Bruckner:
Symphony No. 4, transcribed for organ by Thomas Schmögner; Abendzauber in G-flat, transcribed for organ by Hansjörg Albrecht; Philipp Maintz: Bruckner Window V. Hansjörg Albrecht, organ. Oehms. $14.99.
Brahms:
Serenades No. 1, Op. 11, and No. 2, Op. 16. Linos Ensemble. Capriccio. $16.99.
Bernhard
Heinrich Romberg: Concertino for Two Cellos; Nikolaus Kraft: Concertino for Two
Cellos; Anton Kraft: Grand Duo for Two Cellos, Op. 5; Duo for Two Cellos, Op. 6. Alexander Rudin and Emin Martirosian, cellos; Musica
Viva Moscow Chamber Orchestra conducted by Alexander Rudin. Naxos. $13.99.
Unusual or unexpected uses of instruments can shed different and
unfamiliar light on well-known works, and can also sometimes be a clue to the
way in which music developed toward the forms and instrumental uses to which
listeners are now more accustomed. The continuing Oehms series of Bruckner
symphonic transcriptions for organ remains as intriguing and occasionally as
strange as always in the fifth release, this one differing from the first four
in not using transcriptions by Erwin
Horn, a mainstay of the series until now. It is interesting to try to ferret
out ways in which Horn might have transcribed Symphony No. 4 differently from
the way Thomas Schmögner did, but that is a matter even more rarefied than the
use of organ transcriptions in the first place: they remain wholly unjustified
and remarkably interesting. In fact, the “Romantic” symphony (so called by
Bruckner himself) fares particularly well as an organ work, in part from Schmögner’s
willingness to imitate the orchestra’s sound on the organ to a greater extent
than Horn did with his transcriptions of the four earlier symphonies, and in
part because Hansjörg Albrecht’s usual excellence of playing here brings out
the structural underpinnings of the symphony to an exceptional degree. This may
in part be because the work itself is so well-known, but whatever the reason,
Albrecht’s performance – especially in the third and fourth movements –
elucidates the mixture of new and traditional elements that combined in this
symphony to produce the “Bruckner sound” that was to be familiar in all the
composer’s later symphonic productions. Interestingly, the horn calls of the famous
“Hunting” scherzo – created for the 1878/1880 version of the symphony, which is
the one most often performed and the one used by Schmögner for his
transcription – become a touchstone of the work when heard on organ, creating a
kind of character piece in the third movement that neatly paves the way for the
expansive finale. Here as in all these releases to date, Albrecht is as
impressive in his grasp of the totality of Bruckner’s symphonic vision as in
his attentiveness to rhythmic and expressive details that give each symphony,
and each movement within each symphony, a special character: Albrecht clearly
has a masterful understanding of Bruckner’s instrumental approach and of ways
in which the organ can sometimes duplicate it, sometimes shine an unexpected
light on it. On this disc, Albrecht also offers his own transcription of a
Bruckner rarity whose original scoring is genuinely peculiar: Abendzauber, a work from 1878 originally
written for baritone, male chorus, yodelers, and four horns. It would be extremely
interesting to hear the original of this work juxtaposed with Albrecht’s purely
instrumental organ transcription – the piece is short (six-and-a-half minutes),
in an unusual key, and even on organ has the sounds of evening magic suggested
by its title. The actual juxtaposition on the disc is not with Bruckner’s
original Abendzauber but with a piece
that is highly intriguing in its own right. It is the fifth “Bruckner Window” –
compositions by contemporary composers intended to illuminate or comment on
various aspects of the Bruckner symphonies heard in this series. The composer
is Philipp Maintz (born 1977), and the work, composed in 2022, bears a title
and subtitle clearly reflective of Bruckner and of Abendzauber. It is called Choral
Prelude XLVI (Morgenglanz der Ewigkeit). Maintz manages to update the
Bruckner sound to the 21st century while maintaining the sense of a
choral prelude as Bruckner in the 19th might have seen it when
looking back at the Baroque era. And the “glance of eternity” promised in the
Maintz title is delivered through fairly straightforward A-B-A form that produces
considerable impact as the music swells to great volume and intensity before
eventually subsiding into the quietude from which it originally emerged. The
piece is impressive on its own and even more so in the context of Abendzauber and of this very unusual
Bruckner cycle.
