Bruckner: Symphony No. 5, transcribed for organ by
Matthias Giesen. Matthias Giesen, organ. Gramola. $18.99.
Scarlatti and Clementi: Keyboard Sonatas. John McCabe, piano. Divine
Art. $25.99 (2 CDs).
Hommage to Women Composers: Piano Music by Clara Wieck
Schumann, Germaine Tailleferre, Louise Talma, Miriam Gideon, Barbara Pentland, Marga
Richter, Thea Musgrave, Ruth Lomon, Jacqueline Fontyn, Marta Ptaszynska, and Shulamit
Ran. Iris
Graffman Wenglin and Ruth Lomon, piano. Navona. $14.99.
For all the talk of the ways in which
Bruckner sought organ-like sonorities in his symphonies, the notion of actually
playing one of the symphonies on an organ seems quixotic in the extreme. Or it
would to most people – but not to Matthias Giesen, who undertook a fascinating
transcription project by turning Bruckner’s Symphony No. 5 into a work for
organ. Not the best-known Bruckner symphony by a long shot, No. 5 is the most
contrapuntal of them and in some ways the most difficult to interpret, because
the entire work builds to a climax that appears only at the very end of the
last movement – yet everything that comes before needs to make perfect sense
and be handled in correct proportion. Giesen’s transcription is immensely
absorbing for anyone fascinated by Bruckner, even though it by no means
supplants the orchestral version of the work – and was never intended to. It is
really a tour de force for organ, and
the fact that Giesen performs it on what is called the “Bruckner Organ” of the
St. Florian Monastery, near Linz, Austria, only makes the entire enterprise
more piquant. Bruckner’s exact involvement with this organ is unknown. The
instrument dates to 1774 and was reconstructed in 1873, possibly but not certainly
with some input from Bruckner. A later reconstruction, in 1931-32, was done
under the auspices of the Anton Bruckner Society, and the instrument’s
designation dates to that time. Apart from the name by which it is known, this
is an organ that Bruckner certainly played – in November 1875, its inaugural
use after the 1873 reconstruction. None of these historical facts, though,
fascinating as they may be, has much bearing on the way the Symphony No. 5
sounds when transcribed for organ. What Giesen has done is a transcription, not an interpretation or modification, although
of necessity he has had to select certain instrumental lines to emphasize or
deemphasize because, after all, he has only his feet and two hands to perform a
full orchestra’s worth of music (aided by a third hand, belonging to a second
organist, in part of the finale, which simply did not work otherwise). Giesen’s
choices are carefully considered and very intelligent, and the symphony’s
structure comes through exceptionally clearly as a result – more clearly than
it sometimes does in orchestral performances. Giesen also takes a very broad
approach to the material, resulting in a reading that lasts a full 85 minutes
(even though, remarkably, Gramola fits it on a single CD without any apparent
loss of sound quality). This puts Giesen’s timing almost at the level of the
other Bruckner Fifth on Gramola, conducted by Rémy Ballot, which lasts 90
minutes and as a result is spread over two discs. Generally, performances of
this symphony are in the 70-to-75-minute range, although an outlier among them,
conducted by Mario Venzago, runs a mere 60 minutes. The reality that this
symphony can last anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half provides a clue
to just how complex and how subject to interpretation it is. Giesen sheds no
particular new light on the work’s structure and plan, but his well-considered
tempo choices and very clever methods of using the organ pipes to explore a
variety of differently colored sounds (without ever attempting to duplicate the
sounds of orchestral instruments) make this a completely fascinating recording
to experience. This is definitely not the “right” way to perform Bruckner’s
Fifth, and should certainly not be any listener’s first choice for the music.
But just as the chamber-music transcriptions of Mahler symphonies, done under
Arnold Schoenberg’s auspices in the early 1920s, are “wrong” but extremely
intriguing and at times revelatory, so this Bruckner Fifth is a kind of by-blow
of the orchestral version – but one whose relationship to it is abundantly
clear. It is an astonishing undertaking and a remarkable accomplishment, even
though it is unlikely ever to have wide-ranging appeal.
