E.T.A. Hoffmann: Symphony in
E-flat; “Undine”—Overture; “Aurora”—Overture and March; Friedrich Witt: Sinfonia
in A. Kölner Akademie
conducted by Michael Alexander Willens. CPO. $16.99.
Saint-Saëns: Symphonies Nos. 1
and 2; Phaéton—Symphonic Poem. Malmö Symphony Orchestra conducted by Marc Soustrot. Naxos. $9.99.
Charles-Marie Widor: Organ
Symphonies Nos. 1-4. Christian Schmitt, organ. CPO. $33.99 (2 SACDs).
Bruckner: Symphonies Nos. 6 and
7. Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra conducted by Mariss Jansons. RCO Live.
$21.99 (2 SACDs).
John Knowles Paine: Symphony No.
2, “In the Spring”; Oedipus Tyrannus—Prelude; Poseidon and Amphitrite—An Ocean
Fantasy. Ulster Orchestra conducted by JoAnn Falletta. Naxos. $12.99.
E.T.A. Hoffmann, who so
admired Mozart that he changed his third Christian name to Amadeus from
Wolfgang, might reasonably have been expected to produce a Mozartean work in
his only symphony. But Hoffmann actually based the symphony more on Haydn – who
was still alive in 1806, when Hoffmann wrote the piece. But Hoffmann rethought
Haydn’s symphonic approach in line with his own aesthetic theory, which said
that sonata movements – such as the first of his symphony – ought to seem
arbitrary while actually being carefully constructed. Thus, although this
rarely played work starts with introductory material reminiscent of Haydn’s
“London” Symphony (No. 104), it does not sound much like Haydn at all; and it
contains elements that move well beyond what Haydn did, such as a third-movement
Menuetto in the unusual key of C
minor. Only in the finale is there some of Haydn’s sense of propulsive motion,
but here too Hoffmann offers something different: a secondary theme derived
from the introduction to the first movement, thus linking the whole work
melodically. The musicians of Kölner
Akademie, conducted by Michael Alexander Willens, play the piece with spirited
understanding and style. And they bring the same characteristics to the opera
excerpts on this first-rate CPO disc. Hoffmann was primarily a stage composer
during his brief life (1776-1822), and his final two operas, Aurora and Undine, are the first romantic operas written in German – paving
the way for Weber and through him for Marschner and Wagner. Both the overtures
and the second of four marches from Aurora
are theatrically effective and emotionally satisfying. The Hoffmann music on
this disc is coupled with an early (ca. 1790) sinfonia by Friedrich Witt
(1770-1836), a virtually unknown composer today but one who for a time had a
symphony of his in C deemed to be an early work by Beethoven (the so-called
“Jena” symphony). Witt’s work here is less advanced than Hoffmann’s – it was
written when Mozart was still alive – and more conventional in structure. This
is gracious and agreeable music if not a work of any great profundity. Perhaps
the best word for it is “engaging,” which in this performance it certainly is.
As the 19th
century progressed, symphony composers, shadowed always by Beethoven, sought
ways to distinguish their music from what had come before. It tended to take
them a while to break with the past, if they ever did. Saint-Saëns, for example, wrote five
symphonies (two early ones are unnumbered), but it is only the last of them,
the “Organ,” that is frequently heard today. This means that the new Naxos disc
of Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 is especially welcome – all the more so because of
the fine playing of the Malmö
Symphony Orchestra under Marc Soustrot. Saint-Saëns’ first symphony is a rather derivative work – the composer
himself considered it so – but nevertheless has distinctive elements. The
finale is notable for having a considerably larger orchestra than the first
three movements: there are two horns in F, two valve horns in E-flat, four
timpani, two saxhorns, four harps and more. The first three movements are
well-made, but it is the finale, which initially uses its forces rather
delicately but then builds to a grandiose Wagnerian march, that will most
impress listeners new to the work. This symphony dates to 1853 – Saint-Saëns had not yet turned 18 – so the
skill with which the orchestra is handled is remarkable and the grandiosity
perhaps not unexpected. The second symphony, written in 1859, uses more-modest
forces – no harps or trombones, and fewer timpani – but shows the composer
moving farther toward an individual style. The first movement, for example, is
based on a fugue, and the second movement (Adagio)
features muted strings and some elements that return in altered form in the
third movement (Scherzo: Presto). The
finale contains a surprise Andantino
section just when it seems to have ended – another creative touch. There is
creativity as well in the symphonic poem Phaéton,
which dates to 1873 and shows Saint-Saëns
again using four timpani plus harps (two in this case), this time with more
finesse than in his first numbered symphony. The work traces Phaéton’s attempt to drive the chariot
of his father, the Sun, across the sky, his loss of control of the horses that
pull the chariot, and his death by a thunderbolt that Jupiter hurls to prevent
the errant chariot from setting the universe afire. The story’s drama is
well-communicated by the music and presented with Saint-Saëns’ customary and by this time
well-refined skill in orchestration.
