(++++) THE SERIOUS SIDE

Miklós Rózsa: Overture to a Symphony Concert; Hungarian Serenade; Tripartita. Deutsche Staatsphilharmonie Rheinland-Pfalz conducted by Gregor Bühl. Capriccio. $16.99.

     The continuing perception that writing film music is somehow lesser than writing music for the concert hall is gradually eroding, thanks in large part to contemporary composers such as John Williams. But it was very much a factor in the careers of numerous high-quality, classically trained composers in the 20^th century: once they became established in the movie world, they were no longer deemed as “serious,” in some sense, as contemporaries who remained focused on standard classical-music venues. To be sure, this was not the case for 100% of film composers: Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Vaughan Williams and others continued to be deemed “classical” in traditional mode despite making contributions, some of them substantial, to the film world. But for many composers, it was necessary to maintain their reputation for serious music-making by keeping their work for movies as separate from their concert-hall production as possible.

     Miklós Rózsa (1907-1995) felt this dichotomy of expectation and reputation more intensely than most, to such an extent that he created the pseudonym Nic Tomay for his film music and, when he eventually wrote his autobiography, titled it Double Life. Sure enough, Rózsa is nowadays thought of almost entirely as a film composer, and his more-traditional classical works – which attracted considerable interest from other composers and were conducted by Bruno Walter, Leonard Bernstein, Hans Swarowsky, Karl Böhm and other podium notables – are largely neglected. There is therefore something salutary in hearing, on a new Capriccio CD, three Rózsa works unconnected to the film world, all very well performed by Gregor Bühl and the Deutsche Staatsphilharmonie Rheinland-Pfalz, and all certainly able to stand unapologetically on their own.

     Overture to a Symphony Concert (1956/1963) is a celebratory concert overture that opens with a bright fanfare and is pervaded throughout by heroism and grandeur. Although unconnected with films, it has an altogether positive sound that could go with triumphal scenes in any number of movies (Rózsa became famous as the composer of Ben Hur, Spellbound and The Thief of Baghdad). There are some "chase" elements midway through the overture, but by and large it is stately and elegant. Its contrasting slower sections constitute a slowdown or pause in the activity rather than an entirely different episode. At each slower or quieter point the music seems eager to resume in stronger and more emphatic guise, making for a very effective and thoroughly upbeat work.

     The version of Hungarian Serenade heard here is Rózsa’s Op. 25 of 1952 (misidentified on the recording as 1956/1963). The work was originally Op. 10 of 1932 and was initially designed to start with a Marcia and bring the same music back at the end in a fadeout. But at the suggestion of no less than Ernő Dohnányi and Richard Strauss, Rózsa revised and expanded the work and had it conclude with a strongly accented Danza. In this form, the suite is quite successful. It uses single wind instruments particularly effectively, starting with a bouncy bassoon solo in the opening Marcia, a movement that is suitably martial and upbeat. The second movement, a Serenata for strings only, is the longest section of the suite, opening with the flavor of a lullaby, then meandering gently as it progresses. It is a quiet movement with a certain wistful quality. More crepuscular than dark, it projects a gentle flowing motion throughout, like wavelets on a lake. Flute, oboe and bassoon are featured in the Scherzo, which is light and jaunty from the start, with nice rhythmic bounce and well-placed percussion emphases. A contrasting slower section recalls some of the mood and flow of the Serenata and is more spun-out than might be expected – after which the initial bounce sneaks back in to conclude the movement. Then a solo clarinet opens the Notturno, a gently dreamy piece without strongly stated themes: it sounds as if it is all ornamentation. It is not especially nocturnal, but does convey a pleasantly drifting quality. The concluding Danza skitters along enthusiastically with emphatic rhythms and good balance between ensemble and solo instruments. It is the most overtly Hungarian of the suite’s movements, featuring distinctively Magyar rhythms, and leads to a rousing conclusion.

     The latest and most-substantive work on this CD is Tripartita, which dates to 1972. As the title indicates, it is a set of three movements but is not symphonic in structure (think of Schumann’s Overture, Scherzo and Finale). The opening Intrada starts with a march, but this is more of a concert work than one for the parade ground, written in 5/4 time and definitely not foursquare. It clearly announces the seriousness of the overall work from the beginning. Emphatic chords contrast with more-lyrical flowing passages, with dissonances lending an air of piquancy to the proceedings. The writing for brass vs. strings is especially well-contrasted. Next comes an Intermezzo arioso, which emerges from the lower depths – above which wind themes float – to become a moderately paced movement that seems vaguely evocative of specific scenes, perhaps a wide and largely barren landscape within which flickers of activity emerge periodically. A solo violin adds a touch of yearning and warmth before a broader passage for full orchestra provides a contrast like that of the plains with the mountains. An air of mystery and uncertainty pervades the last part of this movement, accentuated in the higher violin register before fading out. And then the Finale opens with proclamatory strength bordering on bombast, strongly colored by percussion. This starts as a display piece with insistent rhythms, but there comes a strongly contrasted section, one-third of the way through, in which the pace slows, individual instruments become thoughtful, and delicacy (including harp touches) is allowed to flow. This atmospheric transformation does not continue, though, and the interlude soon gives way to further drama and speed as the percussion focus returns amid a proclamatory full-orchestral rush to a suitably intense conclusion.

     It would be overstating Rózsa’s compositional stature to deem any of these works a forgotten or mislaid masterpiece, but it would be understating the value of his legacy to continue to deem him solely a composer of film scores. In truth, his film music has long been justifiably admired for enhancing, not just complementing, the movies for which it was created. This disc clearly shows that there is a great deal to admire as well in the other portion of Rózsa’s creative “double life.”