Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 5-8.
Copenhagen Phil conducted by Lan Shui. Orchid Classics. $29.99 (2 CDs).
Mieczysław Weinberg: Symphony
No. 17, “Memory”; Suite for Orchestra. Siberian State Symphony Orchestra
(Krasnoyarsk) conducted by Vladimir Lande. Naxos. $12.99.
Michael Haydn: Symphonies,
Volumes 1 and 2. Czech Chamber Philharmonic Orchestra Pardubice conducted
by Patrick Gallois. Naxos. $12.99 each.
Some symphonies seem to lend
themselves to complete-cycle recordings: the four of Brahmas, the four of
Schumann, the eight completed ones of Schubert, the nine or 10 of Mahler, the
nine or 10 or 11 of Bruckner – yes, sometimes “complete” gets a trifle
slippery, but the urge to record entire sequences remains powerful. And then,
of course, there is Beethoven, whose nine completed symphonies (he did actually
start on a 10th) have been offered so many times, by so many
ensembles, that the cycle seems something of a rite of passage for orchestras
and conductors alike. As with the cycles of other major symphonists, the
plethora of recordings does not mean there is a surplus: Beethoven’s works are
subject to so many approaches, and continue to have so much to communicate to
musicians and listeners, that there is always room for another set of the
canonic nine. Lan Shui and the oddly named Copenhagen Phil (founded as a Tivoli
dance orchestra in 1843) continue their unusual ways with this music in the
second volume of their cycle for Orchid Classics, having earlier released their
versions of Nos. 1-4. Not surprisingly, this followup of Symphonies Nos. 5-8
shares the strengths of the earlier recording. The orchestra uses original
instruments or replicas, resulting in a sound very different from that of
modern orchestras – especially in the brass, which Beethoven often has playing
quite loudly but which, even at maximum volume, never overshadows the remainder
of the musicians (because older brass instruments simply could not attain the
volume of modern ones). And Shui insists on adhering to Beethoven’s own tempo
indications, which remain controversial, with some musicians and scholars
insisting that Beethoven’s Maelzel metronome was defective – or simply that the
composer could not possibly have meant his music to be played as quickly as
some of the tempo markings indicate. Also, Copenhagen Phil itself is an
orchestra of modest size, about 70 players, so there is a cleanness of sound
and an inherent sectional balance here that is far more difficult to attain in
orchestras of 90 to 100 musicians. These factors produce uniformly interesting
readings of this group of symphonies, although not all of them are ones that
will necessarily captivate listeners on a first hearing. No. 5 is excellent
throughout, the dramatic first movement for a change not overshadowing the
blithe second; and Beethoven’s intention with the insertion of trombones in the
finale seems splendidly obvious when instruments of his own time are used. No.
6 is more problematical. This is a relaxed symphony, but the walk in the
country that opens it is more of a jog at Shui’s (that, is Beethoven’s
original) tempo, and takes some getting used to. Even the scene at the brook is
something short of languid, although it has to be said that that movement
sometimes drags – and certainly does not do so here. The tempos and clarity of
No. 7 make it a delight: this is not just the apotheosis of the dance, as
Wagner famously and wonderfully described it, but a fleet whirligig of
near-dervish proportions, the ability of the musicians to stay together in the
finale being especially impressive. And No. 8 is a gem: although this is the
most Haydnesque of Beethoven’s symphonies, it was written at quite a different
time in the composer’s life from No 1, to which it is often compared, and Shui
fully understands that this is a companion piece to No. 7 rather than a
throwback to an earlier style. All these performances are fresh and
exhilarating, and all of them repay repeated hearings that make it possible to
get past any initial uncertainty caused by the tempo choices (especially in No.
6) and simply to luxuriate in the poise, clarity and exceptional instrumental
balance throughout.
The symphonies of Mieczyslaw
Weinberg (1919-1996) are being released piecemeal by Naxos, and a portrait of
this major but neglected Soviet-era composer is beginning to become clear
(although a chronological cycle of the works would have brought much greater
clarity, much sooner). The latest recording featuring the very solid Vladimir
Lande and the highly idiomatic Siberian State Symphony Orchestra (Krasnoyarsk)
focuses on the first symphony of a trilogy that Weinberg wrote regarding World
War II, known as the Great Patriotic War in what was then the Soviet Union. It
is about time that Symphony No. 17, “Memory,” has finally been released: No.
18, “War – there is no word more cruel,” came out in 2014, and No. 19, “Bright
May,” appeared as far back as 2012. Heard as a trilogy, the works are
impressive – a far cry from typical overdone socialist-realist musical banality.
And No. 17, the longest of the three, is a significant achievement on its own.
