Classic Archive:
Christian Ferras Sibelius Violin Concerto, Orchestre National
de la RTF conducted by Zubin Mehta (Paris, May 1965). Stravinsky Violin
Concerto, Orchestre Philharmonique de l'ORTF conducted by Jean Fournet
(Paris, 1967). Franck Violin Sonata in A Major, with Pierre Barbizet
(Paris, 1963). Bach Prelude from Partita BWV 1006 (Paris, 1958). Stravinsky
Chanson russe, with Robert Weisz (Paris, 1963). Fauré Berceuse,
Op. 16, & Dinicu Hora staccato, with Pierre Petit (Paris, 1973).
Bonus: Zino Francescatti plays Mozart's Violin Concerto K. 218, with
Orchestre de la Société des Concerts du Conservatoire
conducted by Jerzy Semkow (Aix-en-Provence, 1967) (EMI Classics, DVD
4904449)
Christian Ferras
and Pierre Barbizet Brahms Violin Sonata Op. 108; Bartók
Violin Sonata No. 2. Claude Delvincourt; Danceries (excerpts). Paganini
Violin Concerto No. 1. (INA Mémoire Vive, IMV052)
Two years ago, to commemorate
the 20th anniversary of the death of Christian Ferras (1933—1982),
French EMI issued a five-CD retrospective of the recordings he had made
for the label between his years with Decca (1947—1954) and his
signing on with Deutsche Grammophon in 1964. When Decca subsequently
released a CD of Ferras' early recordings of French repertoire in its
Legends series, and Testament brought out two CDs of the concertos
Ferras recorded for Decca, it became possible to evaluate almost in
its entirety the recorded work of this elegant, honest musician who
ranks with Jacques Thibaud, Zino Francescatti, and Ginette Neveu as
the most outstanding French violinists of the last century.
Now a new DVD and a French
import CD open the door further on Ferras' career.
Instantly recognizable as
a student of George Enescu by his almost imperceptible downward slides,
Ferras seemed intent on illuminating music's more reflective emotional
dimensions even when setting off virtuosic fireworks with his seamless
technique. The vulnerability of his centered, radiant tone, coupled
with an infallible sense of speed and transition, transcended conventional
interpretive considerations. Despite his small tone, he was able to
speak above orchestras. Despite the glory of his sound, there was something
deeply sad about his music making.
In addition to the sonatas
with Pierre Barbizet, the mainstream concertos by Brahms, Beethoven,
Lalo, Mendelssohn, Berg, and Mozart, and an intoxicating reading of
Ravel's Tzigane, the five French EMI discs also document Ferras' relationship
with contemporary composers of varying degrees of obscurity, of whom
the most obscure is Gyula Bandö (but what pizzicatos Ferras plays
in the exhilarating last movement of Bandö's Concerto hongrois).
You can hear Ferras' creative process most clearly in the two Mozart
concertos, as he loses himself in the music and draws the orchestra
and conductor in with him—clearly a seduction! It is an experience
that you hear only occasionally in the concert hall; for Ferras, it
was his way of making music.
The sadness had intense
roots. His father (whose hotel business had been ruined in the war)
pushed his prodigy son to become the superstar he had wanted to be himself,
demanding not only musical perfection but also what must have been psychologically
traumatic complicity in hiding humble circumstances. (Ferras père
insisted that his son make an inexpensive Guarneri copy sound like the
real thing—while boasting to friends that it was.) Ferras' meteoric
career, accompanied by a nonstop schedule and a love of fast motor cars,
reached the heights when at the age of 31 he was signed by DG to record
the major concertos with von Karajan (the resulting recordings have
rarely been surpassed for their serenity and Olympian power). Within
a few years, however, his career faltered and he declined into despair,
drinking, and financial peril that ended in suicide in 1982.
More recently, two further
demonstrations of Ferras' greatness were released. The EMI Classics
DVD shows the rise and fall of Ferras, from his vivid performance of
a Bach prelude in 1957 to the technical insecurity of a Dinicu Hora
staccato in 1973. Along the way there is a fine Sibelius Concerto (in
which Ferras uncharacteristically wears a mustache) accompanied by Zubin
Mehta. (A "bonus" performance of Mozart K. 218 by a suavely
casual Zino Francescatti is in striking contrast to the deeply introspective
Ferras.) The other new disc, a French import, is a collection of previously
unreleased live recordings in the INA Mémoire Live series (available
from www.fnac.com)
that includes a wonderfully passionate Brahms Third Sonata with Barbizet
and, to show he was human, a scramble of a first Paganini concerto (with
piano accompaniment).
