Accordion Concertos by Ole
Schmidt, Anders Koppel, Martin Lohse and Per Norgård. Bjarke
Mogensen, accordion; Danish National Chamber Orchestra conducted by Rolf Gupta.
Dacapo. $16.99 (SACD).
English Recorder Concertos by
Richard Harvey, Sir Malcolm Arnold and Gordon Jacob. Michala Petri,
recorder; City Chamber Orchestra of Hong Kong conducted by Jean Thorel. OUR
Recordings. $16.99 (SACD).
Joseph Martin Kraus: Concertos
for Viola and Orchestra, VB 153b and 153c; Concerto for Viola, Cello and
Orchestra, VB 153a. David Aaron Carpenter, viola; Riitta Pesola, cello;
Tapiola Sinfonietta. Ondine. $16.99.
Solo Harp: The Best of Yolanda
Kondonassis. Azica. $16.99.
Rachmaninoff: Morceaux de Fantaisie,
Op. 3; Études-Tableaux, Op. 33; Variations on a Theme of Corelli, Op.
42. Nareh Arghamanyan, piano. PentaTone. $19.99 (SACD).
In classical
recordings, it is generally the music that draws purchasers – but by no means
always. Sometimes it is the chance to
hear a specific performer’s virtuosity, or to hear high-quality playing of an
unfamiliar instrument, that is the major attraction. For most listeners outside Denmark and other
countries with a strong accordion tradition, the interest in a Dacapo SACD featuring
Bjarke Mogensen will likely be more in the instrument he plays than in the
specific works in which he plays it. The
accordion generally has a less-than-stellar reputation in the musical world,
and certainly is not a primary instrument of choice in classical compositions
in most countries. But the four 20th-
and 21st-century works played by Mogensen, if unlikely to change the
general opinion of accordion music, at least show how it can be skillfully
incorporated into traditional forms and can become far more emotionally
expressive than it is usually considered to be.
Two of the pieces here, Anders Koppel’s Concerto Piccolo (2009) and Martin Lohse’s In Liquid… (2008/2010), were specifically written for Mogensen, and
it is easy to see why. He seems able to
make the accordion into something it does not naturally appear to be: an
instrument of considerable emotional range, tonal impact and sonic beauty. Both Koppel and Lohse demand accordion
playing that is not only virtuosic but also refined and emotive, and Mogensen
delivers it with seeming effortlessness throughout both pieces. He brings elegance and even charm to the two
earlier works here as well: Per Norgård’s
Recall (1968/1977) and Ole Schmidt’s Symphonic Fantasy and Allegro (1958),
the latter being particularly interesting because it is a wholly traditional
sort of display piece, written for an instrument that would not seem to be
well-suited to the demands of such a work.
In Mogensen’s hands, though, the accordion is not to be trifled with or
taken lightly – it sounds as worthy of being studied and highlighted as other
instruments.
The recorder was once
the frequent province of virtuosi, but as the transverse flute supplanted it,
it fell into comparative obscurity – from which it never quite emerged except
in period-practice performances of older works.
However, it never went entirely out of style, either, and is now
undergoing something of a revival: Concerto
Incantato by Richard Harvey (born 1953) was written as recently as
2009. This piece, which receives its
world première recording in a
thoroughly convincing performance by Michala Petri, for whom it was written, is
a five-movement work with spiritual and magical overtones in the movements’
titles: Sortilegio, Natura Morta, Danza
Spiriti, Canzone Sacra and Incantesimi. Petri makes the music flow naturally and
entertainingly from start to finish, bringing considerable charm to a work that
combines modern sensibilities with the old-fashioned orientation of a Telemann
suite. Sir Malcolm Arnold’s Concerto for Recorder and Orchestra
(1988), also written for Petri, is a more-serious piece and sounds more
substantial, even though it is much shorter than Harvey’s work (12 minutes vs.
29). Arnold clearly saw the recorder as
continuing to deserve the same solo prominence in the 20th century
that it had in the 18th.
Gordon Jacob, however, saw matters differently: his Suite for Recorder and Strings (1957) takes full advantage of the
instrument’s lightness and its ability to create a fleet-footed impression, as
if its music is about to take wing. The
seven-movement suite, which recalls Telemann even more directly than does
Harvey’s work, actually contains more slow-paced movements (four) than quick
ones (three). But far from trying to
delve deeply into emotional realms, even in the Lament (Adagio), Jacob keeps everything comparatively light and at
times even bubbly, as in the Burlesca
alla Rumba and concluding Tarantella. Petri is an absolutely wonderful advocate for
the recorder, with the three pieces here showing off her considerable skill and
their composers’ very different talents as well.
