(++++) TWOSOMES

Rachmaninoff: Suites Nos. 1 and 2 for Two Pianos; Symphonic Dances. Eric Zuber and Boris Slutsky, pianos. Azica. $15.99. 

Music for Oboe and Piano by Florence Price, Clara Schumann, Reena Esmail, Clémence de Grandval, Theresa Delaplain, and Cécile Chaminade. Theresa Delaplain, oboe and English horn; Miroslava Panayotova, piano. MSR Classics. $14.95. 

Music for Violin and Cello from Argentina and Brazil. DUO-B (Hirono Borter, violin; Philip Borter, cello). MSR Classics. $14.95. 

Chansons & Frottole. Sophie Klussmann, soprano; Hopkinson Smith, lute. Naïve. $16.99. 

     The expressive possibilities of music for two performers are pretty much endless, and have been recognized as such for centuries – resulting in a tremendously wide variety of compositions that, in their own ways, integrate separate sounds, unite them, explore their varieties and limits, and give performers as well as composers numerous chances to showcase any number of levels of communication. Yet many two-instrument compositions are less-known and less-heard than other works by the same composers. This is certainly true of Rachmaninoff, who produced three remarkably effective and fine-sounding two-piano pieces that are far less often performed than his orchestral and solo-piano music. An excellent new Azica recording by Eric Zuber and Boris Slutsky helps redress the balance somewhat by giving listeners the chance to hear both of Rachmaninoff’s two-piano suites plus the very infrequently performed two-piano version of the Symphonic Dances – a version that the composer made at essentially the same time as the much-better-known orchestral form of his final major work. Suite No. 1 represents as close a tie between Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky as possible: it is dedicated to the older composer, who intended to be present for its 1893 première, but who died about a month before that performance. Suite No. 1 would likely have met with Tchaikovsky’s approval for its overall pacing, its emotive qualities, and its sure-handed balance between the pianos. It does not really sound like any of Tchaikovsky’s four suites for orchestra, yet it clearly inhabits the same Romantic world. It inhabits a literary one as well: each movement is tied to a poem – the first to a work by Mikhail Lermontov, the second to one by Lord Byron, the third to one by Fyodor Tyutchev, and the fourth to one by Aleksey Khomyakov. But the music succeeds purely on its own terms, even for listeners who do not know Rachmaninoff’s poetic sources. Zuber and Slutsky bring out the gentle Allegretto opening to fine effect, dwell on the two slow movements at the suite’s center without ever letting anything drag, and handle the Allegro maestoso conclusion (Pâques – “Easter”) with suitable solemnity coupled with great dramatic flair. They offer an equally discerning and effective performance of Suite No. 2, which dates to 1901, has no literary tie-ins, and is more traditional in form. Here there are two Presto movements and an overall more-upbeat character – not surprising for a work in C major (the first suite is in G minor). Suite No. 2, along with the second symphony, marks Rachmaninoff’s creative re-emergence after the well-known four-year gap in his compositions after his Symphony No. 1 failed rather spectacularly. Rachmaninoff himself played the suite’s première (with his cousin, Alexander Siloti), and the work bristles with virtuosity, notably in the concluding Tarantelle. But there is sensitivity and a sure sense of style in it as well, and Zuber and Slutsky explore its colors and characteristics with first-rate attentiveness throughout. They are also spot-on in their handling of the Symphonic Dances, whose two-piano version was actually created prior to the orchestral one – in August 1940, with the work’s orchestral form finished in October. The subtle colorations of the better-known orchestral piece are dimmer on piano, as is the foundational sadness of the central Tempo di valse. But the rhythmic strengths, especially in the opening Non allegro, are very clear indeed as Zuber and Slutsky deliver them. And the danceability of the music, always somewhat questionable, gets a boost from the pianists’ careful attention to pacing and the interplay of the complementary piano parts. This is a top-of-the-line musical presentation of some repertoire that is less familiar than its quality deserves. It is less than top-of-the-line in packaging, though, since the lengths of the pieces are provided exactly nowhere – a bizarre omission. 

     The level of musical interest is more variable on an MSR Classics disc whose two performers hold forth on oboe (and English horn) and piano – a sound blend tied to but scarcely duplicative of Rachmaninoff’s, even in music from the same time period as his. This is one of those CDs with a non-musical (or extra-musical) focus, its six works being by female composers. About all that that fact proves is that woman-created music has just as many strengths and weaknesses, and just as much variability, as man-created material – which, come to think of it, may be the point. In any case, the recording’s ups and downs offer a chance to hear both interesting and somewhat less intriguing compositions. It opens with a transcription of a brief Song without Words by Florence Price (1887-1953) – whose lifetime mostly overlaps that of Rachmaninoff and whose sensibilities also overlap from time to time. This is indeed a songful work, gentle and quiet, which Theresa Delaplain and Miroslava Panayotova present straightforwardly, allowing its rather surface-level beauty to come through and not attempting to impose too much meaning on it. The Drei Romanzen by Clara Schumann (1819-1896) can also be thought of more or less as salon music, but the very careful balance of the opening Andante molto, the sweet-but-not-treacly warmth of the central Allegretto, and the songful qualities of the concluding Leidenschaftlich schnell make this collection of three short pieces a pleasure from start to finish, although here the finale leans more toward the passionate than the quick. The five movements of Pranayam by Reena Esmail (born 1983) are also well-made but are less immediately appealing despite Esmail’s use of the oboe to portray (and to some extent duplicate) yogic breath-control practices. The delicate bounce of the second piece, Kapalbhati, is especially attractive, and the growling lower-register piano in the fourth piece, Simha, brings some respite from the intricate figurations present in most of the rest of the work. Next on this very-well-played CD is a work simply titled Quatre Pièces by Clémence de Grandval (1830-1907). Not surprisingly for a Romantic-era work, this one, which is for English horn, wears its heart on its sleeve, much as many Rachmaninoff pieces of the time (and afterwards) do. The emotions are straightforward, the rhythms are engaging (notably in the second-movement Valse), and the work as a whole is pleasantly inconsequential. These two performers next showcase Delaplain (born 1959) in her role as a composer. Monet Suite collects five short movements whose descriptive titles are evocative whether or not listeners know specific Monet paintings. The tone-painting is well-managed but scarcely distinctive – for example, even without hearing a note, it is possible to imagine what Morning on the Seine probably sounds like, and that is indeed how the music comes across. Delaplain clearly enjoys playing her piece, whose oboe prominence is scarcely a surprise – the piano gets only a minor supporting role most of the time. The Impressionistic meanderings seem a bit formulaic: they are nicely structured individually, but when something more upbeat in tempo emerges in the final movement (Weeping Willow at Giverny), it is more than welcome, although it does not last long. The CD concludes with Delaplain’s own transcription of Capriccio by Cécile Chaminade (1857-1944), which percolates along nicely and contrasts the more-staccato oboe material with the comparative legato of the piano. The (+++) disc as a whole is a nice-sounding set of 19 brief tracks, pleasantries of various kinds that, in their individual ways, are enjoyable to hear for the manner in which they mix the differing sounds of the oboe and piano. 

