(++++) SOUND THINKING

Brahms: Eleven Chorale Preludes for Organ, Op. 122, orchestrated by Virgil Thomson; Intermezzo in A, Op. 118, No. 2, orchestrated as “Black Swan for Orchestra” by Bright Sheng; Piano Quartet No. 1, orchestrated by Arnold Schoenberg. Kansas City Symphony conducted by Michael Stern. Reference Recordings. $16.98.

Danny Elfman: Percussion Concerto; Wunderkammer; Are You Lost? Colin Currie, percussion; Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by JoAnn Falletta. Sony. $13.98.

     Brahms’ approach to orchestration was rich, even opulent, but his last works – although still suitably characterized as “autumnal,” an adjective often used of Brahms’ music – were solo or chamber pieces in which he deliberately eschewed massed sound in favor of clarity and his own version of delicacy. It may therefore seem like something of a fool’s errand to orchestrate some of those final Brahms works, but if so, there are some mighty fine foolish orchestrators out there, as a very unusual and very appealing Reference Recordings release shows. Its most striking element is Virgil Thomson’s orchestration of Brahms’ final, posthumously published Eleven Chorale Preludes for Organ, created after the death of his longtime friend and apparently unrequited love, Clara Schumann, whom Brahms outlived by less than a year. The nine Lutheran chorales (No. 10 is an additional setting of No. 9 and No. 11 an additional setting of No. 3) are simply and elegantly presented as organ works, expressive without being over-decorated, emotive without wallowing. They are lovely – and are considerably more spiritual than might be expected of Brahms, who although baptized a Lutheran was a humanist/agnostic (and from whom Dvořák famously became estranged as a result). Whether it was Clara Schumann’s death, his own approaching end of life, or some other factor – or a combination of elements – that led him to these simple, beautifully evocative spiritual settings, the chorale preludes show a side of Brahms that is rarely to be heard elsewhere in his music. And Thomson, himself a fine (and underrated) composer, was technically careful and emotionally respectful when orchestrating the works in 1957-58. Michael Stern leads the Kansas City Symphony in a performance that mirrors the care brought to the orchestration by Thomson while also adhering to the underlying spirituality – which includes a degree of sadness – that is incorporated by Brahms into all 11 of these short works. Stern and the ensemble also produce a warm, caring performance of a Brahms orchestration that does not hew quite so closely to the composer’s original concept. It is Black Swan, an arrangement by Bright Sheng (born 1955) of another late Brahms work with a strong Clara Schumann connection: Intermezzo in A, Op. 118, No. 2, which Brahms dedicated to her and which she in turn praised to the composer for its “wealth of sentiment.” By giving his orchestration its own title, Sheng indicates that he is doing more than simply adapting this piano piece for an ensemble. And indeed he takes the music a step beyond Brahms’ original, using sectional sounds to accentuate its passion, emotional heft and closing wistfulness. The underlying melodies and harmonies remain those of Brahms, but the more-expansive emotionalism of the piece – well-communicated under Stern’s direction – is Sheng’s contribution. Yet Sheng does not personalize this music to the extent that Arnold Schoenberg does Brahms’ Piano Quartet No. 1, a much earlier work (written in 1861, when Brahms was 28) that Schoenberg (1874-1951) adapted late in his own life, in 1937 (there is a Clara Schumann connection here as well: she was the pianist in the quartet’s first performance). Brahms’ chamber music often possesses symphonic qualities, so to some extent it is scarcely surprising that another composer would seek to bring them out. And Schoenberg, for all his fame (or notoriety) in twelvetone composition and atonality, had considerable respect for Brahms. But he was also very much steeped in his own compositional style, and his expansion (it is more than an orchestration) of this Brahms quartet makes that abundantly clear. Schoenberg insistently finds symphonic elements throughout the quartet – more than Brahms put into it, except perhaps by implication – and brings them out through his own considerable skill at orchestration and willingness to take the music well beyond Brahms’ own harmonic and expressive world. The adaptation is interestingly reflective of Schoenberg’s own creative production, which began with late-Romantic works before becoming famously acerbic and decidedly un-Romantic in sound and orientation. Schoenberg does not hesitate to update elements of Brahms’ sound world to his own – the percussion use in the finale is an especially clear example – nor does he feel obliged to adhere to Brahms’ own notions of harmony and balance. The result is a work that feels a bit like a pastiche, a bit like a tribute, a bit like a rethinking, and a bit like something altogether new. It is really not the Brahms quartet at all, despite being foundationally derived from it. But it is quite fascinating to hear and is often exceedingly cleverly structured – and it is presented with considerable verve, as well as understanding, by Stern and his very fine orchestra. The disc as a whole will perhaps be of greatest interest to listeners who already know Brahms’ own versions of the music – but even those who do not will find much to enjoy and explore here, although one would hope they would eventually seek out these pieces the way the composer himself conceptualized them.

