Berlioz: Roméo
et Juliette. Katija Dragojevic, mezzo-soprano; Andrew Staples, tenor;
Alastair Miles, bass; Swedish Radio Choir and Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra
conducted by Robin Ticciati. Linn Records. $34.99 (2 CDs).
Donizetti and Mayr: Messa di
Gloria and Credo in D. Siri Karoline Thornhill and Marie-Sophie Pollak,
sopranos; Marie-Sande Papenmeyer, alto; Mark Adler, tenor; Martin Berner, bass;
Simon Mayr Choir, Members of the Bavarian State Opera Chorus, and Concerto de
Bassus conducted by Franz Hauk. Naxos. $12.99.
Bruch: Complete Works for Violin
and Orchestra, Volume 3—Violin Concerto No. 3; Konzertstück,
Op. 84; Romanze, Op. 42. Antje Weithaas, violin; NDR Radiophilharmonie
conducted by Hermann Bäumer.
CPO. $16.99.
Emil Nikolaus von Reznicek:
Goldpirol—Idyllische Ouvertüre; Wie Till Eulenspiegel lebte;
Konzertstück für Violine und Orchester; Praeludium
und Fuge in C minor; Nachtstück. Sophie Jaffé, violin; Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester
Berlin conducted by Marcus Bosch. CPO. $16.99.
In writing both his music
and his words, Hector Berlioz seemed always at white heat, and it is scarcely a
surprise that he lavished so much attention on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (in the revised form in
which he knew the play). What is a
surprise is how Berlioz’ creative impulses led him to structure his Roméo et Juliette as a symphony –
one just as innovative in its way as was his Symphonie fantastique, and one also inspired by actress Harriet
Smithson, whom Berlioz had seen when she acted in the revised play (which had
been adapted by 18th-century actor David Garrick). Berlioz never
sets any Shakespeare lines in the vocal parts of his Roméo et Juliette, and there are no singers representing the
young lovers – only ones for the roles of Mercutio and Friar Laurence, plus a
contralto narrator. It is scarcely surprising that this sprawling work, which
lasts more than an hour and a half, is rarely heard in full; but it is highly
dramatic and effective when performed as Berlioz intended. And that makes the
Linn records release of Roméo
et Juliette under the direction of Robin Ticciati very welcome indeed.
Ticciati does not really hold the work together – it is episodic by design –
but he gives full and careful attention to each of its instrumental and vocal
elements, allowing the wonderful, extended instrumental love scene to flower
and flow beautifully, keeping the “Queen Mab” scherzo fleet and light, and
eventually bringing the whole tale of pathos and heartbreak to a
well-thought-out (if rather sanctimonious) reconciliation – a section that
Berlioz added back after Garrick excised it. Individual and choral voices are
in fine form here, and Ticciati, who has shown himself an excellent interpreter
of Berlioz in several earlier recordings on the same label, once again proves
adept at managing his forces and exploring the intricacies and the emotional
impact of the music. And it is worth saying a word about the packaging here,
which is superb: Roméo
et Juliette is presented as a book, one CD bound into the inside front
cover and one into the inside back cover, with an essay, translated libretto,
and a series of excellent photographs – plus some very thoughtful design that
even includes fine color choices – making the whole release a joy to hold as
well as to hear. Other firms could learn a lot from Linn Records about giving
listeners even more than they expect when they purchase fine recordings,
including ones as excellent as this.
The packaging is nothing
special, but a new Naxos CD called Messa
di Gloria and Credo in D nevertheless gives its listeners more than they expect – in several ways. First of
all, the engineers have achieved something remarkable by putting more than 86
minutes of fine-sounding music on the disc. The limit for top-quality CD sound
has long been established as 80 minutes, and while recordings have occasionally
pushed slightly past that – by a minute or so – this one takes the maximum time
to a whole new level. It is a highly impressive technical achievement. But it
would be largely meaningless if not put at the service of an impressive musical achievement. So it is a pleasure
to note that, secondly, the musicians have also produced something special and
highly distinctive here. Naxos has been releasing a whole series of works by
Johann Simon Mayr (1763-1845), an underrated early-Romantic composer whose
music shows great skill in craftsmanship and some genuinely innovative ideas
and techniques – and often packs strong emotional force as well. For this
release, conductor Franz Hauk has returned to a 19th-century
tradition of forming a complete Mass by taking individually composed movements
and performing them in sequence – even though they were not written in integral
mass form. To do this, Hauk has chosen selections from the little-known sacred
music of Donizetti: a Kyrie, Gloria
and Credo clearly intended to be the
major part of a traditional Mass. Hauk has added to this another Donizetti
sacred work, a short Ave Maria, and
then two pieces by Mayr – Sanctus and
Agnus Dei – to complete the
traditional structure of a Mass. The mixing of these two composers’ music is
not as outlandish an idea as it may at first seem, since it was Mayr who
actually taught Donizetti (his junior by 34 years) how to set sacred texts. The
result of Hauk’s efforts is a very extended and highly unusual Mass that holds
together remarkably well even though its components were not produced in an
integrated fashion. Donizetti’s very extensive six-part Gloria, itself lasting nearly 48 minutes, is the heart of the work,
and it is impressive in its elevated tone and in sung lines that at times
clearly show their composer’s more-typical operatic orientation. The performers
are all more than equal to the exigencies of this music, handling it with
fervor and exaltation as appropriate, with warmth and involvement as needed.