These new releases are accompanied
by valuable liner notes, particularly in the case of the INA CD in which
Jean-Michel Molkhou provides (with English translation) not only a complete
discography but comprehensive information about the two Stradivari instruments
Ferras owned, and a documentary biography that seeks discreetly to explain
the basis of his tortured soul.
Finally, for those who read
French, the online Christian Ferras homage found at http://snipurl.com/54km
is indispensable, but note too that it includes several recorded
samples that require no foreign language skills at all to enjoy.
—Laurence
Vittes
Vivaldi's Cello.
Concertos RV 423, 540, 401; Concerto for Two Cellos, RV 531; arias (arr.
Koopman) from La Fida Ninfa, Il Giustino, Juditha Triumphans, Gloria;
Largo from "Winter." Yo-Yo Ma, cello; Ton Koopman conducts
the Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra. (Sony, SK 090916)
Yo-Yo Ma's elegant new Vivaldi
disc demonstrates that "contemporary" performance sensibility
is no longer a historic, as it was a couple of decades ago. Now, as
Ma shows, it's an amalgam of all that has come before, Baroque through
Romantic and beyond, and the only question is which strands of performance
heritage a musician wishes to emphasize under particular circumstances.
In this respect, Ma's Baroque playing is contemporary rather than strictly
historically informed; or perhaps a better word would be postmodern,
since the overall approach draws from many past and present influences,
as seems appropriate from one passage to another. Ma has reconfigured
his 1712 Strad with gut strings and a less-arched bridge, done away
with the endpin, and employs a Baroque bow and relative tuning in which
instruments are tuned only in relation to each other. Yet in Vivaldi's
slow movements, Ma often (but not invariably) plays with the fullest
possible tone and generous vibrato. Although attitudes toward period
technique are less doctrinaire than they used to be, Ma's slow playing
seems a little out of place against Ton Koopman's stricter Amsterdam
Baroque Orchestra. Nevertheless, it's all most engaging. As on Ma's
Bach disc of a few years back, Koopman has here arranged some vocal
pieces for cello to go with the concertos. They work well enough, but
what's the point? There's no shortage of authentic Vivaldi cello music.
—James
Reel
Hollow Rock Legacy:
The Hollow Rock String Band/Sandy's Fancy. Hollow Rock
String Band: Alan Jabbour, fiddle; Tommy Thompson, banjo and guitar;
Jim Watson, guitar, mandolin, and autoharp; and Sandy Bradley, piano
and guitar. (www.redclayramblers.com)
In the mid-'60s, Alan Jabbour
was a graduate student living in North Carolina, jamming at house parties
with a group of friends led by banjo player and guitarist Tommy Thompson
(later of the Red Clay Ramblers), and studying the Southern regional
fiddle style of old-time master Henry Reed. From those parlor dates
came a pair of legendary string bands. One of those, the Hollow Rock
String Band, recorded its debut on the tiny Kanawha label. This anthology
compiles all the tracks from the band's second and third albums, one
eponymous and the other entitled Sandy's Fancy, released in
1974 on Rounder Records and in 1981 on Flying Fish, respectively. Reed,
who died in 1968, had a hand in passing down 23 of the 34 tunes heard
here in all their effusive old-timey glory. His influence on the old-time
string-band revival can not be emphasized enough. The same can be said
of Jabbour. One of the two surviving members of the Hollow Rock String
Band, he went on to an illustrious career as a traditional and classical
player. As an academic, he published the 1971 landmark book American
Folk Tunes. In 1976 he became the founding director of the American
Folklife Center at the Library of Congress and remained in that position
for 23 years before his retirement in 1999. This two-CD set is a fitting
addition to that legacy.
—Greg
Cahill
Epilogue.
Miró Quartet: Daniel Ching and Sandy Yamamoto, violins; John
Largess, viola; and Joshua Gindelle, cello; with Matt Haimovitz, cello.
(Oxingale, 2006)
I must confess that this
is one of my favorite recordings of this year and that the Miró
is rapidly becoming one of my favorite young quartets. It is often said
that the Miró is a powerhouse ensemble characterized by its ability
to play with the unified sound of a passionate string-driven machine.
