CDs).
Dvořák: Symphony No. 7; In
Nature’s Realm; Scherzo capriccioso; Slavonic Dance, Op. 46, No. 8.
Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra conducted by José Serebrier. Warner. $18.99.
Verdi: Complete Ballet Music from
the Operas. Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra conducted by José Serebrier. Naxos. $19.99 (2 CDs)
No matter how
fashionable it becomes in some circles to scoff at Romantic music and the
endless public taste for it, there is always room for another cycle of great
and grand 19th-century symphonies – provided that the conductor has
something new to communicate in what could otherwise be thrice-told musical
tales. Andrew Manze’s Brahms cycle for
CPO is a perfect argument that there is no such thing as too much Romantic
music out there, because even with the innumerable alternative Brahms recordings,
of the complete symphonies and individual ones, this performance by the
Helsingborg Symphony Orchestra stands out.
Manze is a remarkably thoughtful conductor and an exceptionally
perceptive one; moreover, he knows how to translate his careful analysis of the
music into performances that are gripping, emotional, exciting, dramatic and
structurally impressive. Manze is young
(born in 1965) and a fine violinist; perhaps these two characteristics help
explain the enthusiasm he brings to these well-known works and the marvelous
clarity he calls forth through a combination of sensitive orchestral balance
and carefully chosen tempos that he tries to bring into conformity with what
Brahms himself would have wanted (which generally means faster outer movements than
other conductors offer – and, frequently, more-leisurely slow ones).
Manze’s Brahms is the
opposite of heavy-handed or turgid. This
is music that lives and breathes, and it sounds livelier and far more pellucid
than the Brahms symphonies usually do.
It is also music filled with elegance and lovely details – the woodwinds
in the third movement of Symphony No. 1, for example, and the deliberately
lighter-than-usual (but very effective) treatment of the timpani near the end
of the introduction to the finale. This
symphony is paired on its disc with the Haydn Variations, which are
rhythmically sure, beautifully balanced and structurally solid: the orchestra’s
middle voices, which so often disappear in performances of Brahms, come through
quite clearly here, and the music is both richer and more colorful as a
result. Manze does employ some rubato in a few of the variations, but
he does so judiciously and in ways that successfully emphasize certain
instrumental details without impeding the forward flow of the music. The first movement of Symphony No. 2 has
absolutely lovely flow and warmth, but is far more transparent and less heavy-handed
than in many other performances; and it contrasts beautifully with the
heartfelt Adagio non troppo. This symphony’s finale is even more ebullient
than usual, too. The CD continues with an
excellently played Tragic Overture
that emphasizes drama and intensity rather than portentousness, and an Academic Festival Overture that
positively bubbles with good spirits.
Symphony No. 3, the most tightly knit of the four, here has more
individuation among movements than is typically the case, thanks to Manze’s
tempo choices and his careful balance of orchestral sections – the emphasis on the
lovely wind parts in the Andante, for
example, and the solid focus on brass in the finale. And Symphony No. 4 stylishly displays its
roots in Bach, with a clean sound all the way from the poised and graceful
first movement through the elegantly proportioned finale. Manze’s interpretations may not be to all
tastes: they are quite different from the massively proportioned Brahms
symphonies that are far more often heard.
But they represent something fresh and distinctive in the interpretation
of these quintessentially Romantic works, and indeed in some ways are a return
to an approach that Brahms himself would have recognized more readily than the
frequently overblown readings to which his symphonies have so often been
subjected.
