Dan Morgan: An Appreciation
After seventeen years of reviewing for MusicWeb, Dan Morgan has reluctantly retired for health reasons. Dan has made a notable contribution to the site. He’s particularly celebrated for his perceptive reviews of music by twentieth century masters such as Mahler, Messiaen and Shostakovich; fittingly, his last two contributions to MWI were a laudatory review of a new recording of the Turangalîla-Symphonie, and an appraisal of the final instalment of Andris Nelson’s Shostakovich cycle in which he was typically unafraid to point out shortcomings. However, he has ranged more widely, drawing the attention of readers to music by composers such as Chares Ives, Ruud Langgaard and Detlev Glanert. He has been equally adept at appraising recordings of music from earlier centuries: he is a great devotee of Berlioz and, just last Christmas, we were reminded of his review of Archiv Production’s celebrated recording of the Praetorius Lutheran Mass for Christmas Morning. His retirement leaves a significant gap in our reviewing team. We thank Dan for his significant contribution to the site and wish him joy in listening to music for many years to come. Here, we republish a few choice examples of Dan’s reviews.
Pavel Chesnokov (1877-1944)
Teach Me Thy Statutes
PaTRAM Institute Male Choir/Vladimir Gorbik
rec. 2016, Church of the Apostle and Evangelist John the Theologian, Saratov Orthodox Theological Seminary, Russia
Reviewed as a 24/192 download from Reference Recordings
Pdf booklet contains sung texts in Russian (Cyrillic & transliterated) and English
Reference Recordings FR-727 SACD [67]
There are few more thrilling experiences than the sound of Russian sacred music, especially when it’s sung by native choirs. That said, it’s been my pleasure to review a number of first-rate US and European groups in this repertoire. Witness Charles Bruffy’s Phoenix and Kansas singers in Grechaninov’s Passion Week and Rachmaninov’s All-Night Vigil from the Netherlands Radio Choir under Kaspars Putniņš, both of which were Recordings of the Month. (Indeed, the former was one of my top picks for 2007.) And then there’s Craig Hella Johnson’s Conspirare in The Sacred Spirit of Russia, which features several pieces by Chesnokov.
Teach Me Thy Statutes, the first in a projected series from the Patriarch Tikhon Russian American Music Institute (PaTRAM), features their male choir, directed by Vladimir Gorbik. Given that this ensemble is made up of professional American and Russian singers, one could say this album represents the best of both worlds, an impression amply confirmed by a quick dip into this download. Factor in a truly authentic Russian venue, and the presence of Soundmirror’s Blanton Alspaugh, John Newton and Mark Donahue, and the auguries for this new release are very good indeed.
So, who was Pavel Chesnokov? A Russian composer, conductor, choirmaster and pedagogue, he’s credited with more than five hundred choral works. The vast majority, of a sacred nature, were all written before the Revolution, which curtailed such endeavours. Alas, there are relatively few recordings of his music, sacred or secular, apart from a handful of items buried in generic or themed collections. In that respect, this all-Chesnokov programme, part of Reference’s FRESH! series, appears to be a very welcome first.
In his enthusiastic ‘Conductor’s Notes’, Gorbik points out that the fifteen pieces presented here, composed for the Divine Liturgy and several versions of the All-Night Vigil, are among Chesnokov’s best-known works. If, like me, much of this music is unknown to you, the quiet radiance of the opening Psalm, Blessthe Lord, O My Soul, signals that we’re in for something rather special. This may be an arrangement for male voices by another hand – there are a few here – but there’s no doubting the simple beauty of this lovely setting. It’s also clear that this acoustic – warmly expansive, with no muddying echo – is perfect for such repertoire.
And it just gets better, the Op. 44 setting of Blessed is the Man is graced with a fine contribution from bass-baritone Mikhail Davydov. If, as Gorbik maintains, the soloist needs to be feeling but not flamboyant, Davydov succeeds admirably. What a full, steady tone this man has, and how rapt the answering ‘Alleluias’. The soundstage, like the voices, goes very deep, so vital in conveying choral heft and the feel of a large, votive space; there’s plenty of nuance and detail, too. Really, this is a remarkable recording: even the humble 16-bit version I sampled first sounds mighty impressive. I look forward to hearing the DSD version very soon. (See upodate at the end of this review.)