The appeal of a new Divine Art release
featuring pianist/composer John McCabe (1939-2015), on the other hand, is likely to be wide-ranging, even
though McCabe’s renditions of works by Domenico Scarlatti and Muzio Clementi
are neither historically correct nor performed on the instruments intended by
the composers. Both Scarlatti (1685-1757) and Clementi (1752-1832) wrote for
the harpsichord or, in some works by Clementi, the fortepiano, and playing this
music on a full-size modern Bösendorfer piano, as McCabe does, is simply not
correct. It is, however, mostly wonderful: McCabe does not overdo his pedal
use, performs each work with care and clarity, and – with a few notable
exceptions – does not make the pieces sound as if they belong in the Romantic
era. This is not a new recording: it was made in 1981 and originally released
on two Hyperion discs, and it was recorded, mixed and edited on analog
equipment before being digitally mastered for CD release. But McCabe’s pianism
on these works certainly stands the test of time – and, for that matter, so
does the sound, which has greater warmth and richness than did most digital
recordings from this time period. Whether warmth and richness are apt for this
music is, however, a reasonable question to ask. Scarlatti’s 555 harpsichord
sonatas are notable for their clarity of line, their exploratory techniques
(many from his middle period feature difficult hand-crossings), and their
complexity within their brief one-movement form. Their numbering is mostly
arbitrary and does not reflect their dates of composition, so performers tend
to come up with their own ways to arrange them, as McCabe does here. He offers
three major/minor pairs, in G major/minor (K105/426), D minor/major (K517/490),
and F minor/major (K69/518); then a pair in E major (K28/215); and finally a
set of four in C, G, G minor and C (K133, 259, 43, 460). Only two of these do
not quite work: K517 simply sounds too strongly Romantic with the emphasis McCabe
gives to its bass line, and K133 is emphatically chordal on the piano in a way
that it would not be on the harpsichord. In the remaining works, though,
McCabe’s sensitivity to the music’s structure and his willingness to downplay
the piano sound rather than emphasize it lead to a highly enjoyable listening
experience, even though it is historically inappropriate. McCabe actually makes
a better case for playing Clementi on a modern concert grand, thanks to an
excellent selection of music. The Sonata in G minor, Op. 50, No. 3 (Didone Abbandonata
– scena tragica) is the highlight of this two-CD release. It is
Clementi’s last piano sonata and the only one to which he gave a programmatic
title. And it is quite marvelous, evoking the despair of Dido upon the
departure of her faithless lover, Aeneas, in three movements whose tempo
indications sum up the work’s emotional superstructure exceptionally well: Largo patetico e sostenuto – Allegro ma con
espressione; Adagio dolente; and Allegro
agitato e con disperazione. This really is a proto-Romantic (if not quite
fully Romantic) sonata, and McCabe handles its moods and moodiness with
exceptional sensitivity. It is a piece that definitely deserves to be heard
more often, providing it can be played with this level of power and beauty
(which, however, is by no means assured). The other two Clementi sonatas,
although not at this level, are fine works in their own right: the two-movement
Sonata in F, Op. 33, No. 2, in which
the forceful main section of the first movement is especially impressive; and
the three-movement Sonata in D, Op. 40,
No. 3, which has a tragedy-pervaded mood despite its major key, the central
slow movement being particularly heartfelt. Between those two sonatas, McCabe
plays three of the 12 little salon pieces called Monferrinas, Op. 49 – Nos. 4 in C, 3 in E and 12 in C. These are
versions of Italian folk dances (from Montferrat; hence the title), and McCabe
handles them with considerable spirit and a welcome lightness of touch that
contrasts well with his approach to the tragic moods of the Op. 40 and Op. 50 sonatas.
McCabe’s skillful presentation of this material occurs, in the main, in spite
of his use of the modern concert grand, not because of it: he holds back on the
full force of the piano so as to communicate the textures of Clementi’s music
more effectively than would be possible otherwise. But this simply draws
attention to the reality that Clementi (and Scarlatti) did not write for this
sort of instrument at all. True, they might well have been impressed if it had
existed in their time. But if it had, they would not have written this music for it – they would have
written music to take advantage of what a modern concert grand can do. That
said, McCabe provides a generally excellent listening experience in these
works, despite presenting them on an instrument quite different from what the
composers wanted.