There may seem to be nothing particularly unusual about a new recording
of Brahms’ Serenades, but the Capriccio
release featuring the Linos Ensemble is another disc filled with instrumental
rethinking. The Serenades are
invariably discussed as precursors to Brahms’ Symphony No. 1, which he was
notoriously dilatory in producing because of his tremendous respect for
Beethoven (mixed with not a little fear). Indeed, the well-known orchestral
versions of these works have a great deal that is symphonic about them, even
though the pieces (a bit like Tchaikovsky’s four Suites for Orchestra) do not have the thematic or structural unity
of full-fledged symphonies. What is intriguing about this new recording is that
it handles the Serenades as chamber
music: the Linos Ensemble has just 15 members. Furthermore, this approach is
justified by the history of the Serenades:
Brahms originally wrote Serenade No. 1
for chamber ensemble and only orchestrated it later, and Serenade No. 2 was initially created for small orchestra. The
original chamber score of Serenade No. 1
has disappeared; this performance is a reconstruction by Argentinian conductor
Jorge Rotter. Serenade No. 2 is here
heard in its original chamber version – that does still exist – but reduces the
forces to one desk each for the strings, creating a full chamber-music effect. Does
all of this work? Well, nobody will want this as a first-and-only recording of
the Serenades, which sound far more
expressive and opulent in Brahms’ full-orchestra versions. But there is
inherent fascination in finding out where well-known (or in this case
moderately well-known) music has its origins, and certainly these nicely paced
performances, in which the Linos Ensemble plays with consistent transparency
and careful intonation, are a worthwhile supplement to the orchestral versions
of the Serenades for listeners who
already know and enjoy the music. Nevertheless, the overall feeling
communicated here is one of thinness, and the Serenades in this form sound much less symphonic than they do when
played by a full orchestra; furthermore, some of the considerable warmth of the
violins-omitted Serenade No. 2 is
absent in this recording. The pieces seem more experimental in this guise, less
like rehearsals for grand symphonies and more like expanded chamber works. And
the pieces’ structural balance is, for better or worse, quite clear here:
notably, the very extended Adagio non
troppo in Serenade No. 1 does
seem to go on rather too long (an accusation leveled at it in Brahms’ time),
which does not seem to be the case in the more acoustically involving and
expressive full-orchestra version of the movement. On the whole, this (+++)
disc is an interesting curiosity rather than a convincing alternative to
full-orchestra versions of the Serenades.
Aficionados of the music will find much to engage them intellectually here, but
the emotional connection so clearly present in full-orchestra versions of these
works is largely absent.
Another (+++) CD, this one from Naxos, offers unusual insight into a time period when an instrument that is very familiar today was gradually assuming its modern form. Not the piano – yes, that developed substantially in the early 19th century, but the changes it underwent are generally well-known and frequently explored in historically informed recordings. The instrument highlighted on this disc is the cello, which was just becoming a solo instrument in the early 19th century and had not yet developed its modern form (for example, there were no endpins yet). The three composers represented on this CD all clearly saw the emergence of solo-cello repertoire as an opportunity to extend the cello’s soloistic role by creating works for two cellos, either paired or as dual soloists with orchestra. The two Concertino works on the disc turn out to be far more effective assertions of the cello’s expanded capabilities than the two written for cello duet without accompaniment. Both the Concertino in A by Bernhard Heinrich Romberg (1767-1841) and the Concertino in C by Nikolaus Kraft (1778-1853) are nicely balanced, well-crafted works in which the two cellos sometimes support each other, sometimes meander in different directions, and always blend their sound nicely. Structurally and harmonically, both works hark back to Haydn’s and Mozart’s time even though both date to the early-to-mid-19th-century (Romberg’s having been composed as late as 1841, the last year of the composer’s life). They come across as experiments in sound, different in kind but not in intent from the ones indulged in by composers who today want to use instruments in new ways and extend their performance techniques. The pieces sound like throwbacks simply because the cello continued to develop after they were written, and the blended sound of the two instruments is now a commonplace of many compositions – besides which, the solo cello reached virtuosic heights as the 19th century wore on, making the integration of two instruments less engaging on its own merits. Still, the Concertino works are of more inherent interest than the two on this disc by Anton Kraft (1749-1820), the father of Nikolaus. These two three-movement pieces are rather extended for their time (they were published in 1808) and rather demanding – again, for their time – in technical terms. But at 20 and 22 minutes respectively, they simply do not sustain audience interest: they come across more as exercises for cellists than works reaching out to listeners. They do require the performers to use the cello’s full capabilities (its higher range in particular), and the need to blend the two instruments while sometimes contrasting their contributions to the material was no doubt a performance challenge at the time. But all in all, the pieces are rather plodding, their themes undistinguished, the development of the material formulaic rather than inspired. As teaching tools, these works would have been admirable when composed, but as a listening experience, they are considerably less than compelling – no matter how unusual their instrumentation may have been when they were created.
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