Gorbik controls and calibrates his forces with great care, the music of GladsomeLight rising and falling – breathing, if you like – in a most thrilling fashion. And what a wonderful sense of supplication they bring to Lord, NowLettest Thou Thy ServantDepart, the close profoundly moving in its soft simplicity. (Goodness, if you can listen to that and not be stirred, then you’re hard-hearted indeed.) It helps that the programme is well planned, so the resonantly monastic sound of Praise the Name of the Lord, originally written for mixed choir, is in strong contrast to what’s gone before.
Different again are the Pascha (Easter) pieces, Having Beheld the Resurrection of Christ and Jesus Has Risen from the Tomb, both of which are filled with a palpable sense of renewal. And that’s the nub of it: Chesnokov patterns this ancient, unchanging fabric with glowing threads of gold, the choir singing with a burnished beauty that’s wondrous to behold. We modulate once more, this time to the glorious peaks and panoplies of The Great Doxology, which Gorbik describes as ‘a true masterpiece of twentieth-century Russian sacred music’. It’s the most varied and vigorous work here, baritone Vladimir Krasov’s sonorous solo rising magically from the mix.
As if that weren’t enough, Gorbik follows with the Op. 40 setting of Bless the Lord, O My Soul, which he labels ‘one of the real gems in Chesnokov’s creative output’. Then again, all these pieces deserve to be more widely heard. And I was struck by the choir’s peerless blend, here and in Glory … Only Begotten Son; ditto the music’s subtle rhythms, its timeless cadences an enduring comfort. Also, I must commend Soundmirror for their consistent, utterly musical balances, and for capturing, without apparent artifice, the acoustic signature of this magnificent church.
There’s still more to discover in the remaining tracks, the choir so virile in TheCherubic Hymn and A Mercy of Peace and We HymnThee. The latter goes extremely deep, a rock-solid foundation for the domed space above. And what better way to end than with Salvation is Created? Is there nothing this choir can’t do, no challenge to which they can’t rise? Of course, so much credit is due to Gorbik’s inspiring leadership, his devotion to, and affinity for, this music laid bare in every bar. In short, a fine start to what promises to be a most valuable and rewarding project.
Intensely beautiful singing and sound; quite simply, choral albums don’t come much better than this.
Originally published May 2018
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Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975)
Symphony No 8 in C minor, Op 65 (1943)
Symphony No 9 in E-flat major, Op 70 (1945)
Symphony No 10 in E minor, Op 93 (1953)
Berliner Philharmoniker/Kirill Petrenko
rec. 2020 (8 & 9), 2021 (10), Philharmonie Berlin
Reviewed as a 24/96 stereo download from Berliner Philharmoniker Recordings
Pdf booklet included
Berliner Philharmoniker Recordings BPHR220421 [2 CDs + Blu-ray: 138]
I was surprised to hear that Kirill Petrenko would succeed Sir Simon Rattle as chief conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker in 2019. Then again, the Russian had guested with the orchestra on several occasions, starting in 2006, and contributed to a couple of their own-label boxes. I selected two of these recordings and sat down to listen. First up, a Mahler 6 from 2020, recorded as part of a multi-conductor collection devoted to the composer’s ten symphonies. It’s a broader reading than most – less fraught, too – and that brings out a wealth of colour and fine detail. Not the usual big-hitting Six, but worth a listen nonetheless. Next, an urgent, rather edgy Beethoven 9, which feels like a marker of some kind; a warning, perhaps, that this conductor will have no truck with tradition.
All of which leaves me wondering how Petrenko’s Shostakovich might go. One thing’s certain, though, and that’s the formidable competition he faces in these three great symphonies. Take No 8, for example. Yevgeny Mravinsky’s 1982 recording, with the Leningrad PO at their blistering best, has been at the top of my personal pantheon for decades now. (The pitch problem on the original Philips release was resolved on the Alto reissue.) Not far behind is Mark Wigglesworth’s Eighth, recorded with the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra as part of his distinguished Shostakovich set (BIS). His NRPO Ninth is also first-rate, as is the one Bernard Haitink and the LPO recorded for Decca in 1980. Top-tier Tenths include Wigglesworth’s with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales (BIS), Yevgeny Svetlanov’s tense 1968 BBC Prom (ICA Classics), and the two performances that Herbert von Karajan and the Berliner Philharmoniker recorded for Deutsche Grammophon in 1966 and 1981. I’ve long since ceased to be a Karafan, but even I have to admit these Shostakovich recordings are among the very best things he ever did. Just as impressive, if not more so, is his Moscow concert, taped on 29 May 1969. Melodiya’s recording of that event is long overdue for remastering and reissue.