The symphony was undergoing major development
even by the time Saint-Saëns
wrote his first one – and the word “symphony” was applied in new ways as the 19th
century continued. In 1872, the first four of Charles-Marie Widor’s Organ Symphonies appeared, 14 years
before Saint-Saëns created the
orchestral piece that is known as his “Organ” Symphony. That one includes an
organ, but Widor’s are really symphonies for
organ, written to take advantage of the famous instruments designed and built by
Aristide Cavaillé-Coll
(1811-1899). Those organs were a deliberate departure from earlier ones, which
were designed for the lightness and transparency necessary to create effective
performances of contrapuntal works. Cavaillé-Coll built organs for a homophonic age, a time when pianos had
already supplanted contrapuntally superior harpsichords and made possible a
range of expressiveness undreamed of in Baroque times. The Cavaillé-Coll organs were intended to have
much the same level of expressive capability, and Widor, when he created his Organ Symphonies, was well aware that he
was producing something new. The first four of these works, collected as his
Op. 13, are in Widor’s early style and were significantly revised by the
composer (an inveterate self-reviser) in later years. For example, the Salve Regina movement of No. 2 was added
many years after the work was first composed. Less fully integrated than the
later Organ Symphonies and more
closely resembling suites (Widor himself called them “collections”), these
early works nevertheless stake out new territory in organ composition and
performance. A particular pleasure of the performances by Christian Schmitt on
a two-SACD CPO set that is blessed with particularly elegant and vibrant sound
is that Schmitt actually plays a Cavaillé-Coll
organ: the one in Abteikirche St. Ouen (Rouen). It is only necessary to hear
the Toccata that opens the fourth symphony to understand viscerally just how
much organs like this differed from those of Bach’s time, and just how much
Widor’s approach to organ writing moved beyond that of the Baroque. These are
fluid performances of great skill and musicianship, bringing solidity to works
whose many suite-like movements can make them seem disjointed: there are seven
movements in No. 1, six apiece in Nos. 2 and 4, and five in No. 3. Widor
spawned a whole new symphonic concept with these works, one carried forward by
such students of his as Marcel Dupré
and Louis Vierne and moving, over time, farther and farther from the
traditional idea of the classical symphony – while showing that the organ could
become just as effectively symphonic an instrument as the grand piano, which
Liszt at one point specifically termed an orchestra in miniature.