The instrument is not the “correctness” issue on a new Navona CD
featuring pianists Iris Graffman Wenglin and Ruth Lomon. Here the issue with the disc is
more one of presentation – packaging, if you will – than one of pianistic
provenance. Yes, it has become de rigueur
in many circles to bemoan the relative lack of attention to women in a wide
variety of fields, and to attempt to redress the imbalance by focusing on
something – in this case, music – because
the creators were female. But that does a disservice to the composers, implying
that their music somehow cannot stand on its own and would not have been
programmed if it were not for their gender. True, not all the works by the 11
composers on this very well-played disc are of equal value and interest, but
the same tends to be true of any anthology CD: it would be very rare indeed for
an entire disc of works by disparate, little-known composers to contain nothing
but music of top quality. This has nothing to do with gender. Furthermore, one
composer here – Clara Schumann, here called “Clara Wieck Schumann,” presumably
to emphasize her feminine identity, although that is not what she called
herself – needs no apology for her compositions and even less for her fame as a
performer: she was one of the great pianists of the 19th century, as
well as the great love of not one but two major composers (Schumann and,
obviously although in no overtly romantic manner, Brahms). The brief, graceful
Clara Schumann works here are the only pieces on the disc played by a solo
pianist (Wenglin), and they cement the composer’s reputation as a fine
miniaturist: the Five Caprices of
1832 and a Polonaise in E-flat from
1831. The remaining pieces on the disc are all from the 20th
century. Germaine Tailleferre’s “Cache-cache mitoula” from Jeux de Plein Air
(1917) and Louise Talma’s Four-Handed Fun
(1939) are both short, light and playfully intricate. Miriam Gideon’s Homage a ma jeunesse: Sonatina for two
pianos (1949) is pretty rather than profound, and it is nicely structured
in three short movements, including a more-elaborate finale. Barbara Pentland’s
Three Piano Duets after pictures by Paul
Klee (1958) is both impressionistic and rather self-consciously modernistic
in compositional style; as is usually the case with “illustrative” music,
listeners need to know the specific works (“Small Fool in Trance,” “Surfaces in
Tension,” and “Fish Magic”) to get the full effect of the music. Marga
Richter’s Variations on a Theme by
Latimer: piano, four hands (1969) moves from a somber beginning through a
series of rather dissonant and often atonal elements. The eight tiny movements
of Thea Musgrave’s Excursions (1965),
seven lasting less than a minute and one just a bit longer, combine into
another impressionistic piece, this one micro-miniaturized, with each scene
gone almost by the time it is established and all the little pieces dealing
with automotive matters (“The Road Hog,” “The Drunken Driver,” “Roadside
Repairs,” “Backseat Driver,” and so forth). Lomon herself contributes Soundings for piano four hands (1975), a
work that never really goes anywhere even though it takes full advantage of its
dual-pianist construction. Jacqueline Fontyn’s Spirales pour 2 pianos (1974) offers even greater intensity and an
emphasis on percussive sound, but to no particular point. Marta Ptaszynska’s Interlude I and Interlude II (both 1979) are two episodic studies featuring many
contrasts of volume and tempo. Finally, the 10 miniatures in Shulamit Ran’s Children’s Scenes (1970) – eight under a
minute and two not much longer – make up another case of micro-miniaturization,
but with greater playfulness than in Musgrave’s suite and with some
particularly nice touches: the slightly off-kilter “Rag Doll Valse,”
Mussorgsky-ish “A Game,” insistent “A Little Toccata,” and concluding “The
Steel Soldier” are highlights. The music on this CD is diverse and always
well-crafted, the composers’ intentions differing and their skill in bringing
those intentions across to an audience differing as well. Listeners interested
in piano duets will likely find at least some of these pieces attractive, with
the solo-piano pieces by Clara Schumann having the widest appeal of all. This
has nothing to do with paying homage (or “hommage”) to women composers because
of their gender – it is only a matter of recognizing well-conceived, very
skillfully composed music.
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