Minutes into Petrenko’s Eighth and any doubts I may have harboured about his credentials in this repertoire were swept away. He has a Mravinsky-like grip on the music, not to mention a seemingly intuitive grasp of shape and structure. And, thanks to Uli Stielau’s holographic recording, every tic and timbre is effortlessly revealed, the sense of presence simply astonishing. (Then again, Petrenko’s ability to ‘open up’ a score – as in his Mahler Sixth – has a role to play here.) In the Adagio – Allegro non troppo, the Berlin strings are at once extended and eloquent, their sense of conviction and purpose unwavering. As for the Allegretto, it’s deftly done, rhythms and dynamics superbly managed. Indeed, I was beginning to realise that one of this conductor’s key talents is that he gets to the nub of a given score without ever resorting to artifice or exaggeration. For me, the highlight of Mravinsky’s Eighth is the transported trumpet playing in the Allegro non troppo. If anything, Petrenko’s soloist is even finer, the snare drum as crisp and clear as one could wish. Again, I was struck by how natural Petrenko makes it all sound, the huge climax in the Largo all the more effective for being so implacably delivered, the sound of the tam-tam allowed to decay in the most thrilling fashion. The C-major finale is persuasively done, Petrenko one of the few conductors to hint at the private persona behind the composer’s public face. It’s quite a gift, and one that puts me in mind of Kurt Sanderling’s similarly revealing performance of the Fifth Symphony (Berlin Classics). That and this all-conquering Eighth are a must-hear for all DSCH devotees.
If the authorities had expected Shostakovich’s Ninth to emulate Beethoven’s – long, lofty and, perhaps, with an inspiring chorus at the end – they would have been bitterly disappointed by the comparatively short, rather quirky piece that resulted. Haitink and the LPO deliver a bright, bouncy Allegro that feels more than a little subversive. Petrenko has the advantage of Stielau’s ‘hear-through’ recording, which uncovers an extraordinary amount of nuance and detail. That’s especially so in the lovely, chamber-like Moderato, with its sweet, unfettered upper strings, liquid winds and soft, plucked basses. Moving on, the skirl and skitter of the Presto, so well calibrated, is a joy to hear. The combination of tuba and trombones in the Largo, not to mention the gorgeous bassoon solos, seems so real they put the listener firmly in one of the hall’s very best seats. As for the finale, it has plenty of snap, the Berliner’s easeful virtuosity a constant source of wonder. Musically and sonically, this is by far the most satisfying Shostakovich Ninth I know. Indeed, if the Tenth is as good as this – and I see no reason why it shouldn’t be – then Petrenko will have scored a hat-trick.
At the end of this listening session, I came to realise this conductor’s Shostakovich never sounds remotely generic; instead, each of the symphonies presented here retains its unique signature, its own blend of strength and character. In short, there’s no sense of interpretation as such, the music simply allowed to speak for itself. (Again, I’m reminded of that Sanderling Fifth, whose openness reveals more about the piece and its composer than any other version I can think of.) The BP played very well in all three recordings of Karajan’s Op 93 – no surprises there – but, if anything, they bring a poise and quiet passion to this new recording that surpasses them all. In the Moderato, the upper strings are as refined as ever, the darkly ruminative basses superbly rendered. (René Möller’s recording is every bit as immersive as those of Uli Stielau’s in Nos. 8 & 9.) Even more impressive is how easily Petrenko unpacks this opener, discovering so much in the process. What follows is a wonderfully propulsive Allegro that had me reaching for the repeat button at the end. Really, Shostakovich playing doesn’t come any better than this. There’s much to delight the ear in the beautifully sprung Allegretto, phrasing so natural, articulation so clean and confident. I’ve long thought of the Tenth as a culminating work, a distillation of all that’s gone before; this impression is amply reinforced by Petrenko’s quiet, unfussy way with the finale. No pushing, no nudging, just the way Shostakovich intended it to be heard. I certainly wouldn’t part with Svetlanov, Wigglesworth or Karajan in this extraordinary piece, but this newcomer beats them all.