José Serebrier is a better-known
conductor than Manze and a far more experienced one: born in 1938, he made his
New York conducting debut in the year that Manze was born. A Dvořák
cycle by Serebrier is certainly a Romantic-era offering to anticipate and ought
to be one to celebrate. But something is
going wrong with this usually perceptive conductor’s readings with the
Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra. The first
volume of the sequence, featuring the ubiquitous “From the New World,”
established some quirks that the second volume confirms, and not to the music’s
benefits. Serebrier has apparently
decided to combine each symphony with some of the composer’s shorter works,
creating a kind of recorded “concert program” with the symphonies being
central. There is nothing wrong with
this – it is an interestingly creative approach – but the specific works chosen
do not seem to have been picked very thoughtfully. Each of the first two volumes opens with a
Slavonic Dance, which is fine as a “curtain raiser.” But the new Warner recording follows the
symphony with In Nature’s Realm, the
first of the three tone poems that Dvořák
collectively called “Nature, Life and Love,” and then does not follow with the second and third such works (Carnival and Othello) but with the Scherzo
capriccioso. Serebrier himself
contributes a booklet note mentioning the three tone poems and so is certainly
well aware of their interrelationship; undoubtedly Carnival and Othello will
show up eventually. But why not
here? Strange. Furthermore, and this is the real
disappointment of this series so far, Serebrier’s interpretations are well
below the level of his capabilities. Scherzo capriccioso is taken mainly at
an Andante tempo that pulls this ebullient work back instead of letting it
plunge forward. In Nature’s Realm drags even more – this is nature struggling to
emerge from a soporific state and potentially putting the audience into
one. The orchestra’s playing is quite
good, the musicians clearly giving Serebrier what he wants; but what he wants
just does not serve the music well. As
for the symphony, which is Dvořák’s
most deeply emotional: the third movement is excellent, well-paced and deep,
and the finale is mostly effective despite one unnecessary ritard. But the first
movement never gels, and the second features capricious tempo variations that
may be intended to emphasize the emotional content but serve only to strangle
it. Serebrier is capable of much, much
better interpretations than these, but seems unwilling to let Dvořák’s music flow and develop
according to the scores; and by trying to add to the composer, he subtracts
instead. This release will be worth a
(+++) rating to those who admire the orchestra’s playing and the impressive
handling of the second half of the symphony, but only a (++) rating to those
with higher expectations of this conductor.
Those looking for
confirmation of how good Serebrier can
be in Romantic music need look no further than a fascinating (++++) Naxos
release in which Serebrier – again with the Bournemouth Symphony – presents all
the ballet music from Verdi’s operas.
Ballet scenes were required by certain opera houses (notably the Paris
Opéra) as a condition of
mounting works there, and composers complied by writing music ranging from the
inspired to the fairly dull.
Occasionally, a balletic element of an opera has not only survived but
has become more popular than the opera itself – the “Dance of the Hours” from
Ponchielli’s La Gioconda comes
immediately to mind. But more often, the
ballet scenes – which were, after all, usually occasional pieces rather than
integral to the works containing them – disappeared after a while. Even ballets written by composers with real
skill in dance forms, such as the one Johann Strauss Jr. created for Die Fledermaus, have largely
evaporated. But now we have a
fascinating recording, and a very well-performed one, of ballet music from Otello, Macbeth, Jérusalem (a
reworking for Paris of I Lombardi alla
prima crociata), Don Carlo, Aida, Il
trovatore and I vespri siciliani. The Aida
and Otello ballets are still heard,
at least from time to time, and the half-hour “Four Seasons” ballet from I vespri siciliani has survived, but that
is about it. Perhaps because this two-CD
set offers less-familiar music rather than works as well-known as those in his Dvořák series, or perhaps because he
likes to include the ballet music when he conducts Verdi operas, Serebrier does
not attempt to turn these works into more than they are or twist them in any
particular way – he lets them flow naturally, which means listeners can simply
hear how Verdi wrote in a form that was not especially congenial for him:
concert music. Some of this material
fits the operas quite well: the short Aida
dances, for example, are actually worked into the stage production, and Verdi
carefully conceived the Otello ballet
music to go with a particular series of dances (however awkward the concept of
a ballet is in this opera’s third act).
Other music here stands well on its own for the simple reason that it
has nothing in particular to do with any stage action. Sometimes lively, sometimes sensual, always
well-constructed and often quite interesting its own right (although not all
the time), Verdi’s ballet music shows a side of the composer with which many
listeners, including regular operagoers, will not be familiar. It also shows a side of Serebrier with which
listeners are familiar, and one that will
hopefully re-emerge as his Dvořák
sequence for Warner continues.
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