(++++) OF DREAMS AND FOLK TALES

Oscar Straus: Der Traum ein Leben; Die Prinzessin von Tragant. Brandenburgisches Staatsorchester Frankfurt conducted by Ernst Theis. CPO. $18.99. 

Music for Cello and Piano by Manuel de Falla, Béla Bartók, Sulkhan Tsintsadze, Nadia Boulanger, Robert Schumann, Pablo de Sarasate, and Gabriel Fauré. Christoph Croisé, cello; Ana Bakradze, piano. AVIE. $19.99. 

     Oscar Straus (1870-1954) is now remembered mostly for his operetta scores and his determination not to be confused with members of the famous Strauss family (his name was in fact Strauss: he dropped the final “s” on purpose in his professional life, to avoid conflation with a dynasty to which he was not related). But nine years before he became internationally known in 1907 through his operetta Ein Walzertraum, he was already making a name for himself in Europe with Der Traum ein Leben, an interestingly conceived symphonic poem that was originally planned as a concert overture but that Straus expanded by adding a prologue and epilogue. The dream of the title is an anti-heroic one with distinct folk-tale elements: the protagonist, who takes credit for saving the life of a king who was actually saved by a mysterious “man from the rock,” then kills the “man from the rock” when that character reappears and demands a reward. Eventually tormented by guilt, the protagonist throws himself from a bridge – and the dreamer awakens. Franz Grillparzer (1791-1872), who wrote the story underlying the Straus music, called it a “dramatic fairy tale,” and Straus does a fine job of contrasting the drama with his work’s pastoral introduction and calm, relaxed epilogue. Ernst Theis and the Brandenburgisches Staatsorchester Frankfurt emphasize the contrasts inherent in the music effectively on a new release from CPO – and then offer a Straus work even more deeply fairy-tale-like, his one-act 1912 ballet Die Prinzessin von Tragant. Here Straus’ skill with waltzes is especially apparent: the Liebeswalzer and concluding Jubelwalzer are highlights of music that is distinctly old-fashioned (as unlike the contemporaneous Le Sacre du Printemps as can be imagined) and very well-crafted throughout. The Straus waltzes have a distinctive style that is noticeably different from Strauss waltzes, but they have lilt and captivating rhythms all their own, and are well-complemented by other dances and other forms: menuett, gavotte, march, polka and more. The general story of the ballet involves a princess who rejects three suitors but is eventually captivated by a somewhat overactive young man named Kreisel (“spinning top”). Shorn of details of its scenario, which this recording does not provide, Die Prinzessin von Tragant simply flows as a sequence of pleasant, carefully orchestrated and distinctly balletic movements that could fit a variety of imagined fairy-tale scenarios neatly. Theis leads the music with enthusiasm and contrasts the elements of the stage production quite well, and if the work is not especially distinctive – it is redolent of much earlier ballets – it is filled with tuneful pleasantries that make it enjoyable to hear from start to finish. 

     “Tuneful pleasantries” is a phrase that could also apply to an AVIE recording of music by seven composers chosen by Christoph Croisé and Ana Bakradze because of their supposed engagement with their various countries’ folk music – even though the “folk” elements are often only implied or hinted at rather than genuinely incorporated into the musical fabric. The CD is essentially a collection of encores – both original compositions for cello and piano and arrangements for this combination – that are performed very well and will be attractive to listeners enamored of these specific players and/or this instrumental combination. De Falla’s Suite populaire espagnole, originally written for voice, is heard first on the disc, and two of Fauré’s works are heard last: Après un rêve from Trois Mélodies, and Sicilienne. The de Falla connection with Spanish folklore is apparent throughout, but any such connection in Fauré – and in the other French music here, Nadia Boulanger’s Trois Pièces pour violoncello et piano – is a great deal more tenuous. On balance, the insistence that some sort of “folk” element explains or justifies this combination of music is rather strained, and the CD is best listened to simply for the works’ innate qualities and the skill with which Croisé and Bakradze bring them out. This is not to say that folk elements are entirely absent, though – quite the contrary. Bartók’s Romanian Folk Dances are explicitly connected to their country of origin, as are 5 Pieces on Georgian Folk Themes by Sulkhan Tsintsadze (1925-1991). Bakradze, who was born in Tbilisi, seems especially to relish the oversize emotionalism on display in Tsintsadze’s pieces, and Croisé takes to them with equal enthusiasm. Of particular note on this recording are the remaining two works: Schumann’s 5 Stücke im Volkston, whose title accurately reflects folklike elements that are not actually taken directly from folk music, and a rousing cello-and-piano version of Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen. The Schumann is a more substantial and in some ways more serious work than the others on the disc, although its placement midway through the CD somewhat vitiates its comparative significance. And the Sarasate encapsulates both the pluses and the minuses of the whole recording: this piece sounds much more dynamic and dramatic in its original violin-and-orchestra version, but the intensity with which Croisé and Bakradze approach it makes this alternative arrangement a striking one on its own terms. As a whole, this is a (+++) CD that features very fine playing in the service of an attempted thematic connection among the pieces that is not quite convincing – a state of affairs for which the disc almost makes up through the enthusiasm of the performances.

