Copland: Orchestral Works, Volume 2—Symphony for
Organ and Orchestra; Orchestral Variations; Short Symphony (Symphony No. 2);
Symphonic Ode. Jonathan Scott, organ; BBC Philharmonic conducted by John Wilson.
Chandos. $19.99 (SACD).
Copland: Orchestral Works, Volume 3—An Outdoor
Overture; Symphony No. 1; Statements; Dance Symphony. BBC Philharmonic conducted
by John Wilson. Chandos. $19.99 (SACD).
Dag Wirén: Symphony No. 3; Serenade for String
Orchestra; Divertimento; Sinfonietta. Iceland Symphony Orchestra conducted by Rumon
Gamba. Chandos. $19.99 (SACD).
Aaron Copland’s popularity rests on a
small subset of his works, pieces written overtly in folk/popular mode: Lincoln Portrait, Billy the Kid, Rodeo,
Appalachian Spring, El Salón Mexico, Fanfare for the Common Man. But there
was much more to Copland than this, an entire body of more overtly serious,
even experimental music that was very much in tune with the times in which it
was written and that also reached out into new areas and explored them. Copland
may not have been an innovator in the mode of, for example, Stravinsky, but he
was subject to many of the same influences and interpreted them in his own way
– including, among other things, the influence of Nadia Boulanger and of the
overall musical climate of Paris in the 1920s, plus the influence of jazz at a
time when it had not yet become pervasive. Somewhat like Leonard Bernstein, Copland
wrote works overtly intended for popular consumption and others that he took
very seriously and of which he was quite proud, but that never attained the
popularity or frequency of performance of his easier-to-hear, easier-to-follow
music. All this makes the ongoing Chandos project to record Copland’s
orchestral works in performances by the BBC Philharmonic under John Wilson
quite valuable and very much welcome. Much of the more-popular material was
offered on the first SACD of the series; the second and third have turned to
some substantial but less-known music – in particular, Copland’s symphonies and
other symphony-like works. Copland is scarcely thought of as a symphonic
composer, a fact that is partly his own fault: only his Symphony No. 3 (1944-1946),
which incorporates Fanfare for the Common
Man, has anything approaching recognizable, much less conventional,
symphonic structure. But Copland toyed with symphonic style for many years
before this work – and “toyed” is not really the right word, because he was
quite serious about rethinking what a symphony could be and how the orchestra
could be used within an extended formal structure that, if not recognizably a
traditional symphony, was certainly symphonic in outlook and instrumentation.
The second and third Copland SACDs on
Chandos show the composer in full-fledged symphonic mode – and Wilson and the
BBC Philharmonic treat this material with the same care, sensitivity and
intensity that they would bring to European symphonies of the same period,
showing that Copland’s music speaks clearly in geographical areas well beyond
the borders of the United States, despite the close association between him and
rural and Western America. Anyone interested in Copland’s universality of
expression and in his symphonic output in particular will surely want both
these discs, which complement and supplement each other intriguingly. In
particular, Symphony No. 1 appears on both releases – in its two separate
guises. Originally created as Symphony
for Organ and Orchestra in 1924, the work was arranged by Copland for
orchestra without organ in 1926-1928 after the composer realized that it would
likely be performed far more often (and somewhat more easily) without an
organist being required. The 1924 version is more interesting, fully
integrating the organ (which is very well played by Jonathan Scott) into the
orchestral fabric, but using the instrument quite differently from the way
Saint-Saëns used it in his “Organ” Symphony of 1886. There is, however, a
definite French connection between the two works: Copland wrote his under the
influence of Nadia Boulanger and dedicated it to her, and she played the organ
in its first performance. The later version, known simply as Symphony No. 1,
seems sturdier and less innovative than the earlier one even though the notes
are essentially the same. The comparison is fascinating, and both performances
here are exemplary.
