Bruckner
from the Archives, Volume 4: Symphony No. 5; String Quintet in F; Intermezzo
for String Quintet. Berlin Radio
Symphony Orchestra conducted by Christoph von Dohnányi; Vienna Konzerthaus
Quartet (Anton Kamper and Karl Maria Titze, violins; Erich Weiss, viola; Franz
Kvarda, cello); Ferdinand Stangler, second viola. Ariadne. $29.99 (2 CDs).
Brahms:
Sonatas Nos. 1 and 2 for Cello and Piano; Adagio from Violin Sonata No. 1. Emanuel Gruber, cello; Arnon Erez, piano. Bridge
Records. $16.99.
Barbara
Harbach: Orchestral Music VIII—Symphonies Nos. 12-14. London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by David
Angus. MSR Classics. $14.95.
Each volume of the excellent Bruckner
from the Archives series brings surprises and pleasures of its own, as
never-before-released or at least never-before-on-CD performances reveal, time
and again, just how rich the interpretative landscape of Bruckner’s works was
even before they became the comparatively frequent concert-hall and recording
staples they are today. The bicentennial of Bruckner’s birth, which is the
occasion for this series, is turning out to be revelatory not only of
Bruckner’s mastery of a unique approach to symphonic form but also of his
occasional forays into other types of music, on which he put his personal stamp
as well. The juxtaposition of his Symphony No. 5 and String Quintet in F is a particularly intriguing one, the works
having been composed within a year of each other (1878 and 1879 respectively)
and their sensibilities having fascinating points of contact as well as
significant differences. The symphony is here conducted by Christoph von
Dohnányi, not a conductor usually associated with Bruckner and at the time of
this performance (1963) not one focused primarily on the concert hall: he was
General Music Director of Lübeck Opera from 1957 to 1963 and was not to take
over as music director of the Cleveland Orchestra for another 20 years. Nevertheless,
Dohnányi’s understanding of Bruckner and his skill at bringing forth a suitable
orchestral sound for this symphony are quite apparent, and perhaps the sweep
and emotional-yet-controlled effect of this reading owe something to his
experience in the opera house. The performance is, if anything, a trifle on the
cool side, without any hint of swooning or overdone emotionalism – and the
approach is particularly fitting for this symphony, which is structurally the
most strongly contrapuntal of any of Bruckner’s. The pairing of the symphony
and contemporaneous quintet is interesting for elucidating the ways in which
the chamber work is symphonic in concept – and those in which it is not. The
quintet performance, which dates to 1956, has something of a symphonic sound
about it, emphasized by approaches that are more-or-less the opposite of those
used by Dohnányi in the symphony: the lyricism is emphasized, even
overemphasized, and the tempo choices are quite expansive – in contrast to the
comparatively speedy ones heard in the symphony. The result is a chamber piece
that sounds not only somewhat symphonic but also somewhat old-school in its
broad conceptualization. Yet the performers offer fine, carefully managed handoffs
and back-and-forth give-and-take elements that show Bruckner’s determination to
make this a genuine chamber-music work. And the quintet’s construction is
forward-looking in a number of ways, notably in interrelationships of keys – a
fact that comes through quite clearly because of the well-handled interplay of
individual instruments. As a bonus and encore of sorts, this recording includes
a short Intermezzo that Bruckner
created as an alternative to the quintet’s difficult Scherzo. The brief movement’s gentleness and comparative simplicity
show clearly that Bruckner was quite capable of writing more-traditional
chamber music – but chose not to do so. This fourth Bruckner from the Archives release, like the earlier ones, shines
considerable light not only on Bruckner’s music but also on performance styles
and characteristics that laid the foundation for approaches that have since
developed in a multitude of ways.
The Bruckner quintet does not sound like a particularly controversial
work, its somewhat unusual approach to key structure notwithstanding, but in
its time it generated a fair amount of reproach, partly because it seemed to
some critics an intrusion into a chamber-music sphere dominated by Brahms. The
passage of time has long since made it clear that the coexistence of Brahms and
Bruckner is something of a foregone conclusion, but the supposed intrusion of
certain composers into others’ dominant fields provoked a great deal of
misplaced angst in the 19th century. The extent to which this was unnecessary
is quite clear from an excellent Bridge Records recording of Brahms’ two cello
sonatas, played by Emanuel Gruber and Arnon Erez. These works bracket the time
period of Bruckner’s quintet, the first dating to 1865 and the second to 1886,
but they fit into the Romantic era as clearly as do Bruckner’s pieces from the
1870s. The tremendous expressiveness of Brahms’ writing for cello (an
instrument that he played for a time, and one that seems particularly apt for
his musical worldview), and the skill with which the cello is integrated with
and contrasted to the piano (the instrument on which Brahms was best-known as a
performer), produce an emotional effect quite different from anything in
Bruckner’s quintet. Indeed, the two Brahms sonatas are quite different from
each other: the first (in E minor) is thoughtful and sensitive throughout and
feels inward-looking despite the lack of a slow movement, while the second (in
F) is generally stronger and more assertive, although its second movement (Adagio affettuoso) has warmth aplenty.
