(++++) A MUSICAL LIFE JOURNEY

Shostakovich: The Complete Symphonies. Gürzenich-Orchester Köln conducted by Dmitrij Kitajenko; Marina Shaguch, soprano (Symphony No. 14); Arutjun Kotchinian, bass (Symphonies Nos. 13-14); Prague Philharmonic Chorus (Symphonies Nos. 2, 3 and 13). Capriccio. $47.99 (12 CDs).

     More so than almost any other great symphonist (with the possible exception of Mahler), Dmitry Shostakovich put his own life, its struggles and uncertainties and changing allegiances and fears and inconsistencies, into his symphonic output. His 15 symphonies are in many ways an exceptionally uneven cycle in terms of quality, and finding “progress” from one to the next depends largely on one’s willingness to define the term in a fairly arbitrary way. The symphonies take listeners on a frequently difficult emotional journey, and the best Shostakovich cycles feature conductors who are fully aware of this (or at least subliminally conscious of it throughout the sequence) and whose performances are thoroughly reflective of the very personal nature of this music. The lengths of the various symphonies mean that recordings do not offer the works in order of composition, but this is one symphonic cycle that really is heard best in numeric sequence, no matter how many disc changes that necessitates.

     The Capriccio re-release of Dmitrij Kitajenko’s Shostakovich cycle is thus extremely welcome despite the ups and downs of performances, recorded sound, and on-disc sequencing. These readings date from the period of 2002-2004. Nine of the symphonies are studio recordings, while six (Nos. 1, 4, 7, 8, 11 and 15) were recorded live. The cycle is spread out over 12 discs, with one symphony (No. 7) split between two CDs – an oddity, given that other complete sets fit on 11 discs without any works being subdivided. The recording quality is first-rate throughout, but some of the symphonies appear at significantly higher volume than others: for example, Nos. 7 and 8 are rather distant, while No. 4 is so immediate and intense aurally as to require a reduction in volume settings. One disappointment in presentation is the 64-page booklet, which is filled with typos – especially in the texts of the vocal works (Nos. 2, 3, 13 and 14), which in addition to the typesetting errors are unfortunately given only in English.

     These matters of unevenness and imperfection aside, though, Kitajenko’s cycle is astonishingly perceptive and presented with consistent power and understanding, showing that this conductor not only comprehends the individuality of each Shostakovich symphony but also sees clearly how they reflect the composer’s life, thinking and outward and internal struggles over almost five decades (No. 1 was completed in 1925, No. 15 in 1971). Kitajenko beautifully displays the individual elements of every symphony while also drawing attention to the characteristics that Shostakovich evinces throughout the series: sardonic, often morbid wit mixed with a certain amount of crudity and triviality. And while the soloists and chorus are not quite at the summit of vocal performers, the Gürzenich-Orchester Köln is absolutely superb throughout, with snarling and crackling brass that is a continued source of astonishment and unmatched by just about any orchestra that has recorded this repertoire.

     Interpretatively, Symphony No. 1 has considerable bite and crispness, showing the work to be quick-witted with a thumbing-its-nose-at-the-world attitude that is darkened somewhat in the just-so-slightly-puzzling finale. No. 2 is unusually interesting in Kitajenko’s reading, its early portions clearly reflecting experimental compositional methods of the 1920s and showing some genuinely innovative thinking – until the final Soviet patriotic chorus combines expressiveness with banality to the point where the latter wins out. No. 3 has better-written vocal material than does No. 2, but is musically less interesting despite some excellent touches on Kitajenko’s part, notably in the strongly felt brass fanfares and the atmospheric handling of the tam-tam in one Andante section.

     Symphony No. 4 is a high point of this cycle, turning this funereal and downright peculiar piece into a series of beautifully proportioned and thrillingly assembled details that eventually coalesce into a genuinely chilling coda that fades away into a nothingness that contrasts strongly with the earlier, Mahler-influenced portion of the finale. Tidbits of jauntiness flit here and there while morbidity pulls constantly in the opposite direction, and Kitajenko makes the whole thing fit together in an impressively unsettling manner.