(+++) TOUCHES OF TODAY

Frederic Rzewski: Four Pieces for Piano; John Harbison: Piano Sonata No. 2. Walton Lott, piano. Neuma Records. $15. 

Marc Mellits: Tight Sweater; Titan. Jeff Anderle, bass clarinet; Haruka Fuji, marimba; Kate Campbell, piano; Friction Quartet. New Focus Recordings. $20.99. 

     A glance at the movement titles of Four Pieces for Piano by Frederic Rzewski (1938-2021) is enough to show their determined modernity even though the work is almost half a century old, dating to 1977: the first piece is designated first Dreamlike, then Violent, Impulsive; the second is Light + Bouncy; the third is Loosely, with feeling; and the fourth is untitled. Contemporary composers have moved well beyond traditional tempo-focused markings to instruct performers and listeners alike in how to play and hear their works, and Walton Lott takes Rzewski’s titles very much to heart in his recording for Neuma Records. The contrast between the elements of the first piece is very pronounced indeed; the second piece is more hesitant than might be expected, and its dissonances add to its overall feeling of questioning and lack of direction; the feeling implied in the third and longest piece is unclear – again the impression is of a quest and questioning, although here there are snatches of long-lined lyricism that suggest emotionalism, even passion, rather than objectivity; and that unmarked fourth piece simply swells and subsides, sometimes dense and sometimes determinedly focused on individual notes and, at the end, silence. Rzewski is known for his musical politicization – another very contemporary characteristic – but Four Pieces for Piano has no explicit or particularly apparent nonmusical reason for being, although its sound is analogous to that of other Rzewski works that are more explicitly driven by societal concerns. Certainly not an immediately appealing work, Four Pieces for Piano is a thoughtful and well-thought-out one whose disparate elements Lott puts on display with considerable skill and without attempting to forge the four pieces into a single, sonata-like or otherwise carefully organized form. The Piano Sonata No. 2 by John Harbison (born 1938), makes for an interesting contrast. The sonata dates to 2001, and here the movement titles are more traditionally descriptive (Intrada, Aria, Ricercare and Variazoni); but the determined modernism of the harmonic and rhythmic language is considerably more extreme. The sheer volume of the first movement is notable, making the contrast with the quiet opening of the second all the more pronounced. Anyone looking for lyricism or extended themes will not find it here, and indeed the second movement turns quickly into something much more proclamatory and chordal than its opening suggests. The third movement devolves into almost-jazzlike snippets and then veers into very considerable complexity in the simultaneity of upper and lower keyboard material, and the fourth offers a surprising degree of delicacy throughout, sounding a bit like Ives here and there. Harbison’s work, like Rzewski’s, ends quietly, with a sense of questioning rather than exhaustion or, for that matter, conclusive accomplishment. Both pieces feature pianistic elements that are as intriguing to hear as they are challenging to perform, and both will appeal primarily to listeners already fully engaged with the notion of modern (or postmodern) pianism. Lott makes as strong a case for both as anyone is likely to make. 

     If titles are one sign of contemporary compositional bona fides, those in two works by Marc Mellits (born 1966) are as up-to-date as it is possible to be. Tight Sweater (itself a very “today-sounding” title), which is for bass clarinet, marimba and piano, has six movements called Exposed Zipper, Trans Fatty Acid’s Rein, Mara’s Lullaby, Pickle Trousers, Evil Yellow Penguin, and Mechanically Separated Chicken Parts. It is fair to ask just what the titles have to do with the music (not much) and what effect they are supposed to have on the way listeners hear the piece (also not much). Ultimately, like all music, Mellits’ has to reach out – or fail to reach out – based on its own merits. The primary interest here is the multifaceted use of the bass clarinet, whose distinctive timbre (explored and exploited with considerable skill by the very talented Jeff Anderle) blends and contrasts surprisingly effectively with the two keyboards’ sound. The specific meaning of Trans Fatty Acid’s Rein, to cite one example, may be entirely obscure, but the way the woodwind intersects with the keyboards is aurally interesting – and contrasts with equally interesting interactions in much less frantic material, such as Maria’s Lullaby. By and large, the movements feature dramatic rhythms, sometimes initiated and maintained by the bass clarinet and sometimes established by the other instruments so the woodwind can perform riffs above them. There is a certain underlying (and overarching) sense of good humor about the entirety of Tight Sweater – the movement titles do, after all, point in that direction – and even though there is a degree of sonic sameness and repetitiveness that results in the piece wearing out its welcome well before its conclusion, there is much in it to enjoy. This entire CD runs only 38 minutes, split almost evenly between the two works on it, and that is just as well, since Titan – whose eight movements relate to the Saturnian moon, not to the precursors of the Greek gods – exists in much the same sound world as Tight Sweater, the differing instrumentation notwithstanding. Titan has some movement titles partaking of similar sensibilities (Velvet Kickbox Hydroxy, for example), but it does have periodic lush episodes that allow the strings to fulfill some of their communicative potential. It also features some moderately effective tone painting: Liquid Methane Rain, for instance, sounds expressively oceanic and even, to some extent, lyrical, while the strings-only pizzicato portion of Dispersed Retina is intriguing. Mellits’ bass-clarinet creations will certainly appeal to clarinetists and, more than that, to listeners who find low-woodwind sounds attractive and will enjoy hearing some unexpected and even surprising forms of interplay among the instruments for which Mellits writes.