There's truth to that assessment though there is nothing machinelike
in these heartfelt readings. These pieces share a common bond as the
last string works by a pair of great composers steeped in sorrow. The
Mendelssohn String Quartet in F Minor, Op. 80 is a staple in the quartet
repertoire. The Miró draws on the boundless sadness and beauty
of the Mendelssohn piece–an ode to the composer's dead sister
and his last complete score before succumbing to grief within weeks
of its completion–at times lending the allegro-molto finale a
characteristic rawness that some critics have mistaken for youthful
indiscretion. Personally, I hope the Miró never loses that occasional
edginess. The Schubert String Quintet in C Major, D 956, Op. Post. 163,
is equally marvelous. During his final days, and wracked with delirium,
Schubert crafted two works as part of a song cycle he called "Schwanengesang"
(literally, his Swansong): a trio for soprano, clarinet, and piano;
and this stunningly beautiful quintet for string quartet plus cello.
This recording captures the Miró at its best with the talented
Haimovitz in tow.
—G.C.
Tigran
Mansurian: Monodia. Viola Concerto, "And then I was
in time again"; Violin Concerto; Lachrymae; Confessing with Faith.
Kim Kashkashian, viola; Leonidas Kavakos, violin; Jan Garbarek, soprano
saxophone; The Hilliard Ensemble; Christoph Poppen conducting the Münchener
Kammerorchester. (ECM New Series, 1850/51; CD 472 7842)
The compelling musicianship
of violist Kim Kashkashian and violinist Leonidas Kavakos carries this
disc of premiere recordings (plus the 1981 Violin Concerto) of works
by Armenian composer Tigran Mansurian. Both soloists are masters of
transparent phrasing and keep the listener engaged through minutes of
Mansurian soliloquy. Kashkashian, herself Armenian-American, divines
her countryman's intentions in the soupy and at times stultifying soundscape
that is the Viola Concerto and finds hope in the obsessive examination
of a repeated-note figure where despair might easily win out. In Mansurian's
succinct and worthy Lachrymae, viola meets soprano saxophone and each
splashes in the echoes of the other in a mesmeric game of trompe
l'oreille. Kashkashian provides ruddy counterpoint to the always-angelic
Hilliard Ensemble in Confessing with Faith, a setting of prayers by
a 12th-century Armenian poet. The dark, brooding opening of Mansurian's
Violin Concerto evokes Mozart's Requiem and Kavakos makes the most of
the meditative journey, now reflecting, now soaring through the stratosphere.
—Ben
Finane
Haydn: The Seven
Last Words. Emerson String Quartet: Eugene Drucker and
Philip Setzer, violins; Lawrence Dutton, viola; David Finckel, cello.
(Deutsche Grammophon, B0002053-02)
Commissioned by the Cathedral
of Cádiz as orchestral interludes between the priest's recitation
of Jesus' Seven Last Words, plus an introduction and an epilogue depicting
the earthquake following his death, this is surely one of Haydn's greatest,
most remarkable works. He later arranged it for string quartet, piano,
and chorus with orchestra on a text by Baron van Swieten. As part of
its Haydn Project, the Emerson plays it wonderfully. The tone, though
perhaps a bit too luxurious at times, is beautiful. The players evoke
both the pleading, despairing, resigned human agony and the serene hope
of heaven with inmost expressiveness. Always innovative, they incorporate
numerous textural elements of the orchestral version, changing registers
and voicings, and even add their own transcription of an all-wind interlude.
Their assertion that the main theme of each movement is a setting of
the salient "word" —in Latin—is intriguing. They
refute Haydn's own misgivings about sustaining interest in eight (here
nine) slow movements, and even make the "Earthquake," usually
puny without trumpets and kettledrums, totally convincing.
—Edith
Eisler
Schubert: Arpeggione
Sonata in A minor, D. 821; Piano Sonata in A major, D. 959.
David Finckel, cello; Wu Han, piano. (ArtistLed, 10401)
Almost anything on the small,
select ArtistLed label, operated by cellist David Finckel of the Emerson
Quartet and his pianist-wife Wu Han, is self-recommending. Some of their
best work to date comes in their recording of Schubert's Sonata for
the ill-fated Arpeggione, heard in its usual arrangement for cello and
piano. With expert, nuanced support from Wu Han, Finckel turns in a
performance that is elegant, noble, yet at times plaintive, and he handles
Schubert's leaps from the bottom of the staff to the top and back again
as if they were the most natural things in the world. By the end of
the first movement, it's evident that Finckel's conception is darker
than usual; the slow movement begins with beautiful, sustained lyricism
and pathos, not the pretty sentimentality one often hears, and the finale
emerges smoothly from this, not breaking the mood with sudden cheer.
Throughout the score, Finckel finds remarkable depth beneath the music's
surface charms. Wu Han alone turns in a balanced but not bloodless performance
of one of Schubert's late, great piano sonatas, but the disc would be
essential if it contained nothing but the Arpeggione Sonata.