     The more-straightforward No. 5, which here starts very slowly indeed, is somewhat laid-back in the first two movements, but the Largo is heartfelt and provides a strong contrast with the problematic finale, which Kitajenko allows to flourish with a kind of crude triumphalism that implies an underlying meaninglessness of whatever victory may be achieved. Symphony No. 6, which like No. 4 has distinctly funereal elements, is deeply engaging in its drawn-out first movement, which is longer than the other two put together. The lighter and sometimes comedic touches of the second and third movements never quite dispel the gloom of the first, with the result that Kitajenko’s reading proffers a symphony unsure not only of answers but also of what questions it is asking. It is a puzzling work whose contradictory elements are well-highlighted here.

     The three “war” symphonies, Nos. 7-9, all get vivid and convincing readings, with each one’s intricacies and crudities nicely brought to the fore. A high point of this cycle is Kitajenko’s handling of No. 7 (“Leningrad”), a symphony that, with its famously banal and therefore frighteningly inexorable first-movement march, opens with a level of gentleness that makes the soon-to-come intensity all the stronger. The quietly thoughtful third movement eventually leads to a finale that sounds only superficially triumphant, as if the victory (the movement is actually called “Victory”) leaves loss and desolation in its wake – a message that subtly, in an unsubtle symphony, amplifies the communication of the finale of No. 5. Symphony No. 8 is a more refined work, the reading rather cool and controlled in places but quite tense and unsettling in the Largo, where the percussion is outstanding, and elsewhere. The peculiar No. 9 is here exceptionally witty and sarcastic, notable for tremendous attention to detail, excellent tempo choices, and an overall feeling of barely restrained anarchic proclamations.

     Symphony No. 10 shows that the orchestra’s strings and woodwinds can be just as convincing as its brass section – and that Shostakovich can, from time to time, produce orchestrations with the same odd chamber-music quality that Mahler used regularly. The swiftly changing moods of this reading are impressively contrasted, and the finale is particularly atmospheric and effective in summing up the work as a whole. No. 11 shows how far Shostakovich has come emotionally and orchestrally since the comparatively crude Nos. 2 and 3: No. 11 also celebrates socialism and the harrowing events of “The Year 1905,” but here the music is focused, strongly accented, and very effectively contrasted between the combative elements and the grief-stricken ones. The work comes through with a feeling of controlled narrative throughout, and the finale is crisp and strong rather than merely insistent. On the other hand, No. 12, “The Year 1917,” emerges under Kitajenko as something of a throwback to the emotional world of Nos. 2 and 3, sounding more straightforward and less substantial than No. 11. The bombast of the concluding The Dawn of Humanity is given full rein here, contrasting well with the preceding Aurora movement, but No. 12 as a whole comes across as lesser Shostakovich despite Kitajenko’s careful handling of its elements.

     No. 13, “Babi Yar,” on the other hand, gets an emotionally compelling performance, sensitive and heartfelt and in places – notably the Fears movement – bleak and chilling. In the Store is also outstanding in its portrayal of unending queues, unceasing weariness. The performance is somewhat disconnected, more a series of scenes than a unified whole, but that is actually a legitimate approach to the music, and the vocals are suitably pointed and trenchant even though the chorus is not always as weighty as it could be. Symphony No. 14, using only a chamber orchestra, has a sense of immediacy and emotional connection despite being one of the studio recordings. The two soloists thoroughly explore Lorelei to fine effect, and bass Arutjun Kotchinian is especially impressive in O Delvig, Delvig! Soprano Marina Shaguch’s strongest delivery comes in The Death of the Poet, but both she and Kotchinian manage all the death-focused imagery of this symphony with sensitivity and understanding – abetted by Kitajenko’s highly attentive handling of every element of the orchestration. Kitajenko’s cycle concludes with yet another exceptional reading: Symphony No. 15 is quirky and oblique, dragged down at one point into dreariness and uplifted at the next into beauty. Crisp and beautifully played, with outstanding percussion, this is a sophisticated performance whose consistency in this oddly witty, captivating work makes for a thrilling but suitably puzzling conclusion. The highly personal nature of Shostakovich’s symphonic oeuvre comes through with clarity and understanding throughout Kitajenko’s cycle: these are recordings that are immensely impressive in the way they explore and elucidate the complexities and self-contradictions not only of the music but also of the man who created it.

(++++) THE EXPRESSIVE PIANO

Franz Xaver Mozart: Polonaises Mélancoliques, Opp. 17 and 22; Two Polonaises, Op. 26. Robert Markham, piano. Grand Piano. $19.99.