Speaking of talented
composers, Joseph Martin Kraus (1756-1792) was deemed by Haydn to be a genius at
the level of Mozart, of whom Kraus was almost an exact contemporary. The German-born Swedish composer was
considered highly innovative and well ahead of his time in the demands he
placed on instrumentalists, and those demands are very much in evidence in
three viola concertos performed by the Tapiola Sinfonietta with David Aaron
Carpenter. Viola concertos from the 18th
century are real rarities, and ones with the level of virtuosity required for
these are simply unheard of (and, until now, unheard: these are the works’
première commercial recordings). Carpenter plays the concertos with style and
flair, but without swooping down on the music and making its virtuosic passages
sound as if they were written in the 19th century. Indeed, the organization of these works plants
them firmly in Mozart’s time, but the expectations of the soloist show Kraus
reaching well beyond what composers expected from viola players in this age –
even though many of the composers themselves performed on the instrument. Most interesting of all is the concerto for
viola and cello. It is tempting to think
of it as a precursor of Brahms’ Double
Concerto, but of course Brahms did not know the Kraus work (all three of
these viola works have only recently been rediscovered). What Kraus manages to do here is to meld the
sounds of viola and cello while giving each an individualized role to play in
the concerto, somewhat as Mozart did for violin and viola in his Sinfonia Concertante, K364. With fine playing by cellist Riitta Pesola
complementing Carpenter’s on viola, this concerto makes one wonder what other
Kraus gems, or other long-missing examples of 18th-century
compositional skill, might remain to be discovered.
The discovery
listeners are intended to make in the new CD called Solo Harp is less of the pieces being played than of the
considerable skill of Yolanda Kondonassis, who is indeed a harpist of the
highest order. The recital here is not
especially generous in length – 55 minutes – but that may well be enough
solo-harp music for listeners to hear in a single sitting, even when the
playing is as good as that of Kondonassis.
Many of the works here are well-known, although not in solo-harp
versions: a Prelude and Presto by Bach, for example, and Gnossienne No. 3 by Satie. The longest familiar piece Kondonassis offers
is Saint-Saëns’ Fantaisie, Op. 95, but the composer most
represented on the CD is Carlos Salzedo (1885-1961), who is heard in four works
– including Scintillation, which at
10 minutes is the most-extended of all the pieces performed. This is perhaps a bit too much Salzedo – he
is more interesting in his short Rumba
and Bolero than when heard at greater
length. And the sound of the harp, even
with all the tonal variation and rhythmic clarity that Kondonassis brings to
it, tends to pall after a while, usually more in transcribed works than in ones
written originally for the instrument. Solo Harp gets a (+++) rating: the
playing is certainly first-rate, but a listener’s interest in the music is
likely to flag no matter how enchanted he or she may be by the sheer technical
skill of the performer.
The new SACD featuring
Armenian pianist Nareh Arghamanyan, however, gets a (++++) rating, for here the
clear focus on the performer is well-matched with the very considerable interest
level of the music she plays. The Op. 33
Études
Tableaux are the best-known pieces here, but the Variations on a Theme of Corelli will be of greatest interest to
listeners who know of Rachmaninoff’s skill in the variation form only through
his so-often-performed Rhapsody on a
Theme of Paganini. Arghamanyan has a
distinctive way with this music: she has all the virtuosity that the pieces
require, but she also brings a quiet tenderness, a feeling of empathy, to works
that are frequently played simply as surface-level display pieces. Rachmaninoff is coming in for some
reconsideration as a composer, no longer being instantly dismissed as overly
Romantic and overblown, and these performances show why: there is beauty here
that lies beneath the surface as well as upon it, and the very considerable
technical demands of these works seem, in Arghamanyan’s readings, to be at the
service of genuine emotional communication that reaches out to listeners very
effectively indeed. PentaTone includes a
bonus DVD with the Arghamanyan CD – and although the music on it, consisting of
excerpts from the works on the audio recording, is of no particular additional
value when accompanied by sometimes-distracting video, the DVD will be of
interest to those who would like to see the pianist and hear an extended
interview with her, which includes her mentioning that she listens to all sorts
of music on her MP3 player, but not to rap..
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