Bravo, bravo, and thrice bravo; Kirill Petrenko’s Shostakovich sweeps the board.
Originally published March 2023
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Rued Langgaard (1893-1952)
Symphony No. 2, Vaarbrud (Awakening of Spring) BVN 53 (original version, 1912-1914)
Symphony No. 6, Det himmelrivende (The Heaven-Rending) BVN 165 (1919-1920, rev. 1928-1930)
Upaaagtede Morgenstjerner (Unnoticed Morning Stars) BVN 336–2 (1947-1948/1950-1951)
Jacob Gade (1879-1963)
Jalousie – Tango Tzigane (Jealousy – A Gypsy Tango) (1925) [3:53]
Anu Komsi (soprano)
Wiener Philharmoniker/Sakari Oramo
rec. April 2017/April 2018, Wiener Konzerthaus
Reviewed as a 24/192 download from Dacapo Records
Pdf booklet includes sung texts in Danish, German & English
Dacapo 6.220653 SACD [70]
What a coup it was for Dacapo to secure the Wiener Philharmoniker for their live recording of Per Nørgård’s First and Eighth symphonies; indeed, it was one of my top picks for 2014. Like this new Langgaard release, that was also conducted by Sakari Oramo, who, as chief conductor of the BBC Symphony, is very busy in both the concert hall and the recording studio. His recent Chandos album of works by Florent Schmitt is not just a sign of inveterate industry but also of a willingness to explore unusual repertoire. Enter the eccentric Dane, Rued Langgaard, whose quirky oeuvre I first encountered in Music of the Spheres; that Dacapo disc, with the Danish National SO under Thomas Dausgaard, was soon followed by their splendid traversal of all sixteen symphonies.
Given the somewhat peripheral nature of this music, it’s not surprising there are very few recordings of it in the catalogue. First up is a Danacord set from the early 1990s, with the Artur Rubinstein Philharmonic under Ilya Stupel. Also in 1991, Neeme Järvi and the DNSO recorded Symphonies 4 to 6, which I have as a 16-bit download from Chandos.net. Then, in 1998, the Dausgaard cycle got under way (it took a decade to complete). In the meantime, Danacord issued a 2-CD set of Nos. 4, 6, 10, 14 and Music of the Spheres; these ADD recordings, set down between 1977 and 1981, were conducted by John Frandsen, Ole Schmidt and Michael Schønwandt. Rob Barnett reviewed that album at the time of its release in 2001. Appropriately enough, the DNSO – full title DR SymfoniOrkestret – is the orchestra involved.
Langgaard isn’t in the Wiener Philharmoniker’s bloodstream, but then neither is Nørgård’s. And steeped though they are in the Austro-German tradition, they’re not strangers to Nordic rep, as their classic Sibelius set with Lorin Maazel – superbly remastered on Blu-ray Audio – so amply demonstrates. Factor in the presence of Oramo, a Finn, and a label celebrated for their top-notch sound, and the auguries for this new release seem very good indeed. For the sake of comparison, I listened to all the alternative versions listed above. Of course, couplings could be a deal-breaker, but it will be fascinating to see how the competition stacks up.
With his search for a Romantic/Symbolist idiom, Langgaard set himself against the somewhat dour Danish musical establishment. That said, his early symphonies are broadly traditional in style. No. 1, ‘Mountain Pastorals’, has a Straussian surge and Brucknerian amplitude that probably helped ensure the work’s success at its premiere, in Germany, just before the Great War. (Langgaard was always more popular there, and in Austria, than he was in his homeland.) As I noted in my review of Dausgaard’s account of No. 2 – the original version – the sumptuous first movement is followed by a middle one of ‘almost classical symmetry’. However, I wasn’t entirely persuaded by the finale, with its setting of ‘Spring Sounds’, by the German poet Emil Rittershaus (1834-1897).