Schubert: Piano Sonatas Nos. 14, D. 784, and 18, D. 894. Young-Ah Tak, piano. Steinway & Sons. $17.99.

Schubert: Wanderer Fantasy, D. 760; Brahms: Piano Sonata No. 3; Louise Talma: Alleluia in Form of Toccata; Debussy: L’Isle joyeuse; Ernő Dohnányi: Pastorale on a Hungarian Christmas Song; Ligeti: Études, Book I—No. 5, Arc-en-ciel. Orion Weiss, piano. First Hand Records. $14.99.

William Bland: Piano Sonatas Nos. 6 and 15. Kevin Gorman, piano. Bridge Records. $16.99.

     The piano’s ability to evoke emotion was noticed in its earliest days, when its predecessor, the fortepiano, allowed nuances in performance and sound that were not available to the harpsichord and clavichord. As the piano steadily progressed toward its modern form, which it reached in the mid-to-late-19^th century, composers delved ever more deeply into its emotive capabilities and produced a wider and wider range of music designed to connect emotionally with audiences – and, not incidentally, to bring new and expanded expressive challenges to pianists. One of the less-known early transitional figures in pianistic warmth was the sixth and youngest child of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Franz Xaver Mozart (1791-1844). A new CD featuring Robert Markham provides a very welcome chance to make (or perhaps renew) this composer’s acquaintance and hear the ways in which his music helped pianistic technique and emotional connection advance. F.X. Mozart was especially adept at a kind of salon music known as polonaises mélancoliques, two sets of which take up almost the entire Grand Piano disc. The Op. 17 set (1811-1814) contains six pieces; the Op. 22 grouping (1815-1818) includes four. All 10 works share distinct similarities of style, mood and pianistic requirements: each opens and closes in a minor key and has a central major-key section marked Trio that provides a contrast with the seriousness (which is not really depth) of the start and finish. The sets are arranged as cycles in ways designed to heighten their overall impact on audiences, and there is some sense of emotional progress through both sets despite the formulaic nature of the individual pieces within each group. The right hand inevitably carries the melody, while the left provides foundational support and helps extend the feelings evoked by the right. Among the points of interest in Op. 17 are No. 3 in C minor, whose main sections are marchlike, and No. 5 in F minor, whose elaborate writing looks ahead to the works of Chopin. In Op. 22, the drama of No. 1 in C minor is notable, as is the intimacy of No. 3 in F minor. Markham plays the two sets skillfully and without overdoing their emotional content or making them out to be more expansive (emotionally or otherwise) than they really are. The minor-key pieces are separated on the disc by a pair of polonaises from 1824, both in major keys (D and C). The first has an attractive pastoral atmosphere, while the second has a notably bright central section. There is no great music here: F.X. Mozart was himself a pianist, but seems scarcely to have wanted to challenge himself or anyone else through compositional depth. But there is much that is pleasantly engaging, and the occasional hints of music by better-known composers are intriguing – for example, Op. 17, No. 4 in G minor has the sorts of mood swings associated with Schubert, whom F.X. Mozart met a number of times.