In truth, miniaturization of
any sort was scarcely a 19th-century symphonic priority. One element
of change in the symphony was its expansion in length, breadth, and number of
musicians and instruments required to produce it. The monumental symphonies of
Bruckner were already pushing the limits of what orchestral musicians could
handle in the 1860s: by about the time Widor wrote his first Organ Symphonies, Bruckner had already
produced his Second Symphony (1872) and was working on his Third (1873). Later
in that decade, and then in the one that followed, Bruckner continued expanding
the communicative power of his symphonic music, with his Sixth Symphony dating
to 1879-81 and his Seventh to 1881-83/1885. The performances of these works by
the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra under its chief conductor, Mariss Jansons, recorded
live for the orchestra’s own RSO Live label, not only confirm the tremendous
power of the music but also show yet again why the Concertgebouw is one of the
absolute best orchestras in the world. The ensemble’s splendid brass, with a
rich, warm, elegant sound, is a trademark – and a huge benefit in Bruckner’s
music. But every section of the orchestra is a standout here: rich, creamy
strings; elegantly poised and balanced winds; and percussion played with
precision, drama and dynamism. Jansons is especially impressive in the Sixth, a
work that rarely gets its full due: Bruckner did not make multiple versions of
this symphony, as he did of almost all his others, expressing satisfaction with
it and calling it his “sauciest” symphony. That puzzling remark actually makes
some sense in the context of this performance, whose first-rate SACD sound
shows inner voices with a piquancy exceeding what is usual for Bruckner. The
“sauciest” remark may also fit the rather strange Scherzo, which lacks the
strong dance rhythms usually associated with Bruckner’s scherzos. And it may
simply reflect the abruptness with which the music changes direction and focus
throughout – a state of affairs that can be difficult for lesser orchestras to
handle, but that the Concertgebouw negotiates with ease. As for the Seventh,
its admixture of power, lyricism, solemnity and serenity comes across
splendidly in this recording, in which the Concertgebouw’s superb sectional
balance shows itself again and again as the music requires abrupt changes in
instrumentation. Saint-Saëns may
have created an “Organ” Symphony, but Bruckner’s often sound like
transliterations from organ language to orchestral forces – and while this is
an oversimplification, it is particularly true in parts of the Seventh, and
brought out exceptionally well by Jansons and the Concertgebouw in a
performance that scales the heights not only of expressiveness but also of
sumptuously beautiful sound.
Symphonic rethinking went on
in the 19th century in the United States as well as in Europe,
although the creation of truly American symphonic works would have to wait for
the 20th century. Still, John Knowles Paine (1839-1906) showed in
the second of his two symphonies that he had thoroughly absorbed the lessons of
European Romantic models and could produce a substantial work with programmatic
overtones from them. Dating to 1879, this “Spring” symphony bears some
resemblance to Schumann’s First, notably in its finale; however, although Paine
called the first movement “Departure of Winter – Awakening of Nature,” no one
would confuse this comparatively modest wake-up call with the emergence of Pan
in Mahler’s Third (1893-96). Nevertheless, Paine, the first American-born
composer who became famous for large-scale orchestral music, clearly shows
throughout this work that he had a strong sense of orchestration and the
ability to bring forth elements of a program that runs loosely through the
symphony, from the start to “May-Night Fantasy,” “A Romance of Springtime” and
a finale called “The Glory of Nature.” Some of the musical expressiveness here
is rather pedestrian, but JoAnn Falletta – an ardent advocate of American music
– and the Ulster Orchestra bring forth as much originality and clever construction
as the music possesses. If Paine’s Symphony No. 2 is not great music, it is
very good music indeed, and stands as an example of where American music was
soon to go: Paine was the leader of the Boston Six group of composers, another
of the six being Horatio Parker, who taught none other than Charles Ives –
whose symphonies represent as dramatic a rethinking of the form as any on
either side of the Atlantic. This Naxos CD also includes two very effective
myth-based overtures by Paine: the prelude to Sophocles’ tragedy Oedipus Tyrannus, which Paine wrote in
1880-81, and the fantasy-overture Poseidon
and Amphitrite, which dates to around 1888 and was to be Paine’s last
orchestral work (and which has never before been recorded). Paine is of more
interest and importance for his historical role in the development of a
genuinely American style of orchestral music than for the inherent quality of
his music itself. His works are sturdy, well-wrought, intelligently crafted and
effectively orchestrated, if not really inspired. If they lack the spark of
genius of many better-known European Romantic symphonies and other large-scale
pieces, they are nevertheless worthy both in themselves and because they
demonstrate the growing musical maturity of a United States that, in the late
19th century, was still a very young nation.
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