So, how does Oramo fare in this work? As expected, the cascading strings, noble horns and glorious weight of the WP are mighty impressive in the opening movement, the music’s Wagnerian overtones more pronounced than ever. What I particularly like here are the jolly martial episodes and sense of Straussian gemütlichkeit, although even in this retro-piece there’s an elemental quality to the writing that looks much further north, to Nielsen and Sibelius (cue a thrilling, brass-shot climax at opener’s end). Oramo builds and shapes the middle movement most beautifully, helped in no small measure by the ravishing sounds of the greatest orchestra on earth. And it’s a measure of the conductor’s skill that the finale, with soprano Anu Komsi a clear, ringing soloist, suddenly seems less ‘problematic’ than it once did. As expected, the recording itself is beyond reproach.
Revisiting Dausgaard’s recording, coupled with No. 3 (6.220516), reminded me of the set’s musical and sonic virtues. However, his account of No. 2, sensitively directed and very well played, now seems just a little earthbound next to Oramo’s wonderfully nuanced and insightful one. In mitigation, the hushed intensity of the DNSO’s playing in the central movement is a wonder to behold. And although soprano Inger Dam-Jensen sings well enough in the finale, she has a fairly wide vibrato that bothers me more now than it did then. No qualms about No. 3, ‘The Flush of Youth’, whose ebullient piano and lusty choral parts bring to mind Busoni’s mammoth piano concerto. The sound in both works is well up to the standards of the house.
Now for the really interesting bit. The Artur Rubinstein Philharmonic, based in the Polish city of Lodz, may not be a household name, but their seven-volume Langgaard series, directed by the Lithuanian conductor Ilya Stupel, is actually rather good. Admittedly, they opt for the revised, much shorter version of No. 2, but it’s still a fine piece. The first movement is robust, cohesive and, in quieter moments, suffused with a lovely Romantic blush. And although soprano Roma Owsinska is a powerful and compelling presence, she lacks Komsi’s subtlety and expressive warmth, especially in the song’s more inward moments. What a pity the coupling, a decent performance of No. 3, is sans choir. As for the early Drapa, written in memory of Grieg, its as dreary as ever. Still, the Danacord sound is refined and spacious throughout.
The Sixth Symphony belongs to Langgaard’s ‘third phase’ (1925 to 1945). At the outset Oramo gets the WP to play like a distinguished and attentive chamber group, the lower strings rich and firm, the upper ones as silky as one could wish. The darkly bracing brass in Thema II are a treat, and Preben Iwan’s fine engineering ensures timps, bass- and side-drums are superbly rendered. For his part, the conductor builds climaxes of seat-pinning weight and power; not only that, the symphony’s Ivesian irruptions are effortlessly handled, its Nielsen-like passages emphasised at every turn. Most impressive, though, is Oramo’s surefootedness, the work’s architecture – its burning conviction – revealed as never before. And goodness, what a pate-cracking peroration at the end!
Ditto with Dausgaard, whose splendid Sixth is coupled with equally gripping accounts of the Seventh and Eighth (8.224180). As before, Oramo seems more spontaneous, the music’s shape and destination easier to discern. But, to be fair, one could barely slip a cigarette paper between these rival readings, such is their all-round excellence. Indeed, if you buy just one volume in the Dausgaard set, this must be it. By contrast, Järvi’s Sixth is clean and clear-eyed, which makes for a vital and refreshing performance. True, he’s not quite as exciting or as spectacularly recorded as Dausgaard/Oramo, but decent performances of Nos. 4 and 5 make this album a very good buy. (As an aside, I’m delighted this esteemed Estonian has just picked up Gramophone’s Lifetime Achievement Award.)
Which brings me to Frandsen’s Sixth, recorded live on 9 December 1977 and first released on LP as EMI 6C 063-38100. Like Järvi, he emphasises the score’s detail and distinctive sonorities, and that’s rewarding in itself. Happily, the analogue original doesn’t show its age, with plenty of bite and big, uncluttered climaxes. And, not surprisingly for a conductor known for his Nielsen, he’s alive to echoes of the latter in this music. The finale, artfully prepared for, may not be as overwhelming as the best, but it’s still stirringly done. Not the tidiest or the most perceptive performance, perhaps, but worth hearing nonetheless. Indeed, that applies to the rest of this collection, No. 10 directed by Schmidt and No. 14 by Schønwandt, fine Nielsen interpreters both. Presentation and balances do vary, but otherwise sound is just fine. Also, there’s some applause.