     Schubert was born six years later than F.X. Mozart and died 16 years earlier, but he broadened and expanded the piano repertoire in ways far beyond anything that F.X. Mozart ever produced. His piano sonatas – many unfinished, Schubert’s habit being to leave a large number of works partly completed, possibly with the never-realized intention of returning to them later – have scale and emotional scope extending far beyond the poise and prettiness associated with salon music. Some of his sonatas, including the two played by Young-Ah Tak on a new Steinway & Sons CD, are significant contributions to the solo-piano genre and continue to challenge performers and delight audiences today. The three-movement No. 14 (D. 784) in A minor dates to 1823 but was not published until 1839, which was 11 years after Schubert’s death. Its first movement is unusually sparse in texture and has few of the modulations of which Schubert was generally fond. It is a bleak movement that leads to an Andante with a straightforward theme that is handled in some unusual ways – and then to a finale that seems to inhabit an altogether different world, being complex, virtuosic and thoroughly unsettling in mood. The difficulty for performers lies in integrating the three movements into a unified whole – something that Schubert himself did not really succeed in doing. Tak’s approach is to focus on the singing quality that all the movements share and to use the gently rocking sections of the finale as, in effect, auditory throwbacks to what has come before. She does not downplay the fireworks that dominate the finale, but she pays equal attention to the lyrical elements and thus maintains a sense of expressiveness throughout. This results in an interesting contrast with No. 18, D. 894, which dates to 1823 and was the last of Schubert’s piano sonatas published during his lifetime. It is a much larger work than D. 784, running 35 minutes to 19 for D. 784. And D. 894 is in four movements, not three. Instead of featuring varying moods that can be difficult to capture and contrast, D. 894 is mainly peaceful, with its relatively rare moments of darkness sounding more poignant than tragic. The challenge with this sonata is to retain its generally sunny mood without trivializing any of its gently contrasting feelings as they emerge in various guises and then ebb. This sonata is in G, and from the start of its opening movement – the longest in the piece – there is a sense that the mood will be Molto moderato e cantabile throughout, not just in the opening movement, which bears that designation. Indeed, everything in D. 894 is moderate: the second movement is Andante, the third Allegro moderato, and the fourth Allegretto. The subtle distinctions among the tempo indications require pianists to find ways both to connect the movements and to allow their individual characteristics to flow forth. Tak does a fine job with the music, keeping it moving at a reasonable pace while using its warm flow to carry the listener along gently through an aural landscape that is mostly pleasant and serene. These are well-considered performances that delve into Schubert’s expressiveness sure-handedly and with fine attention to the works’ emotional impact.

     Schubert makes an appearance as well on a First Hand Records CD featuring pianist Orion Weiss – although in this case Schubert’s music is not featured in and of itself, but as part of a program designed to make specific nonmusical points. This does no favors to Schubert or the five other composers whose music appears on the disc, and for that matter does little for listeners who are not thoroughly versed in and supportive of Weiss’ approach to the material. The CD is designated “Arc III” and is intended to be heard in the context of two earlier releases: “Arc I” included works written shortly before World War I and moving in a generally gloomy direction; “Arc II” focused on feelings of grief and loss occasioned by that war and World War II; and now “Arc III” is intended, in contrast, to provide positive emotions and uplift. Well, maybe. But it is scarcely reasonable to expect audiences to own the two earlier volumes (both released during 2022) and to be ready and willing to connect the works on them (by Granados, Janáček, Scriabin, Ravel, Brahms and Shostakovich) to the pieces on the new disc. If the music requires so much scaffolding that it cannot stand by itself, then it is less than consequential as music and is required to be seen in the context of a “cause.” Certainly listeners who do own the earlier Weiss releases and who wish to follow his thinking regarding this music and the world at large will find this new CD attractive, but the gloss required to connect the musical material with other elements of life will be off-putting to anyone interested in the music for its own sake. This is nevertheless a (+++) disc simply on the strength of Weiss’ performances and despite (rather than because of) his attempts to force the works into juxtapositions reflective of his overarching “Arc” ideas. Weiss gives the Schubert Wanderer Fantasy an especially bright and upbeat reading, downplaying its darker elements and emphasizing its many lighter ones – and it scarcely matters if this is done in the service of a nonmusical argument, because the performance is effective in its own right. The approach is less congenial with regard to Brahms’ Piano Sonata No. 3, however. This is a passionate work in the key of F minor, and although it eventually finds its way to F major – as prescribed by sonata form – it is scarcely a brightly upbeat piece, giving instead an impression of considerable struggle that eventually leads to hard-won triumph. That may indeed serve Weiss’ thematic proclivities, but positioning this work as a joyful and celebratory one is something of an overstatement and leads to an underplaying of the deep conflicts within the music. The Brahms is by far the longest work on this CD, the Schubert being second-longest. The remaining pieces are smaller and easier to view unidimensionally. Alleluia in Form of Toccata (1945) by Louise Talma (1906-1996) is quite a find: bright, energetic, pianistically challenging, and decidedly upbeat within a midcentury musical idiom. Debussy’s L’Isle joyeuse is pleasantly evocative of outdoorsy scenes and is played by Weiss with notable delicacy of touch and phrasing. Dohnányi’s Pastorale on a Hungarian Christmas Song is peaceful and rather sweet, the underlying carol (The Angel from Heaven) not being especially well-known but not being necessary for listeners to know in order to enjoy what is, in the main, a pleasantly unprepossessing treatment. And Ligeti’s Arc-en-ciel, whose harmonic language is as up-to-date as befits a work from 1985, is essentially a display of delicacy, meandering through disconnected aural elements that appear and disappear hither and thither until they simply stop. It is not really optimistic or buoyant, but it is certainly not dour or dull, and thus it allows Weiss to say it connects with his overall thematic concept. Whether it does or not, his playing of the piece, as with his renditions of the other works, is assured, well-controlled and convincing. The Brahms sonata does not quite work in this hodgepodge of not-really-related music, but the other pieces blend and contrast well enough, and listeners interested in some finely honed pianism will enjoy the disc even if they do not unthinkingly accept the framework within which Weiss wants it to be experienced.

