Beethoven: Symphony No. 9. Anja Kampe, soprano;
Daniela Sindram, mezzo-soprano; Burkhard Fritz, tenor; René Pape, bass; Wiener
Singverein and Wiener Symphoniker conducted by Philippe Jordan. Wiener
Symphoniker. $18.99.
Bruckner: Symphonies Nos. 1 and 9. Lucerne Festival Orchestra
conducted by Claudio Abbado. Accentus Music. $16.99 (2 CDs).
Dimensions, Volume 2: Works for Orchestra by Erich
Stem, Bill Whitley, Brian T. Field, Mark Francis, and Jan Järvlepp. Navona. $14.99.
FLUX: Society of Composers, Inc., Volume 33—Music
by Ryan Carter, Wendy Wan-Ki Lee, Chi-hin Leung, Igor Karača, Ingrid Stölzel,
Jonah Elrod, Leah Reid, Matthew Heap, and Nathaniel Haering. Navona. $14.99.
Philippe Jordan concludes his Beethoven
cycle with the Wiener Symphoniker, on the orchestra’s own label, with one of
the most operatic versions of Symphony No. 9 in recent memory. It is an
altogether fascinating reading, one in which the first three movements
constitute a prologue to a remarkable conclusion that turns this ever-new work
into more of a cantata than a symphony. Indeed, although Jordan does not
exactly give the first three movements short shrift, he moves through them in
such a way that Beethoven’s Ninth shows its distinct similarities to
Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 2, Lobgesang,
which in fact is based on Beethoven’s final symphony but which reduces its
first three movements significantly in length in order to allow its sung
portions to expand, extend and emerge triumphally. Jordan’s analogous approach
to Beethoven has its pitfalls, and, indeed, some of the pacing is questionable:
the first movement occasionally sounds perfunctory, and the third does not
breathe as deeply or intensely as in other performances. But there is a reason
for everything Jordan does here, and it becomes clear in the finale, which is
blessed with a solo quartet of exceptional opera singers – all four of whom are
known for their roles in Wagner, who becomes a looming if unstated presence
throughout the last movement. Indeed, so steeped in Wagner are Anja Kampe,
Daniela Sindram, Burkhard Fritz and René Pape that the ways in which
Beethoven’s vocal lines look forward to Wagner – or rather the ways in which
Wagner drew on Beethoven as a model – seem particularly clear here. The
“Wagnerianism” of the singers’ experience is pervasive: remarkably, both soprano Kampe and mezzo-soprano
Sindram have sung Sieglinde in Die
Walküre and Kundry in Parsifal.
Yet the singers and conductor do not attempt to turn Beethoven’s finale into
something Wagnerian – rather, they emphasize its operatic elements, including its
times of high drama (such as the very first vocal entry) and even its unusual
forms of contrast (the “Turkish March” section). The finale comes across as a
huge set of variations on a not-initially-stated theme – which is exactly what
it is, but this structure is rarely as clear as it is here. And the pacing of
the first three movements becomes retrospectively important as the finale
progresses, resulting in a totality that is highly dramatic and musically
convincing, if not the sort of “plea for brotherhood” (and sisterhood) that it
is in some other readings. The singing of the Wiener Singverein is as clear and
admirable as the playing of the orchestra, and the overall performance is so
well-thought-out that it puts the Ninth not only in the sequence of Beethoven’s
symphonies but also in the series that includes his cantatas and other
religious music, such as Christus am
Olberg and the Mass in C. And the
affirmation of the finale here definitely recalls the mood, although not the
music, of the conclusion of Fidelio.