     Another (+++) CD from MSR Classics is short (less than 49 minutes) and makes no effort to do more than engage with audiences enjoyably and without profundity. Here the two instruments are both strings, violin and cello, and the 13 compositions by six composers – one being violinist Hirono Borter herself – never profess to be more than passing entertainments. Some, however, are particularly enjoyable, notably Borter’s Tango Nostalgia, which at almost seven minutes is the longest piece on the disc and simply overflows with emotive warmth (sometimes a bit overdone, although in context that seems perfectly justifiable and even sensible). Philip Borter’s cello elegantly underlines the violin part, and it is scarcely surprising that the two performers’ material melds and interweaves so beautifully – they share five children as well as their musical duo. Hirono Borter’s own music is a significant highlight of this entire CD: her two other works, On My Way and Train, are both highly engaging trifles filled with elegantly realized string effects, such as the pizzicato violin contrasting with the legato cello in On My Way and the enthusiastic back-and-forth between the instruments in the upbeat Train. No composer heard here is a household name, but all have a solid command of the forms in which they write, and all their encore-like works are worth hearing: two by Ernesto Nazareth, four by Ángel Villoldo, two by Chiquinha Gonzaga, and one each by Zequinha de Abreu and Carlos Gardel. The tango elements of the disc are reasonably familiar even if the specific pieces are not, but there is an extra air of exoticism (or at least unfamiliarity) in pieces in the choro tradition – an engaging Brazilian blend of African rhythms with European salon music. De Abreu’s Tico-Tico no Fubá is an excellent example of the genre and a complete delight to hear on strings rather than piano. The fact that there is nothing of particular musical importance on this disc in no way diminishes the many pleasures it brings – from the admittedly slight works themselves and also from the highly skilled and delightfully well-integrated way in which the performers present them. It is not a CD that particularly repays multiple full-length hearings, but it is one to which it is tempting to turn, at least for a piece or two, when everyday cares become too threatening and a dose of pleasure for its own sake is called for. 

     The pleasures of two-person performance are of course not confined to works for two instruments: pairing the human voice with a single accompaniment is another way to mix disparate sounds, and one that has been popular for many centuries. A new (+++) Naïve CD titled Chansons & Frottole shows this form of two-person interaction as it was practiced in the earlier part of the 16^th century. The two words of the CD’s title are indicative of similar music in different countries, France and Italy, and Sophie Klussmann and Hopkinson Smith show themselves equally attuned (so to speak) with both national styles of the time. Like the composers on the DUO-B recording, the ones heard here will likely be entirely unknown to virtually all listeners: Claude de Sermisy, Pierre Moulou, Marchetto Cara, Filippo de Lurano, Bartolomeo Tromboncino, Giovanni Battista Zesso, Vincenzo Capirola, and Joan Ambrosio Dalza. Indeed, little is known by music historians about some of these creators; and a few works on the CD, not surprisingly given the time period of its focus, are by composers who are wholly unknown. This is certainly a rarefied set of material in light of the dates of the compositions, the basic nature of the soprano-and-lute sound, and the unfamiliarity of the composers. But audiences who enjoy vocal music and are in the mood for discovering some works from the early Baroque will find this a worthwhile exploration. The playing by Smith, an outstanding lutenist, manages to draw a listener’s attention even though his instrument is clearly intended to be in a subsidiary position compared with the voice. This in no way minimizes Klussmann’s fine diction and expressive (within historical limits) presentation of the vocal material. But it is somewhat surprising to discover that this particular musical partnership is so frequently one of equals rather than one in which the lute exists merely to support the vocal line. The pairings are in fact quite varied. They often involve near-simultaneous openings in which voice and lute move along together, but sometimes, as in the anonymous Se mai per maraveglia, there is a surprise – in this case, a voice-only opening section to which the lute is joined later than expected. A couple of tracks here are devoted to instrumental material, served up in the form of solo-lute intervals between voice-and-lute items: excerpts from Dalza’s Intabulatura de lauto and Capirola’s The Capriola Lutebook, each lasting less than two minutes, showcase Smith’s sensitivity and historically informed technique while offering brief but clear contrasts with surrounding material whose focus is more on the vocal side. Like other composers who have found inspiration in settings for two complementary but differing sound worlds, the ones heard here blend and contrast the material assigned to each of the performers with skill and sensitivity that listeners interested in this particular time period will find thoroughly engaging.