Brahms does work some rather distant and unexpected key relationships into the
second cello sonata, although not to the extent that Bruckner does in his
quintet; but the result in Brahms is quite different and has the effect not of
exploration but of a deepening of emotional connection. Gruber and Erez are
exceptionally well attuned to the emotional elements of both these sonatas,
focusing on the darker elements of the first without ever implying a descent
into despair, and allowing the grander scale of the second to emerge engagingly
through the first three movements until the lighter finale changes the sonata’s
character and allows listeners a chance to breathe out (or catch their breath,
as the case may be). There is an encore-ish addition to this recording in the
form of an 1897 arrangement for cello and piano of the Adagio from Brahms’ Violin Sonata No. 1 (1878). It is not exactly
an encore, since it is placed on the CD between the two cello sonatas and is a
more-extended and more-emotive work than would usually be suitable for encore
purposes. It receives just as thoughtful and balanced a performance from Gruber
and Erez as do the two sonatas: this is a lovely movement in its original form,
and is if anything even warmer and more expressive in this cello-and-piano
version by Paul Klengel (1854-1936). Gruber and Erez play with an understanding
not only of all the music on this disc but also with a level of mutual
deference and respect that results in performances that fully convey the beauty
and expressiveness of Brahms’ works for cello and piano.
The very large scale of Bruckner’s symphonies, if not his chamber music,
was a Romantic-era characteristic with which composers have continued to
wrestle ever since. The 20th and 21st centuries brought
some symphonic productions even vaster than Bruckner’s as well as many that
deliberately returned to a smaller symphonic canvas even while making use of
harmonic and rhythmic approaches well beyond those of the 1800s. Some composers
have turned away from the form of the symphony altogether, but others have
found that its structure continues to provide a way of communicating musical
ideas – sometimes very specific ones – with strength and clarity. Barbara
Harbach (born 1946) certainly continues to find symphonic approaches congenial:
she has composed 14 symphonies to date, and Nos. 12-14 are now available on the
MSR Classics label in world première recordings featuring the London Philharmonic
Orchestra under David Angus. All three of these four-movement symphonies date
to 2002, all are around the length of typical Haydn symphonies, and all are
programmatic: No. 12 bears the title “Tempus Fugit,” No. 13 is “The Journey,”
and No. 14 is called “Pioneer Women.” In each symphony, the movements are not
given designated tempo or expressive indications but titles intended to evoke
specific scenes and feelings that the music is supposed to reflect and
underline. No. 12 is one of those innumerable “four seasons” works that classical
composers so often seem inclined to produce, although in Harbach’s case the
sequence starts with autumn, the seasons are not given in the order in which
they actually occur, and the feeling of each time period is included in the
movement titles: “Fall – Frolic,” “Spring – Scherzo,” “Summer – Shimmer,” and
“Winter – Whimsy.” The first movement is pleasantly jaunty; the second is more
intense than might be expected (and longer: it is the symphony’s longest
movement, scarcely an expectation for a Scherzo); the third is dominated by a
gentle rocking motion beneath woodwind exclamations; and the fourth is brass-focused
and more pointed than it is whimsical. The movements of No. 13 have
Copland-esque titles: “Perilous Journey,” “Christmas in Philadelphia,” “London
Days,” and “America, the Promised Land.” The first has a sense of uncertainty
and anticipation; the second opens with fanfares and proffers an aura of
seriousness more than a celebratory mood; the third features nostalgic lyricism
conveyed through expressive string writing; and the fourth actually sounds a
great deal like Copland in his “outdoor” mode, with brass exclamations and an
overall feeling of positivity and optimism. Symphony No. 14 starts with a
movement called “I Am a Pioneer!” It then proceeds to “A Woman Ought Not,”
“Complexity,” and “Then Peace.” The main feeling of the first movement is
anticipatory; the second movement is primarily gentle and a touch thoughtful;
the third somewhat extends the same mood while adding a flavor of lyricism; and
the fourth is another reminiscent-of-Copland work, moderately paced and
extending some of the earlier feeling of thoughtfulness. None of these symphonies
is intense, and none breaks new harmonic, structural or organizational ground.
And the degree to which the movements reflect their intended programmatic
content is a matter of opinion – their effectiveness as program music will vary
widely, depending on how each listener hears them. But in their unprepossessing
way, all of these well-crafted works demonstrate an interest in engaging
listeners in stories, both musical and narrative; and even if the narrative
elements are not crystal-clear, the musical attractiveness of the material is
enough to capture an audience’s attention and provide the pleasant sense of a
composer speaking musically in ways designed to be communicative rather than,
as so often in contemporary music, assertive to the point of being off-putting.
This very well-played orchestral recording is the 18th disc in MSR
Classics’ long-running Barbara Harbach series and is one of the best in the
sequence: understated rather than overdone, it shows that composers such as
Harbach are still finding their own ways to use and reuse symphonic style to
tell stories, whether in purely musical terms or in support of narratives, to
audiences that are willing to listen.