     The framework of William Bland’s piano sonatas is a time-honored and strictly musical one rather than one focusing on any extra-musical context: Bland (born 1947) started composing a set of 24 sonatas, one in each major and minor key, in 1998. Kevin Gorman made his recording debut with a Bridge Records release of Bland’s Sonatas Nos. 17 and 18 in 2021; his recordings of Nos. 9 and 10 followed in 2023; and now Volume 3 of what may well turn into a full set of the Bland sonatas is available, offering Nos. 6 and 15. There is obviously no particular order in which the sonatas are being released, and the CD lengths vary quite a bit: Volume 1 runs 58 minutes, Volume 2 (which also includes the brief Nouveau Rag) lasts 70, while the new Volume 3 runs a mere 47. The recordings will have obvious appeal to those who know Bland’s works and are interested in his way of interpreting the challenges of the sort of major-and-minor-key composition cycle that dates back at least to Bach. However, for an audience not already familiar with and committed to Bland’s music, these are (+++) CDs that present some well-made piano music that is, in the main, tonal, but that includes elements of atonality and some scarcely unusual dips into jazz and pop material. Sonata No. 6, in C minor, dates to 2001 and is titled “Bestiary – Con Amore.” It is a strong (and perhaps, in its own way, loving) five-movement string of Impressionist tone painting with movements called Bear Dance (suitably strong, lumbering and awkward); Song of the Great Hawk (surprisingly gentle and delicate); A Panther with His Head Turning to the Right (also delicate in its own way, with poise but without apparent connection to its title); Dragon (suitably dark, deep in the piano’s nether regions, and with a sense of controlled power); and – a real mouthful – “Regard” on the Painting ‘The Peaceable Kingdom’ by Edward Hicks. This last does require familiarity with the referenced painting for full effect, but even without it, the gentle undulations and mild dynamics of the movement paint a suitable picture of lovely (if thoroughly unrealistic) coexistence within the animal kingdom. Bland’s Sonata No. 8 in E-flat minor (2004) is more traditional in layout, having three movements marked Waltz, Lento and Fantasy. It is, as a whole, rather thick-textured. The first movement is a bit more elaborate, emphatic and dissonant than might be expected, although it does retain the dance rhythm. The second also has something insistent, even demanding, about it, and assiduously avoids any significant amount of warmth. The finale has a somewhat self-consciously contemporary feeling in its contrasts of leaps around the keyboard with more-extended, modestly lyrical passages. Gorman plays both sonatas convincingly, and even if the works are somewhat self-limiting in their appeal, they are solidly constructed and well-presented, doing credit both to the composer and to the performer.

(++++) RESCUED FROM OBSCURITY

Smetana: Má Vlast—Vltava; From Bohemia’s Fields and Forests; The Bartered Bride—Overture; Wallenstein’s Camp; String Quartet No. 1, “From My Life.” NBC Symphony Orchestra and Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by George Szell. Ariadne. $18.99.

Leopold Mozart: Concerto for Two Horns and Strings; Friedrich Witt: Concerto No. 3  for Two Horns and Orchestra; Franz Anton Hoffmeister: Concerto No. 3 for Two Horns and Orchestra; František Xaver Pokorný: Concerto for Two Horns and Orchestra. Jacek Muzyk and Daniel Kerdelewicz, horns; Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by JoAnn Falletta. Naxos. $19.99.

Handel’s Organ Banquet. Daniel Yearsley, organ. False Azure Records. $20.

