Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 1 and
2. Orchester Wiener Akademie conducted by Martin Haselböck. Alpha. $18.99.
Mozart: Violin Concertos Nos.
1-5. Nils-Erik Sparf, violin; Uppsala Chamber Orchestra. Swedish Society.
$34.99 (2 CDs).
Hummel: Sonata for Piano and
Flute (or Violin), Op. 50; Grand Sonata for Piano and Violin (or Flute), Op.
64; Variations alla Monferina for Cello and Piano, Op. 54; Adagio, Variations
and Rondo on a Russian Theme for Piano, Flute and Cello, Op. 78. Linde Brunmayr-Tutz,
flute; Jaap ter Linden, cello; Bart van Oort, piano. Fra Bernardo. $18.99.
Brahms: Piano Trios Nos. 1-3.
Christian Tetzlaff, violin; Tanja Tetzlaff, cello; Lars Vogt, piano. Ondine.
$33.99 (2 CDs).
Nowadays the use of original
instruments or replicas, original-size orchestras, and original manuscripts and
tempos for well-known works may not always be enough. Some enterprising
conductors and ensembles want to give modern audiences the actual sound of music as composers originally
intended it – by performing it with as much historical accuracy as possible and
in as historically correct a setting as can be. When this approach is well
done, it can be truly revelatory, as it is in the new Beethoven CD from
Orchester Wiener Akademie conducted by Martin Haselböck, on the Alpha label. Haselböck is an erudite, meticulous conductor with impeccable
historical/academic credentials and a fine feel for Beethoven’s music. This
disc and the ones to follow in his Beethoven cycle will take 21st-century
listeners on an aural tour of the venues where Beethoven’s symphonies were
originally performed – to the extent possible (only four of the six original
locations remain). Add Haselböck’s
careful attention to the size of the orchestra and the instruments within it,
his study of Beethoven’s indicated tempos, and his overall sense of the
structure of the music not only of Beethoven but also of other composers of the
time, and you have a recipe for a very unusual Beethoven cycle with some
genuinely new elements. It is, however, important not to take this
“authenticity” matter too far: obviously the venues that survive are no longer
in exactly the same shape they were in during Beethoven’s lifetime, and
obviously even instruments from that time have required maintenance and repair
in the last 200 years – and so forth. Nevertheless, there is something
exhilarating about experiencing the sound of Beethoven as closely as possible
to the way it was heard by the people who were first exposed to these
now-iconic pieces of music – and Haselböck
provides as close an approximation of that experience as modern listeners are
ever likely to receive. Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 were recorded at Landhaussaal,
Palais Niederösterreich, in
Vienna, and these live performances are simply brimming with ebullience,
enthusiasm, bounce and an appropriate level of Classical-era poise and balance.
Beethoven’s debt to Haydn and Mozart comes through particularly clearly here –
as do the many ways in which, even in these first two symphonies, he was
staking a claim to territory of his own. This is, in a sense, a recording for
specialists – many listeners will not really hear substantial differences
between these readings and others using instruments of this type and an
orchestra of this size. But anyone who listens to Haselböck’s rendition of the symphonies will enjoy the careful pacing,
the ease with which the orchestra handles the music (although the Second, at
least, was not particularly easy for
those who played it originally!), and the overall feeling of elegance that
comes through so clearly here.
The approximation of the
sound of Mozart’s violin concertos in a new Swedish Society recording featuring
Nils-Erik Sparf comes largely from Sparf’s delicacy of tone and careful
attention to phrasing – coupled with the sensitive and very well-paced playing
of the Uppsala Chamber Orchestra, of which Sparf is leader. Having the
concertmaster as soloist and conductor was far more common in Mozart’s day than
it was to become in later times – after all, even the Strauss family and their
competitors in 19th-century Vienna dance halls led from the soloist
position. So this is one way in which these concertos sound notably authentic.
Another comes from the harpsichord continuo – which is thoroughly appropriate
but very rarely heard. And yet another is the result of Sparf’s full understanding
of the clarity and lightness inherent in these works, even in their more
virtuosic and serious sections. These are nothing at all like the virtuoso
concertos of the following century and beyond: yes, the soloist has an
important part to play, but his role is closer to that of primus inter pares than to that of a pedestaled antagonist taking
on the entire orchestra as if his one instrument is the equal of all the others
(that was to be the mode of Paganini and his successors). In Sparf’s hands and
those of his orchestra, these concertos are essentially chamber works,
reflective conversations among players of equal skill who all have something
important to bring to the dialogue. Interestingly, this makes the first three,
lesser concertos particularly appealing here: No. 1 clearly shows its ties to
the works of Vivaldi and Viotti, No. 2 displays operatic elements in its slow
movement, and No. 3 proffers a kind of gentle intimacy that is altogether
winning. The last two concertos are also very fine: No. 4 is beautifully
crafted and beautifully balanced, with its folksong-like finale especially
attractive here, and No. 5 shows itself to have far more attractions than its
designation as “Turkish” would indicate – here the orchestral part is as
impressive as the improvisation-like elements given to the soloist, especially
in the first movement. This is a lovely version of these ever-fresh works that
gives the impression of making them sound very much as Mozart himself would
have heard them.