Written from 1982 to 1984, it shares some of the scale and some of the
somewhat-overblown intensity of Shostakovich’s wartime symphonies, Nos. 7 and
8. Shostakovich and Weinberg were something of a mutual-admiration society
(Weinberg’s Symphony No. 12 is ““In memoriam D. Shostakovich”), and their
stylistic overlap is evident in Weinberg’s No. 17. But the way Weinberg shapes
this symphony is quite different from the way Shostakovich arranged his wartime
(and other) ones. Instead of a massive first movement and enigmatically
triumphant finale, with movements of less consequence in between, Weinberg
treats the first movement here as something of a prologue, then produces a
significantly longer second movement that starts quickly and dissonantly and
remains both tense and intense until eventually subsiding into a kind of
hesitant uncertainty that ends in ambivalence. It is an unsettling movement,
and is succeeded by a short and forceful scherzo-like presentation that in
spirit is the closest part of this symphony to Shostakovich. The finale is as
large as the second movement and is emotionally complex, including some very
effective instrumental touches (the celesta is notable) and an increase in
tension – rather than its resolution – at the end. This finale makes more sense
as the ending of the first part of a symphonic trilogy, especially in light of
the symphony’s full dedication “in memory of the fallen in the Great Patriotic
War.” Heard on its own, the symphony has an undercurrent of the puzzling and
uncertain – an unusual stance and an interesting one. The pairing of this very
serious work with the world première
recording of the Suite for Orchestra
of 1950 is quite intriguing. The suite is a set of five dance movements that,
individually and collectively, very strikingly recall the theater music of,
yes, Shostakovich, written several decades earlier. Weinberg here shows a light
and uncomplicated side of his compositional personality that is quite
surprising in view of the darkness of Symphony No. 17 and many other works. The
movements’ titles are as straightforward as the music itself: “Romance,”
“Humoresque,” “Waltz,” “Polka” and “Galop.” The last of them is a rousing
conclusion that uses the harmonic language of Shostakovich but that channels
everyone from the Strauss family to Khachaturian. The rediscovery of Weinberg
is proceeding in fits and starts – his music is certainly worth meeting and
exploring, and both his heavy and light aspects on this disc are ones whose
acquaintance it is quite worthwhile to make.
The 43-or-so symphonies of
Michael Haydn are also in the process of receiving somewhat helter-skelter
release on Naxos, in bouncy and well-balanced recordings featuring the Czech
Chamber Philharmonic Orchestra Pardubice under Patrick Gallois. “Michael Haydn”
is the answer to the trivia question, “Who wrote Mozart’s Symphony No. 37?”
Mozart wrote only the slow introduction to the first movement – the rest of the
work is by Michael Haydn, although it was long attributed to Mozart. Beyond
that symphony, which was often played in the 19th century when
thought to be by Mozart, Michael Haydn’s symphonic production has received
little notice. There is a catalogue of the symphonies, called the Perger
listing, but the first two releases in this series do not follow it
sequentially and, indeed, are pretty much random: the first includes Perger 16,
21, 19 and 15, while the second has Perger 42, 18, 17 and 22. Unlike the
symphonic style of his five-years-older brother, Joseph, Michael Haydn’s did
not evolve appreciably. He generally wrote symphonies (labeled in the older
style as “Sinfonias”) in three movements, although Perger 15 is in four; the
works sometimes, but scarcely always, open with a slow introduction (Perger 21,
42 and 18); and the central slow movements are not intended to plumb
significant depths – in six of the eight works released so far, they are marked
some version of Andante, the
exceptions being that of Perger 19 (marked Un
poco adagio) and that of Perger 17 (rather charmingly designated Adagietto affettuoso). One thing the
symphonies of Michael Haydn show quite clearly is just how far above other
symphonic composers of the time Joseph Haydn and Mozart stood. Mozart may
actually have based some of his early symphonies on ones by Michael Haydn, and
certainly the case of “Mozart’s Symphony No. 37” (which even has a Köchel number, 444) shows that the
younger composer admired the older one a great deal. But Mozart, who was born
19 years after Michael Haydn and died 15 years earlier, moved past the Michael
Haydn model quite early and ended up expanding symphonic form greatly and in
numerous ways. So did Joseph Haydn, whose works throughout his career show a
questing, curious mind working within traditions but quite willing to move past
them – among other things, it was Joseph Haydn who essentially created (and
certainly solidified) the four-movement symphonic form by including in it the
popular dance, the minuet, after dressing it in suitably symphonic guise. Yet
it is unfair to point out all the things that Michael Haydn was not. As these
two bright and generally bubbly CDs show, he was a composer of some stature,
with a strong sense of rhythm, a fine feel for orchestral balance, and
occasional instances of genuine creativity, such as the use of muted violins in
the slow movement of Perger 17 and the interesting combination of solo violin
and cor anglais employed in Perger 22. Michael Haydn was actually a very
popular composer in his lifetime, and these CDs show why: his symphonies fit
neatly into the expected categories of graceful Classical-era composition. They
certainly deserve to be heard from time to time, and some very intriguing
concerts could be created by carefully choosing a mixture of symphonies by Michael
Haydn, Joseph Haydn and Mozart. These fine recordings are to be commended for
giving listeners a welcome opportunity to arrange such concerts on their own.
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