Dvořák: Symphony No. 9, “From the New World”; Carlos Simon: Four Black American Dances. Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra conducted by Manfred Honeck. Reference Recordings. $24.98 (SACD).
Korngold: Violin Concerto; Samuel Barber: Violin Concerto. Paul Huang, violin; London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Jun Märkl. Naïve. $16.99.
Curtis J. Stewart: 24 American Caprices for Violin. Curtis J. Stewart, Tai Murray, Tobia Im, Deborah Buck, Njioma Grevious, Jory Lane, Lin-Chi Chuang, Bryan Hsu, Ruben Rengel, Melissa White, Max Brown, Ryan Chung and Natalie Oh, violinists. Bright Shiny Things. $19.99 (2 CDs).
Dvořák’s last and most popular symphony is from the New World but not of it: the work is Czech at its core despite its significant incorporation of the sound (although not the actual melodies) of what the composer called Negro music (which he conflated with that of Native Americans). There is always something new to be found in this somewhat sprawling symphony, which is not as tightly knit, intense or dramatic as No. 7 or as bright, optimistic and engaging as No. 8, but which is so packed with tunefulness and a slight sense of America as an exotic realm that its popularity is more than understandable. Manfred Honeck, an inveterate tinkerer with composers’ notation who has honed the Pittsburgh Symphony into a world-class ensemble, tackles Dvořák’s Ninth with enthusiasm and delivers a first-class performance whose appeal will depend on whether listeners appreciate the conductor’s fine-tuning of the score or find that it makes this well-known work somewhat quirky rather than freshly envisioned. Honeck’s approach is especially clear in the first movement, which begins very slowly and effectively indeed but is then treated more as a tone poem than a symphony’s opening: the considerable slowdowns around four, seven and 11 minutes into the movement, intended to accentuate specific elements of the musical argument, significantly impede the flow that is a primary characteristic of Dvořák’s style, and then lead to a very fast final minute of the movement. The value of this approach and the adjustments of detail contributing to it – timpani alterations and other elements that Honeck forthrightly advocates in his essay in the Reference Recordings disc’s booklet – are matters of opinion, with individuals’ views going a long way to determining audience response to this release. The best movement here is the second, where the very Bohemian turns of phrase are handled skillfully and the quiet passages are excellent – thanks both to the orchestra and to the exceptional sound quality, whose crystal clarity is notable throughout. This Largo is mostly played straight and is an argument for doing so, doubly so when the ensemble’s brass section is as exceptional as it is here. The third movement proceeds smartly from the start and concludes in the same mode, but its central section is somewhat overly slow and causes the whole thing to drag a bit. This is even more the case in the finale, where the slowdown for the second, very lyrical theme two minutes into the movement bogs the proceedings down unnecessarily, producing a loss of momentum that results in a patchier conclusion to the symphony than is ideal – although the uniformly excellent orchestral playing nevertheless makes this a very fine performance. Also of considerable interest is the pairing of the symphony with Four Black American Dances (2023) by Carlos Simon (born 1986). Dvořák’s symphony celebrates a culture, Simon’s a skin tone, as is more de rigueur in recent times. But Simon’s piece is fascinating in the ways it contrasts with the symphony. Forthright rather than intricate, it explores four very different idioms. Ring Shout has an opening that is raucous, dissonant and emphatic but not especially rhythmic; then it becomes quick, strongly accented, and filled with cross rhythms, brass effects drawn from jazz, and a "fiddling" violin. Waltz is slow, rather characterless and not very danceable. Tap intriguingly imitates the sound of tap shoes through use of the snare drum’s side rim; it is more impressionistic than imitative of the form. And Holy Dance starts with a portentous opening that eventually leads, two minutes later, to hectic, percussion-heavy, brass-inflected material that makes up in ebullience what it lacks in melody – and leads at the end to a rousingly overdone conclusion. There is nothing profound in Simon’s work, but it contains much that is cleverly calculated, and its many rhythmic, harmonic and textural differences from the symphony make this SACD quite interesting to experience as a whole.