The sound of the music of
Mozart’s onetime pupil, Hummel, is that of transition – a fact that relegated
Hummel’s music to obscurity for many years, since it seemed “neither here nor
there” in its position straddling the Classical and Romantic eras. Thankfully,
this invariably well-formed, well-balanced music has been heard more and more
frequently in recent times, to the point that the “Hummel sound” is now
becoming reasonably familiar and is allowing listeners to familiarize
themselves with an important element of musical development in the early part
of the 19th century. Hummel wrote quite a lot of music to be played
by amateurs, which is one reason scholars used to scoff at a good deal of his
work – but now listeners have a chance, as in a new Fra Bernardo recording, to hear
just how much skill Hummel lavished on this sort of drawing-room music and just
how good it can sound when professionally performed. It was as a piano virtuoso
that Hummel was most famous in his own time – and very famous he was, too – but
in the four works played on this CD, although the piano is frequently dominant,
Hummel shows himself highly adept in creating pleasing and technically
interesting works for other instruments as well. The Op. 50 and Op. 64
flute-and-piano sonatas both require considerable dexterity on the part of the
pianist (they were written for pianos incorporating a number of then-recent
innovations), while also needing flute playing of sensitivity, delicacy and
considerable skill: like the piano, the flute was changing quickly at this
time, and Hummel shows in these works that he understood its capabilities quite
well. Linde Brunmayr-Tutz plays an eight-keyed transverse flute here, and it
nicely complements Bart van Oort’s 1830s fortepiano sonically, giving listeners
aural insight into how Hummel’s sonatas were intended to sound. The two sets of
variations provide further involvement in the composer’s sound world. The Op.
54 variations for cello and piano are based on a northern Italian dance called
the Monferrina (with two “r’s,” although Hummel’s title uses only one), and
here van Oort’s piano blends very well indeed with Jaap ter Linden’s 1703
Milanese cello. And then listeners have a real treat in the form of a trio for
piano, flute and cello, an extended and elaborate set of variations on a
Russian theme (actually a Ukrainian folk song) popularized in the
German-speaking world as Schöne
Minke. The little ditty is turned and twisted in multiple directions by
Hummel through a set of six variations and a finale, with each of the three
performers having a chance to show his or her solo abilities while, at the same
time, needing to cooperate fully with the other two to produce a genuinely
harmonious musical whole. None of these four pieces is of great significance in
musical history, but all are evidence of the vibrancy of amateur as well as
professional musical performance in Hummel’s time – and of the very high
quality that Hummel brought even to works that were never intended to be
heaven-storming in their intensity.
The sound of Hummel’s
piano-violin-flute trio is on the unusual side; that of Brahms’
piano-violin-cello trios is far more common. Brahms’ music in his three trios
(or four, depending on how you count) is considerably more serious than
Hummel’s in his works for home and amateur performance. Brahms’ trios span much
of his creative life, from 1854 to 1889, and contain more-personal elements
than does much of the rest of his music. A new Ondine recording of the trios by
the brother-and-sister team of Christian and Tanja Tetzlaff, along with Lars
Vogt, is sensitive to the trios’ many moods and very well played by all three
performers. Trio No. 1, heard here in its 1889 revision, is a somewhat uneven
blend of youthful enthusiasm, related especially to Brahms’ relationship with
Robert and Clara Schumann, and Brahms’ later, more-serene style. The
introspective elements get their full due in this performance, which is warm
and involving throughout – although, as a result, the Scherzo, which Brahms
retained unchanged from the 1854 version, fits a bit uneasily into the whole.
Trio No. 2 (1882) is a work of contrasts, with lyrical tenderness and intensity
played against each other and a particularly effective set of variations in the
not-very-slow slow movement (marked Andante
con moto). Trio No. 3 (1884) is the shortest of these works and the only
one in a minor key (C minor). Its passionate first movement, surprisingly gentle
Scherzo, dancelike third movement (again not very slow, here Andante grazioso), and urgently driving
finale produce a work whose contrasts are its defining characteristic – but
whose totality comes across as effective and unified here. Despite the fine
performances, though, this is a (+++) release – because it is unconscionably
overpriced. The total time of the three trios in these performances is 83
minutes, just over the 80-to-81-minute limit for a single CD; so splitting the
recording onto two discs is necessary. But charging full price for those two
discs is simply unfair to listeners – all the more so because a simple, elegant
solution to the cost issue was readily available. Brahms’ Trio No. 1 exists not
only in the 1889 version heard here but also in its original version of 1854,
in which three of the four movements are wholly or substantially different. It
would have been fascinating (and instructive) to hear both versions of this
trio, and obviously there is ample room for both on the CDs, the first of which
runs just 49 minutes and the second only 34. It is most unfortunate that this
interesting approach was not taken here and that a decision was made to charge
so much for a set of fine performances that, however, will not be, for most
listeners, worth what they cost on this recording.
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