(+++) THE VOICE IS THE FOCUS

Music for Countertenor and Piano. John Holiday, countertenor; Kevin Miller, piano. Pentatone. $17.99. 

Patrick Zimmerli: Letters from the Front. Desirée Hassler, soprano; Angela Born, mezzo-soprano; John Riesen, tenor; David Govertsen, bass-baritone; Ian Gindes, piano. Lexicon Classics. $15. 

     Sometimes – and it is certainly the case with the Pentatone release featuring John Holiday – a recording is less about what is being performed than about who is doing the performing. Holiday (born 1985) is a countertenor whose musical tastes, on the basis of this CD, are very eclectic indeed. The disc, which is called "Over My Head," includes arrangements of spirituals and popular songs by Holiday himself; three Vocalise offerings by Carlos Simon (born 1986); and works in multiple genres by Hall Johnson (1888-1970), Theo Morrison (born 1938), Robert L. Morris (born 1943), and H. Leslie Adams (1932-2024). Everything about the disc is highly personalized: the choosing of the material, the sequencing of the 20 tracks, and the hoped-for response to the recording (“each selection in this collection is a piece of my heart”). Listeners accustomed to hearing countertenor voices in Baroque music or other classical material will find little to engage them here, so variable are the tracks. For example, the vocalises are delivered sensitively and with beauty – but the fast-paced, upbeat and thoroughly unsubtle handling of Gershwin’s Summertime will likely miss the mark altogether for the vast majority of listeners. Not so for Holiday himself, though, and that is the entire point of this recording: it is made by him and for him and for those who are closest to him (the brief booklet features an extended, heartfelt dedication naming them). Gospel, jazz, blues, and other forms mix and intermingle here, united entirely by Holiday’s personal musical taste and his desire to reach out to those already in his orbit. Perhaps part of the intent is to bring others close to him as well; if so, the CD will do that only to the extent that Holiday’s use of his gifted countertenor voice is in accord with the thoughts, feelings and musical interests of audiences that do not yet know him. Also, it is certainly true that the focus of popular music (in all its genres and subgenres) has very frequently been on the performers rather than the works they perform. So there is plenty of precedent for what Holiday has done here. Listeners should be aware, though, that this is not an introduction to or exploration of the countertenor voice. It is all about this countertenor voice in this specific repertoire. The attraction here lies in wanting to experience Amazing Grace and Fly Me to the Moon and the works of Johnson, Morrison, Morris and Adams as filtered through Holiday’s very personal arrangements and his highly individual delivery of the words. 

     The vocals are equally the point, but in a very different way, on a Lexicon Classics release of Patrick Zimmerli’s Letters from the Front. This work for four vocalists and piano accompaniment not only homes in on the singers but is also intended to give voice to the men and women whose words librettist Mirabelle Ordinaire has used to structure and construct the entirety of the work. In form a song cycle, Letters from the Front is also, in its own way, as individualized an offering as anything presented by John Holiday: the words of these letters are very personal indeed, whether expressing a mother’s World War II hopes and worries to her son, a son’s Vietnam War feelings to his mother, the thoughts sent by a soldier to his brother during the American Revolution, or the concerns expressed by a Union fighter to his wife during the Civil War. The Gulf War, World War I – they too are here. Wars differ, are fought with different weapons at different times, but Letters from the Front highlights the ways, the many horrible ways, in which they are the same: families sundered, constant fear, hopes unrealized, death in so many forms from so many places. “The priceless blessing of peace,” one line from one letter, is again and again sought, again and again not found, as front-line soldiers and their loved ones contend with separation, uncertainty, worry and trauma of all kinds. If there is a criticism of what Zimmerli and Ordinaire have wrought, it is that the music, while it never makes any of the wars attractive, tends to minimize rather than accentuate the suffering underlying the words – a better (and more listenable) approach than deepening the sorrow and driving listeners into depression, but still a touch of what should probably be called graywashing (that is, nothing as extreme as whitewashing). The uniformly high quality of the singing gives a veneer of sophistication to words that are, in the main, plainspoken and straightforward, not so much elevating them to some imagined poetic pantheon as turning their specifics into unintended philosophical generalities about the nature of war and of those caught up in it. Letters from the Front is ultimately a thoughtful presentation that gives wide-ranging voice to feelings never intended to be shared with the world at large. This makes the work, to some extent, a disservice to the letter writers. But to a greater one, it is a service to listeners who, whether or not they themselves have a military background, are living in a world shaped, for better or worse, by the conflicts these letter writers experienced firsthand.