     The earliest recordings by George Szell are now almost totally unknown, and his rather uneven relationship with the music of Smetana is also unfamiliar. So the Ariadne release featuring Szell conducting Smetana with two American orchestras during World War II is doubly welcome. In fact, it is triply welcome, since it includes not only some familiar Smetana music but also the world première performance and recording of Szell’s orchestration of Smetana’s largely autobiographical String Quartet No. 1 (1876). It is interesting that Szell undertook the orchestral arrangement of this highly personal work – showing in the process his firm command of orchestral forces and his considerable sensitivity to the nuances of the music – even though he was not an especially dedicated advocate of Smetana’s music in general: for example, he never conducted a performance of the entire six-tone-poem cycle Má Vlast. He did, however, perform and make recordings of portions of Smetana’s masterwork, and this release offers a chance to hear Szell’s handling of Vltava (recorded in 1941 with the NBC Symphony) and From Bohemia’s Fields and Forests (recorded in 1945 with the Boston Symphony). These live performances, which were done for radio airplay, are very well paced and quite attentive to detail, to the extent that can be shown through the elegant remasterings by Lani Spahr – which, however, can do nothing about the less-than-forgiving sound quality of the notorious Studio 8-H, where NBC Symphony recordings were made for many years. Nevertheless, Szell’s interpretations glow with sincerity and are emotive in ways that his performances in later years sometimes were not. In addition, the overture to The Bartered Bride crackles with gaiety here, while Wallenstein’s Camp is suitably atmospheric and variegated in its different largely self-contained sections. As for the quartet arrangement, it is in many ways the gem of this recording: the work itself is deeply personal, reflecting Smetana’s many travails that culminated in his becoming completely deaf in 1874 – two years before he wrote this work, whose finale in part reflects the ringing in his ears that the composer experienced before losing his hearing. Szell’s sensitivity to the mood of this quartet is complete, his performance showing how thoroughly he understands the material from both a musical standpoint and a human one. Sometimes considered rather cold in his later conducting, Szell here shows warmth and emotional engagement that point to a stronger bond between the Hungarian conductor (born György Endre Szél) and the Bohemian composer than has previously been apparent.

     It is the music itself that is very little known on a new Naxos CD featuring concertos for two horns from the mid-to-late 18^th century. All four works here are unfamiliar, and the one by Franz Anton Hoffmeister is a world première recording. The pieces are scarcely profound, but they are uniformly pleasant, engaging and nicely structured to take advantage of the expressive capabilities of the horn, which was just becoming a virtuoso instrument in this time period. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s horn concertos – which stretch the capabilities of the instrument in its pre-valved form – are a high point of horn music of the period, but his father’s two-horn concerto (written in 1752, four years before Wolfgang’s birth) is an interesting signpost for horn playing that is not at the level that was still to come but that still requires the soloists to exhibit more than a little dexterity, especially when the concluding “La Caccia” movement calls for using the horn in its traditional hunting-call mode. The concerto by Hoffmeister (1754-1812) was written later (1783) and is on a much larger scale than Leopold Mozart’s: it is twice as long, with a first movement lengthier than the entirety of the L. Mozart concerto. The broad concept of the first movement gives the horns plenty of opportunities to mingle with each other as well as the ensemble, and the writing is pleasantly idiomatic: the whole concerto lies quite well on the solo instruments. The middle movement, designated “Romance,” is the shortest, and it is a small gem in its warm but never overdone lyricism. Even later than Hoffmeister’s work is the one by Friedrich Witt (1770-1836): this concerto dates to 1797. Witt was born the same year as Beethoven and wrote this concerto six years after Wolfgang Mozart’s death, and while it does not have the grand scope of Hoffmeister’s concerto, it has greater expressive intent, with a stronger sense of emotional connection in the first movement and considerable warmth in the second. The finale lightens the mood considerably while highlighting the dual horns’ intermingled sound. As for the concerto by František Xaver Pokorný (1729-1794), its date is unknown, but its straightforward presentation and comparatively modest demands on the soloists place it closer to the world of Leopold Mozart than to that of Hoffmeister and Witt. Pokorný’s concerto is a work of pleasantry rather than profundity, its themes mostly gentle and its overall scale modest, although its finale certainly requires some acrobatics by the soloists. Jacek Muzyk and Daniel Kerdelewicz handle all the concertos with sensitivity and a fine sense of the necessary interplay between their parts, and JoAnn Falletta leads the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra with style and enthusiasm throughout. Even when using valved horns and modern orchestra tuning, these concertos are impressive in their virtuoso demands as well as the elegant balance they all show between the soloists and the ensemble. This recording offers a most welcome chance to hear music that scarcely deserves the oblivion to which it has been consigned for the past two centuries.