Breaking news: Oramo’s new recording is one of the best things I’ve heard all year. Of his fillers, the gentle meditation Upaaagtede Morgenstjerner (Unnoticed Morning Stars) is most welcome; Jacob Gade’s loud, rather garish ‘gypsy tango’ is eminently forgettable, though. Booklet notes are by the ever-reliable Jens Cornelius. Unexpectedly, this composite review has been very instructive. First, it’s reminded me what a passionate, powerful and endearingly quixotic talent Langgaard was, and how much joy there is in his work. Second, it’s demonstrated that, in their various ways, all the albums mentioned here do justice to these underrated symphonies. And third, it’s highlighted the sheer consistency and musical value of that Dausgaard box.
Two fine symphonies, very well played and recorded; a cheer-raising, hat-tossing event for all Langgaardians
Originally published September 2018
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Franz Liszt (1811-1886)
Études d’exécution transcendante, (Transcendental Studies), S.139 (1852)
Kirill Gerstein (piano)
rec. 2015, Siemens-Villa, Berlin-Lankwitz
Reviewed as a stereo DSD64 download from NativeDSD
Myrios Classics MYR019 SACD [64]
With Francesco Piemontesi’s outstanding performance of Liszt’s Années de pèlerinage: Suisse still fresh in my mind, I thought it time to hear the Russian-American pianist Kirill Gerstein in the composer’s Études d’exécution transcendante. Michael Cookson greeted this album with his customary enthusiasm, which made me even more curious to audition it. As it happens, I also have the 24/96 download of Daniil Trifonov’s version, recorded in the same venue – the Siemens-Villa, Berlin – three months earlier. That performance, part of a 2-CD set from Deutsche Grammophon, impressed Stephen Greenbank so much he made it a Recording of the Month.
These 12 studies, published in 1852 and derived from works Liszt wrote in 1826 and 1837, allow virtuoso pianists to strut their stuff. The wide dynamics also demand a great deal of the recording team, who, in DG’s case, capture Trifonov’s bold pianism well enough. And if you sense a ‘but…’ in there somewhere, you’d be right (more anon). No, the biggest challenge is to play these coruscating pieces in a way that combines substance with showmanship. I can’t fault Trifonov’s technique – his runs and roulades are simply breath-taking – although I feel insights are in short supply. Finesse is well within his purview, though, the Ricordanza exquisitely turned.
In Liszt at least, the current crop of keyboard wizards – Piemontesi (Orfeo), Gábor Farkas (Steinway) and Alexandre Kantorow (BIS) – achieve a pleasing balance between the Dionysian and Apollonian aspects of this composer’s oeuvre. And good engineering is a must: those labels all deliver a depth and richness of sound that does full justice to Liszt’s inexhaustible talent. Alas, for all its clarity and weight, the DG recording is just too analytical, and that quickly impinged on my listening pleasure. As for Myrios, a preliminary listen to this download suggests they place a much higher premium on good sonics.
Tech talk aside, does this album deliver musically? Gerstein’s Prelude is certainly encouraging, not least because it’s nicely proportioned. By that I mean it’s built on a human scale, and that brings listeners much closer to the music. With the almost superhuman Trifonov, one feels more like a spectator than a participant, which, by definition, introduces a degree of detachment. It helps that the Myrios recording – masterminded by Stephan Cahen – is so involving, the warm, well-balanced sound far preferable to DG’s comparatively shallow, chromium-plated presentation. Also, colour and detail are dramatically enhanced, and not at the expense of excitement, either (cue Gerstein’s Molto vivace).
What glorious, full-bodied pianism this is, and how spontaneous, the jewelled loveliness of Paysage a wonder to behold. And what a pleasure to hear so much air around the notes, and to be reminded of just how much the body of the piano itself contributes to what we hear. That may seem a bit fanciful, but it’s so unusual to find a solo recording that generates such a heightened awareness of the interaction between artist and instrument. In turn, this makes for a startling intimacy, a very profound and powerful sense of ‘being there’; that, too, is very rare.