As different as Dvořák’s and Simon’s ways of handling the American musical experience are, they are distinct as well from the approaches of other composers – American culture is nothing if not multifaceted. The violin concertos of Erich Wolfgang Korngold, a transplant to the United States, and native-born Samuel Barber, include many notable contrasts and distinctive forms of creativity that lead to a genuinely intriguing juxtaposition on a new Naïve CD featuring Paul Huang and the London Philharmonic Orchestra under Jun Märkl. The concerto by Korngold, who is best known for his film music but has recently been receiving something of a revival for his concert-hall works, intriguingly combines both spheres within which the composer operated. It dates to 1945, just after a war in which Korngold stuck to his determination not to compose anything but film music until after Hitler’s defeat – but it is almost entirely built around pieces that Korngold wrote for the movies. Interestingly dedicated to Alma Mahler – Gustav Mahler had been Korngold’s mentor – the concerto starts with a Moderato nobile built on themes from Another Dawn (1937) and Juarez (1939); continues with a Romance whose principal theme is from Anthony Adverse (1936); and concludes with a virtuosic Allegro assai vivace constructed around a theme from The Prince and the Pauper (1937). The harmonic simplicity of the thematic material and its immediate appeal have helped make this one of Korngold’s most frequently performed works, and Huang and Märkl do a fine job of letting its largely surface-level emotionalism flow freely for two movements before the more-virtuosic finale gives Huang plenty of chances to cut loose and demonstrate a delightfully bouncy back-and-forth with the orchestra. Soloist and conductor are also very well paired for the Barber concerto, which was also affected by World War II: only the first two movements were completed before the conflict erupted in late 1939, with the finished work getting its first, private performance in 1940. The comparative technical simplicity of the first two movements contrasts strongly with the difficulty of the concluding perpetuum mobile, but the sweetness of the opening Allegro and following Andante complement Korngold’s concerto very well, being less harmonically trenchant and more consistently lyrical – with the extended oboe solo at the start of the second movement as a highlight. The short and implacable final Presto in modo perpetuo comes as something of a shock after the first two movements, so different in tone and approach is it from them; and it is to Huang’s credit that he does not look for connections between the finale and the earlier movements that are simply not there. In truth, Barber’s concerto seems more disconnected than Korngold’s, with the conclusion having a tacked-on feeling about it. But Huang’s strong and even pacing and Märkl’s apt accompaniment give the last movement, and the concerto as a whole, a sense of tighter organization than it sometimes seems to possess – making this work a fitting foil for Korngold’s.
The violin playing is every bit as impressive – in a different way and different milieu – on a two-CD Bright Shiny Things release featuring composer/performer Curtis Stewart (born 1986) and a dozen compatriots. The music here is part Paganini Caprices, part Beethoven-and-others Diabelli Variations, and all tuned to modern sensibilities. The Paganini element is the overall structure: 24 short individual works for violin solo, although nothing by Stewart will likely have the staying power and cross-pollination potential of the 24th of Paganini’s works. The Diabelli Variations element is not so much the famous set by Beethoven as the 50 variations by 50 other composers, for all of which it helps to know the underlying tune by Diabelli – because in all 24 of Stewart’s pieces, knowing the foundational work is a near-necessity for full enjoyment of what Stewart has created. This does limit the effectiveness of Stewart’s piece: if you are not familiar with Earth Wind and Fire’s September, Oscar Peterson’s Hymn to Freedom, Donny Hathaway’s This Christmas, Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s This Train, and the other originals upon which Stewart built his caprices, you will still hear some very fine violin playing (by Stewart himself for 12 of the items, by professionals and students for the rest) but will not really get the point of the music. Some of the baseline pieces here are on the surprising side (Taps by Daniel Butterfield, 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton), while others seem inevitable (Blowing in the Wind by Bob Dylan, Hymn to Freedom by Oscar Peterson), and still others seem to be matters of personal taste (U.N.I.T.Y. by Queen Latifah, Celia Cruz, Oye Cómo Va by Tito Puente). The point, though, is that unlike Paganini’s explorations of themes he himself created, unlike the ventures by Beethoven and 50 others into variations on a clearly stated musical basis, Stewart has rung changes on 24 works in ways that obscure the originals as often as they explore them. Anyone who does not know where each of Stewart’s pieces originates will miss most of the point of his 24 American Caprices. Even then, there will be plenty to enjoy here simply in terms of the violin performances and in the far-ranging and sometimes far-fetched handling of the musical sculptural material. Nevertheless, what would have worked better for this production would have been a forthright presentation by Stewart of each “basis” work, followed by the caprice created from it. True, that would have lengthened the release onto a third disc, but just as the music here has American roots, so the notion of a touch of wretched excess in its presentation would somehow have seemed suitably American. In the form in which listeners actually get 24 American Caprices, the work will be more or less enjoyable and intelligible depending on the extent to which each individual person hearing it is able to ferret out Stewart’s starting point. Come to think of it, figuring out flights of fancy without, perhaps, knowing where they come from also seems like a particularly American characteristic.
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