Beethoven did not complete another
symphony after the Ninth, although he did begin a Tenth. But the Ninth has
always seemed a fitting capstone for his symphonic works. So too, but in a
different sense, does Bruckner’s Ninth stand atop his symphonic production. But there is an important difference,
because Bruckner never finished his Ninth – and despite all the assertions that
it is “complete” in its three-movement form, it most definitely is not, and was
never conceived by the composer to finish as it does. Using the incomplete
Bruckner Ninth as the completion of a great conductor’s podium career therefore
has something of an eerie feeling about it. It also produces a sense of genuine
amazement on a new Accentus Music release featuring the August 26, 2013
Bruckner Ninth conducted by Claudio Abbado at the Lucerne Festival – in what
was to be Abbado’s last appearance. It is easy to read too much into this:
Abbado and the audience did not know
this would be a finale for the conductor, who died on January 20, 2014. And
there is certainly no sign of flagging ability on Abbado’s part – quite the
opposite, in fact. This performance was not intended by him or the Lucerne
Festival as a memorial, but it is hard to imagine a better one. Abbado lets the
very long lines of the music spread out and out and out, a series of concentric
ripples reaching away toward, if not quite to, infinity. The pacing of the
first movement goes beyond leisurely: it has a sense of eternity about it, or
rather a sense of the eternal, a measured pace that feels as if it could go on
forever even though, objectively speaking, the reading is not an especially
slow one. The scherzo, which can and frequently does have a demonic undertone,
has none of that here: it is a disturbance in the cosmos, but one that serves
only to reassure the audience that everything will eventually be resolved and
“this too shall pass.” And the third movement is simply magnificent, building
with what sounds like complete naturalness to a massive climax that seems
predestined by all that has come before and that leads to a “peace that passeth
all understanding” that is little short of astonishing – and that will leave
sensitive listeners practically agape with the desire for what comes next. But
nothing comes next: although there are now several first-rate completions of
Bruckner’s Ninth, Abbado ends matters here, having brought the audience to a
remarkable pinnacle from which they, like Moses, can see the Promised Land
without ever getting to enter it. The beauty and brilliance of the
interpretation shine forth, but also produce a sense of enormous disappointment
that Abbado never conducted, say, the Gerd Schaller version of the finale.
Still, this is an extraordinarily beautiful version of the first three movements,
and one that produces something akin to the religious experience that Bruckner
surely hoped to evoke in a work dedicated “to beloved God.”
Abbado handles earlier Bruckner with
nearly equal skill. The Ninth is paired with the later, Vienna version of
Bruckner’s First, taken from an earlier (2012) Lucerne Festival performance. This
is actually Bruckner’s second symphony, after the one now numbered “00” but
before “No. 0.” Numbering issues aside, here too Abbado does wonderful things
with the music. It is arguable whether the much-changed 1890-91 Vienna version
is “preferable” to the original 1865-66 Linz version; in fact, both are worth
hearing and contrasting, and Abbado’s performance of the symphony in its later
form is exceptionally effective. The reason is that he makes the symphony
almost classical in its lines, using the remarkable clarity of sectional
playing by the Lucerne Festival Orchestra to show clearly that Bruckner’s music
at this stage, even after revision, was strongly Schubertian – even as the
composer was developing his own unique compositional voice. The Bruckner cycle
by Mario Venzago gave the symphonies performances along the same lines, but
most conductors still tend to focus on Bruckner’s massed and massive elements
rather than his poised and delicate ones. This Bruckner First by Abbado makes a
strong argument for Bruckner as a composer who, in addition to seeking grand
sounds from a large orchestra, wanted to highlight more-delicate elements of
instrumentation – not, to be sure, to the extent that Mahler would later do,
but with much the same purpose of contrasting attentiveness to individual
orchestral sections with the massed full-ensemble sound. Abbado’s memory is
well-served by both his Bruckner First and his Bruckner Ninth.
Two new (+++) Navona releases offer
neither especially early nor especially late material by their composer
participants, instead proffering anthologies that are intended to reflect
contemporary thinking in works for orchestra (Dimensions) and solo musicians or small groups (FLUX). The five pieces on “Dimensions, Volume 2” are performed by
three different orchestras under four different conductors, adding to the
somewhat chaotic feeling of a CD whose intended audience is difficult to pin
down, since the works are disparate enough to make it likely that even
listeners who enjoy one or two of them will not necessarily feel the same way
about the rest. The Athens Philharmonia Orchestra under Michalis Economou handles two pieces here. Bill
Whitley’s Bonzai Down is intended as
a musical portrait of a specific location in Corvallis, Oregon. It alternates
speedy and slower sections in an overall rondo form, the faster portions more
attractively propulsive than the somewhat static slower ones. Mark Francis’ Concerto No. 2 for Guitar and Orchestra, “In
Somnis Veritas,” with guitar soloist Dimitris Kotronakis, has three
increasingly speedy movements intended to reflect a title that means “In Dreams
There Is Truth.” The mainly gentle first movement gives way to a second that is
more irregular rhythmically and features a central section for guitar alone.
The finale is the most interesting movement, largely because Francis includes a
ratchet, toy piano and toy train whistle (shades of Leopold Mozart!). The music
leaves the impression that guitarists would enjoy playing it. The CD also
includes two works played by the Moravian Philharmonic Orchestra. Brian T.