Apart from roaming the keyboard with such agility and aplomb – is there any challenge he can’t meet, any hurdle he can’t vault? – Gerstein really brings out the percussive nature of Mazeppa. That it doesn’t have another, less welcome ‘edge’ is testament to the splendid recording. As for the Siemens-Villa, I can’t remember when it’s sounded this good. But, most of all, what the Gerstein/Myrios partnership reveals is the sheer audacity of Liszt’s musical mind. As I’ve said before, the very best recordings represent a confluence of talents, both musical and technical, and this collaboration is a fine example of that happy state.
Gerstein’s Feux follets falls like a soft spring rain, with bursts in between, the restless Vision beautifully shaped and articulated. Here, especially, it’s very clear that while Trifonov obeys the letter of these scores, Gerstein divines its guiding spirit. In so doing, he also taps into a varied and thoughtful narrative that belies Liszt’s undeserved reputation as a mere spinner of notes. Just listen to how expressive Gerstein can be, even in big, bold numbers such as Eroica and Wilde Jagd, which can seem a tad relentless at times. Incidentally, another pleasing characteristic of this recording is that closing notes and chords are allowed to decay in the most natural and atmospheric way. The pedal action is audible, but not distractingly so.
Without doubt, Ricordanza is the highlight of Trifonov’s performance. That said, Gerstein, less moulded, is also more inward. What a gorgeous, singing line, too. And if you think Liszt playing doesn’t come much better than this, you’d be half right, for Gerstein’s Allegro agitato molto is even more of a revelation. What a phenomenal range he has, and how fearlessly he uses it. Indeed, if this were an assault on a daunting peak, he’d scale it with all the confidence and skill of a seasoned mountaineer.
But the summit has not yet been reached, Gerstein’s finely calibrated Harmoniesdu soir is even finer than that of the otherwise admirable Piemontesi (it’s a filler on his album). The final number, Chasse-neige, is certainly a zenith of sorts, reaching technical and expressive heights of its own. After such an arduous ascent, one might be forgiven a degree of tiredness; that one actually feels alert and exhilarated is due to the dexterity and good judgment of this remarkable pianist (with a little help from Cahen and his team). Detailed liner-notes complete a top-quality product.
Extraordinary pianism that strikes a perfect balance between impetuosity and insight; bar-raising sonics, too.
Originally published July 2018
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Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992)
La Nativité du Seigneur (1935)
Richard Gowers (organ)
rec. 2017, Chapel of King’s College, Cambridge
Reviewed as a 24/192 download
Kings College KGS0025 [68]
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: not only is Messiaen’s epic meditation on the birth of Christ one of his most astonishing creations, it’s also one of the greatest solo organ pieces ever written. As with so much of his oeuvre, which spans all genres, the composer’s Catholicism is an unequivocal and indivisible part of his unique, instantly recognisable aesthetic. Indeed, it would be impossible to attribute, say, the Turangalîla-Symphonie, Catalogue d’oiseaux or Des Canyons aux étoiles to anyone else. And working my way through Sylvain Cambreling’s Hänssler box of the orchestral music for a future review, I was struck anew by the sheer range and consistency of Messiaen’s craft. But if he’s to be celebrated for anything at all, it must be for his organ works, of which the nine-movement La Nativité du Seigneur is an early example.
There are many fine recordings of the piece, either as one-offs or as part of a larger set. Chief among the latter is the composer’s own performance (Warner) and that of his protégé, Jennifer Bate, whose version, first released on Unicorn Kanchana, was subsequently reissued by Regis. That has now resurfaced in a 6-CD set from Treasure Island. Then there’s the formidable Dame Gillian Weir on Collins, a performance – and set – which sounds even better in its latest incarnation from Priory. And don’t overlook the refreshing Hans-Ola Ericsson (BIS), or the ‘more head than heart’ Tom Winpenny, whose La Nativité is probably the best thing in his cycle to date (Naxos). There’s also the highly regarded Olivier Latry (DG). Of the standalones, I much enjoyed-Pierre Lecaudey’s performance (Pavane).