     There is no question about either the concept or the presentation of the music of Danny Elfman (born 1953) on a new Sony CD, but there are certainly some surprises here. Elfman is known almost entirely as a film composer (he has written music for more than 100 movies) and singer/songwriter; his association with the concert hall is tenuous at best. This disc, however, shines a different and thoroughly engaging light on his work. In fact, listening to Elfman’s Percussion Concerto shortly after hearing Schoenberg’s orchestration of Brahms’ Piano Quartet No. 1 – especially that work’s finale – is quite an intriguing experience, the juxtaposition shining as much light on Elfman’s skills with percussive thinking as on Schoenberg’s. Elfman’s music is more overtly accessible than much of Schoenberg’s oeuvre, though, and the Percussion Concerto is nothing if not involving. It is a significant tour de force for Colin Currie, for whom it was written, and also requires JoAnn Falletta to put the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra through a considerable set of paces – which she and the ensemble manage with genuine panache. For all its performance complexity, the Percussion Concerto continually gives the impression that it is not to be taken overly seriously, at least not by the audience: it is fun above all, and Elfman’s skill at producing readily accessible, interestingly conceived music that may not be profound but is certainly listenable, is everywhere apparent. The concerto is in four movements: Triangle, which in the absence of three Curries requires three percussionists; DSCH, the initials of Dmitri Shostakovich, which that composer himself incorporated into many of his works and which Elfman uses to indicate a sort-of-tribute; Down, a slow meandering through more-extended harmonies than Elfman uses elsewhere; and Syncopate, which relieves any hint of auditory stress from the previous movement by splashing sound all over the place with a level of exhilaration that is thoroughly infectious. Complementing this unusual and appealing concerto on the CD is the world première recording of Wunderkammer, a word referring to a room filled with a random assortment of odd and appealing knickknacks. It turns out that the piece is more appealing than odd: here Elfman’s skill at film composition is everywhere apparent, with each of the three movements sounding as if it is accompanying some sort of unseen visualization – and the use of vocalise adds to that impression. Although not designated as a percussion concerto, this work certainly gives the percussion section a considerable and near-constant workout – although, to be fair, all the orchestral sections get pushed to extremes, not of subtlety but often of volume, as the piece progresses. There is nothing the slightest bit subtle about Wunderkammer: even its attractive central slow movement, although it provides respite from the hectic material that precedes it and largely avoids exclamatory percussion, offers the sort of straightforward emotion-weaving that is to be expected in music intended to underline the visuals of films. And the finale, unsurprisingly, offers the sort of noisily emphatic martial proclamations with which Elfman appears particularly comfortable – it is full of sound and fury even if it signifies, well, not very much. The CD does, however, conclude with a bit of a surprise: a song from Elfman’s Trio called Are You Lost? Although there is percussion here, it is comparatively downplayed in scoring that also includes women’s voices, piano and strings; and the piece (sung in French) is gentler and quieter than is usual in Elfman’s music. It is scarcely profound and certainly breaks no new musical ground – consonance, harmony and facile expression of easily perceived emotions are hallmarks of the work – but it is, all in all, somewhat less intense and insistent than the rest of the music on this disc. It is far from subtle or deep, but it at least ends the recording by providing some respite from material that, although salutary, is frequently a kind of aural assault – a pleasant and well-crafted one, to be sure, but scarcely an experience to which most listeners will want to subject themselves on an ongoing basis – although these Elfman works are certainly worth experiencing from time to time, perhaps in somewhat smaller doses than are provided by this all-Elfman recording.