—J.R.
Haydn: String
Quartets, Op. 64, No. 5; Op. 76, No. 2; Op. 77, No. 1.
Jerusalem Quartet: Alexander Pavlovsky and Sergei Bressler, violins;
Amichai Grosz, viola; and Kyril Zlotnikov, cello. (Harmonia Mundi, HMC
901823)
The Jerusalem Quartet is living proof that string quartets, like friendships,
should be formed early in life: These young players were teenagers when
the ensemble was founded at the Jerusalem Music Center in 1993. The
quartet made its debut there the same year and has already established
a flourishing international career. This disc marks its recording debut.
Tech-nically, the playing is brilliant, clean, and transparent. The
sound is homogenous and very beautiful. The first violinist’s
tone has a beguiling sweetness and purity; intonation, ensemble, and
balance are exemplary. Musically, the players’ style exhibits
both the virtues and weaknesses of their youth: exuberance, impetuosity,
daring, as well as exaggeration and excess. Tempos, dynamics, and contrasts
are extreme; liberties often mannered and artificial, without imagination
or spontaneity; and Haydn’s humor and simplicity are entirely
lost. Most puzzling are the inordinately long rests and pauses, bringing
to mind Arthur Schnabel’s remark: “Playing the notes is
easy; it’s in the rests that the artistry lies.” It will
be interesting to hear this group in a more diverse repertoire.
—E.E.
William Primrose:
The Early Recordings, Violin and Viola (1923–1935).
William Primrose, violin and viola; Isolde Menges, violin; Sidonie Goossens,
harp; and Gerald Moore, piano. (Pearl, GEM 0207)
We owe the Pearl label a
debt of gratitude for making available these early recordings
of William Primrose (1904—1982) before he began his switch
to the viola in the early 1930s. The high points of the violin recordings,
which constitute a lion’s share of the release, are an aristocratic
performance of Saint-Saëns’ Introduction & Rondo Capriccioso
and, with Isolde Menges, an ecstatic sonata by Purcell. The viola recordings,
dating from 1934 and 1935, start off with a dazzling pair of Paganini
caprices and include a gorgeous Ave Maria of Schubert’s. Tully
Potter’s liner notes provide both a detailed historical perspective
and a poetic account of Primrose’s playing. Roger Beardsley’s
digital transfers enable Primrose’s sound to shine through the
inevitable surface noise with burnished beauty—as if
they were the aural equivalents of Rembrandt’s great Biblical
paintings.
—L.V.
Dmitry Shostakovich:
Viola Sonata; Cello Sonata (arranged for viola). Annette
Bartholdy, viola; Julius Drake, piano. (Naxos, 8.557231)
Forget any preconceptions
you may hold about Shostakovich as the dean of 20th-century dissonance.
As Harlow Robinson of Northeastern University wrote a few years back,
the Sonata for Viola and Piano, Op. 147, is "one of the most eloquent
and profound statements of the composer's most intimate thought."
Written, literally, on his deathbed (so weakened by illness he could
hardly hold the pen), the Viola Sonata employs a simple motive, traditional
sonata form, and unusual use of rhythm and harmony. It starts with a
somewhat severe first movement before moving through a second movement
marked by gypsy-like dance rhythms drawn from the composer's unfinished
opera The Gamblers (based on the Nicolay Gogol play of the
same name) and concluding with an exquisitely lyrical finale that pays
homage to Beethoven. The Viola Sonata has been recorded at least 14
times, by everyone from Yuri Bashmet to Michael Zaretsky. Swiss violist
Bartholdy, seamlessly matched with London-born pianist Julius Drake,
delivers a deeply moving reading–a forceful calling card from
a promising young violist. Her transcription of Shostakovich's 1934
Cello Sonata, Op. 40, is a world-premiere recording that makes for an
interesting companion piece. Again, it's an uncharacteristically accessible
piece, but this one penned before the composer's life became fraught
with great difficulties.
—G.C.
The Great Violinists,
Recordings from 1900—1913. (Testament, SBT 1323;
2 CDs)
Once your ears adjust to
the surface noise, these records offer a fascinating survey of different
styles in violin playing and of changes in musical taste, most obviously
in the use of increasing vibrato and diminishing slides. Clearly, in
those days no two violinists sounded alike, and though their tone is
hard to judge, its essential characteristics triumph over the static.
However, these players had one thing in common: fearlessness. They plunge
into the music—mostly popular bravura pieces, quite frequently
written or transcribed by the players themselves—with positively
reckless abandon. Whether famous, unfamiliar, or forgotten, all are
formidable virtuosos.