     Much of Handel’s music has also gone unremarked for a considerable time, despite the enormous popularity of a small number of his works (Messiah, Music for the Royal Fireworks, Water Music, etc.). It happens that Handel was well-known as a virtuoso organist, and wrote half a dozen organ concertos as interludes for oratorios – the first pieces of this type ever created, which deserve much more frequent performances than they receive. But if those concertos are comparatively unknown, the rest of Handel’s output of music for organ is totally unfamiliar. And there is not much of it. What then is an organist who wants to perform Handel to do? David Yearsley’s answer, heard on a fascinating False Azure Records recording, is to pull together a whole passel of Handelian works in organ arrangements, and play them on a thoroughly modern instrument (dating to 2010) that is far larger than anything Handel himself would have known or played. Listeners who get into the spirit of this project will have a wonderful time listening to this CD, which makes no pretense to authenticity and as a result can be enjoyed entirely for what it is rather than for professing to be something it is not. The very first track on the disc, combining a bit of Messiah with a little of the Suite in E Minor, HWV 429, showcases Yearsley’s approach effectively: he looks for Handelian material that lies well on the organ (or can be made to lie well there) and that makes some amount of musical sense even though it was not written for this instrument or this approach. Think of this as a pleasant repurposing of Handel: everything on the disc sounds good (thanks to Yearsley’s well-chosen registrations as well as to Handel’s underlying music); and in this admittedly rather outré context, following that opening track with ones presenting music from Theodora, the Passacaille HWV 399, a Chandos Anthem, Rinaldo, the Trio Sonata Op. 5 No. 6, the Concerto Op. 4 No. 1, and the concluding “Amen” from Messiah results in a delectable listening experience. For an encore (a kind of “dessert,” given the title of the CD), Yearsley includes a short “Hallelujah” improvisation that seems entirely fitting in this context – although it is thoroughly outside the context in which Handel placed the material. Handel’s music tends to be taken very seriously, deservedly so, but this disc shows that it is possible to approach it more lightly than usual, if not exactly lightheartedly. The CD is an unusual one that manages not only to please the ear but also to engage the mind by shining a light onto Handel’s work in unexpected ways.

(++++) CONFLICT AND RESOLUTION

Charpentier: Les Arts Florissants; Sonata a 8, H548. Haley Sicking, Kara McBain and Stéphanie Varnerin, sopranos; Dianna Grabowski, mezzo-soprano; Matthieu Peyrègne, tenor; Patrick Gnage, David Grogan and Andrew Dittman, basses; New York Baroque Dance Company and Dallas Bach Society conducted by James Richman. Rubicon. $16.99.

Music for Chorus by Schumann, Brahms, Viktor Ullmann, Ernst Krenek, and Max Reger. Seicento vocale with Cornelia Samuelis, soprano; Henriette Gödde, alto; Cornelia Glassi, piano; Jan Croonenbroeck, musical direction; conducted by Alexander Toepper. Resonando. $14.99.