Field’s A Letter from Camp is a
setting of a Walt Whitman poem, conducted by Pavel Šnajdr and featuring soprano
Lucie Silkenová. The opening is suitably dramatic, and the music throughout
conveys the anguish caused by war not only for those who fight but also for
their families at home. This is scarcely a new message, and the vocal music is
not exceptional in conveying it, but the piece is heartfelt and effectively
orchestrated. Considerably more upbeat is Street
Music by Jan Järvlepp, conducted by Petr Vronský, which has the feeling of a dance (the cha-cha) mixed
with the sounds of a steel band and assorted percussion. This is placed at the
end of the CD and provides a very effective, lighthearted conclusion to the
disc – it is the most appealing music here. As for the work that opens the
recording, that is Erich Stem’s Portland,
played by the Janáček Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Jiří Petrdlík. Like
Whitley’s piece, Stem’s is location-specific to Oregon: the title refers to the
state’s largest city. The idea here is to give a feeling of city life, which
the work does in general terms that urban residents, whether or not familiar
with Portland, Oregon, may recognize. Percussive outbursts and smoother
sections alternate, with enough hustle and bustle to convey that there is much
going on. Indeed, when it comes to this disc as a totality, there is a bit too
much happening: listeners need to refocus their attention and attentiveness
again and again as the recording pulls them hither and thither.
The refocusing must occur even more quickly on the CD called FLUX, which contains nine different
pieces. Taken as a whole – which is not
the right way to take them – these works provide a miscellany of sounds,
noises, effects and musical thoughts recorded over nearly a decade (from 2010
to 2018) and bearing no significant relationship to each other. The disc is a
sampler, a chance for listeners who want to know what some unfamiliar
contemporary composers are doing musically. Anyone who finds a piece here
particularly interesting will need to look elsewhere for similar pieces by
other composers, or for additional works by the same person. On a better filtering algorithm, by Ryan
Carter, is an electronic assemblage performed by Present Music. The Earthy and Ethereal Bond, by Wendy
Wan-Ki Lee, is a piece for flute (Ritsu Okuda) and cello (Tomoki Tai) in which
the instruments simply go their own ways. Unicorn
Dance, by Chi-hin Leung, uses sounds exotic to Western ears – it is played
by the Asian Young Musicians’ Connection, consisting of Kohei Nishikawa on
nohkan, gamin (single name, no capital letter) on piri, and Wei-yun Wang on bass
sheng. Whatever interest the sounds themselves may have, there is certainly
nothing danceable here, nor does any such thing appear to have been sought. Echo Caves, by Igor Karača, is for
soprano saxophone (Jeffrey Loeffert) and piano (played by the composer), and is
on the conservative side in not trying to make the instruments produce sounds
beyond their comfortable range – although the music never really seems to go
anywhere. The Voice of the Rain, by
Ingrid Stölzel, is for flute (Sarah Frisof), cello (Hannah Collins), and
percussion (Michael Compitello), and is one of the more interesting pieces
here, allowing the instruments to mingle as well as contrast and using the
cello for some sections that are actually expressive. Urban Sky Glow, by Jonah Elrod, is for solo marimba (Brian
Baldauff) plus electronics that serve neither to accentuate nor to contrast in
any particular way with the marimba’s sound. Crumbs, by Leah Reid, is a short work for percussion (I-Jen Fang)
that takes little advantage of percussive instruments’ varied capabilities,
sounding more electronic than it actually is. And the Earth Sang to Me Through the Wind, by Matthew Heap, is a
piano piece (played by the Khasma Piano Duo: Katie Palumbo and Ashlee Mack)
that tinkles along, up and down the keyboard, with no specific point of origin
or particular destination. And Medical
Text p. 57, by Nathaniel Haering, is almost a parody of contemporary music,
although not intended that way: a solo voice (Daniel Bayot) squeaks, grunts,
screams, clears its throat, gasps, cackles, and occasionally says decipherable
words against an electronic background that communicates nothing more than the
words do – which is to say, nothing at all. The genuinely unpleasant nature of
some of the sounds here is probably supposed to mean something, and indeed,
there is a lot of “supposed to mean” throughout FLUX. But just what is meant, and to what end, is something that
listeners interested in the latest try-to-push-the-musical-envelope trends will
have to judge for themselves.
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