The greatest surprise is
the passionate virtuosity displayed by Arnold Rosé, the august
concertmaster of the Vienna Philharmonic and leader of a great quartet.
On the other hand, it is not surprising that Eugene Ysaÿe bestrode
the violin-world like a colossus: His charm, flair, rhythmic flexibility,
and sweet, warm, luscious, soaring tone are incomparable. Interestingly,
he plays Caprice Viennoise by Fritz Kreisler, whom he admired, far more
slowly and sentimentally than the composer ever did.
Pablo de Sarasate is exactly
the opposite. Elegant, light of finger and bow, he is captivating in
his own Spanish dances but surprisingly sloppy: Bach's unaccompanied
E-major Prelude is derailed in one mad rush. Apart from two versions
of the Air on the G String replete with slow slides, other Bach fares
better. Joseph Joachim's playing of the G-minor Prelude is stately and
improvisatory, but the B-minor Bourée becomes a bravura piece
with very short chords and bounced fast notes. Almost without vibrato,
his intonation is perfect, his tone glows; two Brahms Hungarian Dances
are austere and authentic.
Henri Marteau and Jacques
Thibaud capture the grace and nobility of Bach's French dances, and
Joseph Szigeti, still a teenager, redeems the E-major Prelude in an
impeccable, exciting performance. His stunning virtuosity, subsumed
by his later fame as an intellectual and innovator, comes through brilliantly
in three Hungarian showpieces. It was Kreisler who created a completely
new concept of tone: constantly vibrant, intense, radiant, it projected
a personal expressiveness, which, together with his unique charm, won
him the hearts of audiences everywhere.
—E.E.
Frigg.
Frigg: Antti Järvelä, double bass, fiddle, viola, harmonium;
Alina Järvelä, fiddle; Gjermund Larsen, fiddle, Hardanger
fiddle; Esko Järvelä, viola, fiddle, nyckelharpa, harmonium;
Einar-Olav Larsen, fiddle, Hardanger fiddle; Petri Prauda, cittern,
mandolin; Tuomas Logren, guitar, dobro. (NorthSide, 6079)
This second-generation Nordic
band delivers mostly high-energy and propulsive fiddle music penned
by band member Antti Järvelä in the Finnish and Norwegian
tradition with splashes of Appalachian folk. The band draws its name
from the mythological Norse goddess of love and there's an undeniably
celebratory joy to this music. You could say it's in their blood: Frigg
features two sons and a daughter of the most famous fiddle family in
Finland, founders of the seminal Nordic folk band JPP, and two Larsen
brothers, members of a notable Norwegian Hardanger fiddle clan.
—G.C.
The Red Priest's
Revenge
Igor Stravinsky once dismissed
the work of Baroque heavyweight Antonio Vivaldi as "the same concerto
400 times." But Vivaldi may get the last laugh thanks to a continuing
onslaught of recordings led by the French label Naïve (now distributed
by Naxos) and its ambitious Opus 111 project. First launched in 2000,
Opus 111—a partnership with Istituto per i beni musicali
in Piemonte, directed by the Italian musicologist Alberto Basso—plans
to record the entirety of the Vivaldi manuscripts held by the Biblioteca
Nazionale in Turin, a treasure trove of 27 volumes whose contents include
296 concertos, 60 works of sacred music, and around 20 works for the
theatre–more than 100 CDs in all to be released between now and
2015.
To date, the catalog features
ten titles, including the critically acclaimed Four Seasons with Concerto
Italiano under Rinaldo Alessandrini (OP 30363); Sonate da camera,
RV 68, 86, 77, 70, 83, and 71, with performances by the Turin-based
period-instrument ensemble L'Astrée, under Giorgio Tabacco (OP
30252); and the recent invigorating Concerti per archi, also
with Concerto Italiano. As Alessandrini writes in the liner notes of
Concerti per archi, which lack any soloist and are constructed
around contrapuntal fugue forms: "Everywhere we recognize Vivaldi's
genius, his personal language with its ingredients of melodic invention,
rhythmic ingenuity, and theatricality."
The Vivaldi love fest continues
this fall when British violinist Andrew Manze releases a new Harmonia
Mundi recording of Vivaldi concertos. Concertos for the Holy Roman
Emperor will include Concertos Nos. 2, 3, 10, and 11. And Naxos
recently has tapped the rave audience with its relaxing anthology Chill
with Vivaldi (8556779), which features performances by violinists
Takako Nishizaki and cellist Raphael Wallfisch, among others.
Let's see if Stravinsky
can top that.
—G.C.