     Traditional Western classical music is, in one sense, all about discord and ways to overcome it: dissonance resolving to consonance, modulations through keys that sound “right” or “wrong,” disharmony and eventual harmony. So music is a natural way to explore competition, up to and including warfare, and ways to resolve it in the world at large. Marc-Antoine Charpentier (1643-1704) was one of many composers who did just such an exploration – in an interesting way and with interesting effect – in his 1685 chamber opera, Les Arts Florissants. The work, available in a very fine Dallas Bach Society performance on a new Rubicon CD, is a tribute to King Louis XIV and is structured as an allegory involving a scarcely surprising dispute between Peace (soprano Haley Sicking) and Discord (bass Patrick Gnage). The stage action shows the arts flourishing under the Sun King until Peace and Discord get into their struggle – in which Discord and his followers are about to triumph when Peace gets Jupiter to unleash thunderbolts to chase the discordant characters to the underworld so a time of peace can again prevail and persist. Among Peace’s followers are characters representing Music (Kara McBain), Poetry (Stéphanie Varnerin), Painting (Matthieu Peyrègne), and Architecture (Dianna Grabowski) – all areas that are shown to flourish as long as Peace persists through the reign of Louis the Great. James Richman directs a highly idiomatic reading of the score: all the soloists are well-versed in period performance practice; the chorus is suitably small (Charpentier expected the soloists themselves to make up most if not all of the choruses); and the modest instrumental ensemble (Baroque flutes, Baroque violins, Baroque violoncello, viola da gamba, theorbo and harpsichord, the last of those played by Richman himself) is just right for the work and for its role in underlining and enhancing the vocal material. Charpentier’s opera is brief, running less than 50 minutes, and is not intended to make any significant points about peace and the lack thereof – or even about the beneficent rule of the king (which underlies the opera but is not a point belabored). Les Arts Florissants is intended as entertainment of a particular type, with attractive sung passages (some of them vocally challenging) and musical expression that breaks no new ground but throughout displays poise, elegance and balance – characteristics also associated with peace, music, poetry, painting and architecture, and by implication with King Louis XIV. Richman makes no attempt to overdo anything in the work or to present it more grandly than Charpentier intended. Instead, he allows it to flourish fully within its limited musical and emotional scope – a very effective approach. The CD also includes a Charpentier instrumental work that gives the ensemble chances to shine instead of appearing only in a supporting role. The Sonata a 8, H548 is really a suite, containing the expected dances (sarabande, bourrée, gavotte, gigue, passecaille and chaconne) and giving individual players chances to show some of their solo capabilities. It is a very pleasant complement to a very pleasant performance of an opera packed more with pleasantries than with profundities.

     The selections performed by the ensemble Seicento vocale (so spelled) on a new Resonando CD are much more recent than Charpentier’s music, having been composed in the 19^th and 20^th centuries. The underlying mood is darker, too, and the concerns about conflict expressed more directly and by no means in allegorical form. The disc includes works both written and arranged for chorus; the focus throughout is less on the music (although everything is sung very well) than on the underlying theme of the depredations of war. There is no suggestion here that music is one of the handmaidens or fruits of peace, as in Charpentier – instead, the ensemble chooses works that comment directly on war and in some cases were created in wartime, the better to put across themes of sorrow, depredation and remembrance. The concerns here are scarcely unique, and listeners interested primarily in the music – notably the centerpiece of the disc, Victor Ullmann’s Die Weise von Liebe und Tod des Cornets Christoph Rilke – will be disappointed: the work by Ullmann (1898-1944), which he wrote in the Theresienstadt concentration camp, is arranged for chorus by Jan Croonenbroeck and interrupted several times to insert pieces on analogous themes by Brahms and Schumann. The setup is surely well-meaning, the interpolations being designed to enhance Ullmann’s message and heighten its effect, but from a strictly musical standpoint, the approach here overdoes the presentation of admirable but unexceptionable feelings and attitudes, making the CD into more of a lecture and less of a musical event. The result is that this is a (***) disc: it features excellent performances with strongly felt emotional underpinnings and a very fine sense of ensemble throughout – but the music is put too strongly at the service of a cause that, however worthy, is presented a bit too intensely through the modification of works that communicate quite effectively on their own. True, that communication is more subtle and less direct and pointed than in the arrangement of material here. But for that very reason, there is more thoughtfulness in the original material than in the modified presentations on this disc. The Ullmann/Brahms/Schumann mixture is preceded on the CD by Schumann’s Schnitter Tod, Op. 75, No. 1, and is followed by three additional works: Kantate von der Vergänglichkeit des Irdischen, Op. 72, by Ernst Krenek (1900-1991); Requiem “Seele, vergiß sie nicht,” Op. 144b, by Max Reger (1873-1916); and Brahms’ Dem dunkeln Schoß der heilgen Erde, WoO 20. Each of these pieces, like the original version of Ullmann’s, has something meaningful to communicate, and each is intriguing in its own right. The Reger, for example, sets words by Christian Friedrich Hebbel (1813-1863) instead of the usual Latin text used in a Requiem. And the Brahms, from Schiller’s Das Lied von der Glocke and with its meaning of “the dark womb of the holy earth,” may put some listeners in mind of Das Trinklied vom Jammer der Erde from Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde. But the fact is that strictly musical thoughts  and connections are not the primary interest here: the concern of the CD is to find ways to communicate the suffering brought by war and the importance of peace. As admirable as that aim is, the approach of the disc, by bending the music to a nonmusical (or supra-musical) theme, undermines to some extent the excellent performances and the composers’ foundational thoughtfulness and expressivity.