Hauk leads the soloists, chorus members and instrumental musicians with a sure
and practiced hand, clearly knowing what he wants to achieve with this
compilation and making sure that all participants do their part to make the Messa di Gloria and Credo in D as
effective as it can be. This both is and is not “authentic” sacred music by
Donizetti and Mayr: the components are indisputably theirs, but the assembly of
the pieces into a whole is Hauk’s. The whole production is delivered with skill
and commitment and makes for a highly satisfying, even elevating, musical
experience.
The Romantic temperament is,
of course, reflected in purely instrumental works as well as in vocal ones –
and Berlioz was not the only Romantic-era composer who threw himself into his
music with a great degree of passion. Max Bruch had a notoriously prickly
personality that led him to gain and drop friends and supporters frequently,
often for arbitrary and even bizarre reasons. He would be a fascinating
psychological study if anyone should wish to analyze him – he did, after all,
live from 1838 to 1920, into the early years of psychoanalysis. But Bruch’s
extremely rough personal edges stand in stark contrast to the smooth, elegant,
warm and forthcoming nature of his music, and it is a shame that he is known
today almost solely for his first violin concerto and Kol Nidre. Bruch was not a highly prolific composer, but he wrote a
fair amount of music for violin and orchestra in addition to his famous
Concerto No. 1; and Antje Weithaas has now completed her survey of all of it
for CPO, with the NDR Radiophilharmonie conducted by Hermann Bäumer. The third and final disc in
the series includes the very substantial and extended Violin Concerto No. 3,
the late and quite beautiful two-movement Konzertstück
of 1910, and a Romanze originally
intended as part of the Violin Concerto No. 2 and sounding a great deal like
something by Schumann. Weithaas plays all this material, and indeed has played
everything in this series, as if the music is great or near-great, which is
really more than some of it deserves: Bruch was a wonderful melodist but a
somewhat haphazard structuralist, although his breaks with tradition in his
Violin Concerto No. 1 are part of what makes that a truly great work. The warmth and fervor of the violin in all
this music is infectious, and Bäumer
contributes fine support that also emphasizes the emotionally warming effects of
the material. This very fine series shows that Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1
does deserve the enormously high regard in which it is held, but it also shows
that the composer, as difficult as he was in the interpersonal realm, never
lost his ability to enchant listeners through the sheer beauty of his melodies
and their long-spun-out phrases for solo instrument and orchestra alike.
Bruch is far from the only
Romantic-era composer known for a tiny part of what he created. Emil Nikolaus
von Reznicek (1860-1945) is in much the same position, but to an even greater
extent, since pretty much the only thing most listeners know by him is Donna Diana – and not even the whole
opera; just the overture. That happens to be a marvelously perky piece, but
really! Five minutes of music to represent the entirety of a composer’s life?
It is better than being forgotten altogether, true, but since Donna Diana is also an early work
(1894), Reznicek had the unenviable misfortune to live from his own initial
popularity through his forthcoming obscurity. Yet it does not seem to have
bothered him overmuch: he produced a considerable amount of
more-than-respectable music, much of it somewhat in the mode of Richard Strauss
(the two men had a relationship that was more or less one of mutual respect).
CPO has released a number of discs of Reznicek’s music, the latest of which
provides an interesting opportunity to compare his violin-and-orchestra writing
with Bruch’s: the longest piece here is the Konzertstück
für Violine und Orchester, which is really a full-length
concerto and which here gets its world première recording; and there is also Nachtstück for violin (or cello) and a
small orchestra of strings, horns and harp. In both these works, Reznicek is
quite deliberate in turning against the late-Romantic notion of a display piece
in which the soloist and orchestra seem to be in combat as much as confluence.
He also turns further from late-Romantic tonality than Bruch ever did: parts of
the Konzertstück of 1918 have a
harshness similar to that of Prokofiev’s first violin concerto, begun in 1915
but not completed and played until 1923. Nachtstück
is an earlier work (1905) and is atmospheric and pleasantly balanced among the
instruments. Some of the remaining pieces are more typical of Reznicek to the
extent that they employ humor, a frequent integral element of his music that
distinguishes it from that of, say, Richard Strauss, for whom humor was
situational but not endemic. Strauss’ Till
Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche of 1894-95 is one of the composer’s
best-known humorous items, but Reznicek’s Wie
Till Eulenspiegel lebte (1900), although it draws on similar source
material, has a very different reason for being: it is part of an opera in
which Reznicek portrays Till not as a joker but as a “fool” in more of the
medieval sense – a fighter and a celebrator of disobedience to the established
order. There is certainly humor in the music, but here it serves a higher
purpose. There is also something lighthearted, if not humorous in the sense of
laughter, in the idyllic overture Goldpirol
(1903), a nature portrait that at times seems to comment a touch ironically on
the theme of nature as used by Mahler in his symphonies: the opening music is
taken from the song of the golden oriole (hence the work’s title), a parallel
to some of Mahler’s use of birdsong. The remaining work here is one of
considerable seriousness: Praeludium und
Fuge in C minor (1912), although certainly modeled on Bach, deliberately
stretches the fugal form by working from a whole-tone subject that inevitably
leads, as it is developed, to atonality – creating an intriguing mixture of the
quite old and the very new, albeit one that Reznicek did not pursue in later
works. All the music here gets strong performances, with Sophie Jaffé an elegant interpreter of the works
including violin solo and Marcus Bosch showing a firm understanding of Reznicek’s
forms and skillful use of the orchestra. Certainly nothing here has the easy
smoothness of the Donna Diana
overture, but there is plenty on this disc to show interested listeners that
there was a great deal more to Reznicek than the one short work for which the
vast majority of people know him.
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