Inevitably, the organist’s individual playing style and choice of instrument influences our perceptions of this music. The Cavaillé-Colls of St Trinité (Messiaen) and Notre Dame (Latry) may share a common heritage, but modifications and very different acoustics ensure they don’t sound alike. Different again are the Danion-Gonzalez at Beauvais (Bate), the mighty Frobenius of Aarhus Cathedral in Denmark (Weir), the 1983 Pascal Quoirin in St Rémy (Lecaudey), the 1987 Grönlund of Luleå Cathedral in Sweden (Ericsson) and Winpenny’s Harrison & Harrison in St Albans. All are well caught by their respective recording teams. For me, though, the combination of Simon Preston, the Harrison & Harrison of Westminster Abbey and Decca’s superb sound is simply unbeatable. Taped in 1965, and recently reissued on Eloquence, that version wears its years very lightly.
Not a comprehensive list of course, just a hint of what Richard Gowers is up against. He’s new to me, although I see he’s organist in a Duruflé programme, also from King’s, that was much praised by John Quinn. Since then, the chapel’s Harrison & Harrison, so closely associated with its famous choir, has been extensively refurbished. And, if the first movement of the Messiaen, La Vierge et l’Enfant, is anything to go by, it’s all gain. Apart from sheer tonal beauty, there’s a striking clarity to the overall sound that really brings out the music’s luminous inner detail. For his part, Gowers calibrates this opener most beautifully, every ‘voice’ allowed to sing its song. Benjamin Sheen’s full, atmospheric recording is exemplary, too.
What’s clear from the outset is that Gowers’ La Nativité is going to be wonderfully poised and inward, sans what some regard as the excessive weight of his big-name rivals (Preston in particular). That, in itself, requires a degree of recalibration, but it’s an easy adjustment to make when the performance is as persuasive as this. The updated organ’s upper reaches are showcased in the second movement, Les Bergers, its sense of quiet adoration – its moving stillness – perfectly pitched. As if that weren’t enough, Gowers invests the music with a rare but telling three dimensionality, cascades of sound suspended in this votive space. The sustained pedals in Desseins éternels are very present, yet they never obscure the sparkling diadems above. Goodness, I’ve not heard so much in this score before, nor have I heard it presented with such unseamed loveliness.
The start of Le Verbe, more dramatic, has all the dark, ‘woody’ character one could wish for, but, as always, it’s the meditational aspect of this music that ravishes the heart and ear. I’d say the album would be worth it for this movement alone, such is the level of inspiration displayed by composer and organist alike. Of course, good, unfussy engineering is an essential part of the process; really, organ recordings don’t come more faithful than this. Some may prefer the likes of Preston and Weir in Les Enfants de Dieu and Jésus accepte lasouffrance, but what Gowers may lack in weight – that word again – he more than makes up for with a compelling, sensibly scaled narrative. That said, there’s no denying the affirming splendour of the King’s organ at the end of that latter section. (In between, the fibrillations of Les Anges are superbly articulated.)
The penultimate movement, Les Mages, is proof, if it were needed, that there’s a very human side to this drama, the wise men, for all their sagacity, overwhelmed in the presence of the Christ child. Gowers conveys their surrender to majesty in a final genuflection that’s both simple and intensely moving. (He captures that defining moment better than anyone I know.) The finale, Dieu parmi nous, is often played as a concert piece, the thrilling dynamics making it an obvious crowd pleaser. That’s how Preston does it, but in the last of his valuable correctives, Gowers reminds us it’s all part of a wider and more sustained set of evocations and epiphanies. And what a pealing, precipitous close it is, as hefty – and as heaven-storming – as it needs to be.
I must confess that on first hearing I registered the beauty of this performance, but not its other strengths and subtleties. I suspect that comes of expecting the ‘big’ sound I’ve been used to for so long. No, I still wouldn’t be without Preston – understandable, perhaps,as I imprinted on that recording – but the intimacy and illumination of Gowers’ reading has brought this piece to life in ways I scarcely thought possible. Naturally, top-notch engineering plays a vital role in such reappraisals. Will Gowers and Sheen add to this trove any time soon? I fervently hope so.
A remarkably perceptive and profoundly moving performance; superlative sound, too.
Originally published 2018
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