The other works on these two releases are
also decidedly symphonic. Short Symphony
(Symphony No. 2), which dates to 1931-1933, and Symphonic Ode (1927-1928, but revised as late as 1955) both contain
some melodies, flourishes and rhythms that are identifiably “Copland-esque” in
terms of being used in some of his better-known music. But both are dense, rhythmically
complex works, each being written in a single large-scale movement within which
multiple sections offer a wide variety of challenges both to performers and to
listeners’ ears. Tightly integrated and carefully structured, they are works of
considerable impact within their comparatively brief durations. The Volume 2 disc
containing them also includes Orchestral
Variations, a 1957 orchestral arrangement of the 1930 Piano Variations and a work that sounds completely different – and
considerably more intense – in full-orchestra garb. On the Volume 3 disc, the
works offered in addition to Symphony No. 1 include yet another piece with
symphonic aspirations: Dance Symphony
(1929), a far-from-lighthearted arrangement of music from Copland’s vampire
ballet Grohg – anyone led by the
work’s title to expect even the slightest frothiness will be quite surprised at
the pervasive darkness of the music. This too is a piece conceived as a single
large-scale movement made up of multiple short sections, and although it is not
as tightly constructed as Short Symphony
or Symphonic Ode, it is impressively
orchestrated and makes its points effectively. All these works are redolent to
some degree of the times in which they were written – and Statements (1932-1935) is even more so. Dissonant and almost
self-consciously modernist in its six-movement construction, the work is a
series of miniatures adding up to a 1930s version of a suite – but one with no
vestiges of dance and little gaiety about it. In strong contrast, An Outdoor Overture (1938) is the
lightest, brightest and most accessible work on either of these SACDs.
Originally written for performance by students at the High School of Music and
Art in New York City, this festive piece amply repays the attention it gets
from a first-class professional orchestra and a conductor as sensitive as
Wilson is to the work’s frequent mood and tempo changes (11 of the latter in
eight-and-a-half minutes). Listeners who know only more-familiar Copland will
find these two releases genuinely revelatory, while those who already know at
least some of these works will revel in the quality of the playing here as well
as in the sonic excellence of the recordings.
Another 20th-century composer
who wrote three numbered symphonies but is rarely thought of as a symphonist is
Dag Wirén, who indeed is scarcely thought of at all – even in his native Sweden
– except insofar as he is known for his wonderful Serenade for Strings of 1937. Wirén (1905-1986) was a contemporary
of Copland (1900-1990), but his focus throughout his small compositional output
was nearly always on absolute music rather than music designed to evoke
specific scenes (although he did write three ballets). The four Wirén works on
a new Chandos SACD fall neatly into two categories: earlier ones that are
light, even buoyant, easy to hear and mood-boosting, and later ones that remain
readily accessible but that communicate more substantially and substantively,
albeit without delivering any specific messages. Rumon Gamba and the Iceland
Symphony Orchestra deserve a vote of thanks for showing that there is more to
Wirén than the Serenade for Strings,
although it must be said that their performance of that lovely work is as fine
as anyone could wish – a genuine pleasure to hear. The other relatively early
piece on this disc is Sinfonietta in C
(1933-1934, revised 1939), and it too is delightful – and has some genuinely
innovative touches, such as an opening theme (or at least an opening rhythm)
on, of all instruments, the snare drum. Simplicity and clarity in a kind of
Stravinsky-ish neoclassical mode are the order of the day here, and the work
has an effect somewhat akin to that of Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony – although, unlike that work but like several of
Copland’s symphonic pieces, it is played as a single extended movement
containing multiple sections. In contrast, Wirén’s Symphony No. 3 (1943-1944),
although lacking in thematic richness, is structurally sound, even impressive,
both opening and closing in a mood and orchestration distinctly reminiscent of
Sibelius. Dedicated “to my parents,” the symphony eventually builds to a whole
so cohesive that it comes across as a single large sonata-form work even
though, in this case, the piece is
broken up into individual movements (the first and second attacca, the third and longest separate). And Divertimento (1953-1957), despite its title, is scarcely diverting
– it defies expectations much as Copland’s Dance
Symphony belies its title. Wirén
offers some playful material here, but most of the effects are more serious:
the intensity of the double basses in the second of the four movements stands
out, as do the lyricism-within-dissonance of the third, slow movement and the
power with which the percussion (silent in the third movement) opens the
finale. Wirén was far from prolific and may not have been a substantially
innovative composer, but his music shows strength of construction, cleverness
of instrumentation, and a determination to engage listeners in the manner of the
best absolute music of any era. Gamba and Chandos have done both Wirén and
listeners a genuine favor with this fine recording and the unexpected delights
it offers.
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