Critic’s Notebook: Pavel Haas Quartet Makes the Ears Dance in an All-Czech Program

Also reviewed for Die Presse: Tiefenbeglückender Ohrentanz, gänzlich tschechisch: Bekanntes Ungehörtes, unerhört Beliebtes: Das Pavel Haas Quartet im Musikverein, mit einem Abend zum Schwärmen

Bohuslav Martinů String Quartets 2, 3, 5, 7 Pavel Haas Quartet (Supraphon, 2025) US | UK | DE

Bedrich Smetana The String Quartets Pavel Haas Quartet (Supraphon, 2015) US | UK | DE

Raving in Czech

The Known-unheard and outrageously popular: the Pavel Haas Quartet and an evening of chamber music to make your ears swoon

What a program — on paper alone. Who? One of the most celebrated string quartets of our time, Prague's Pavel Haas Quartet. Where? The Muskverein's Brahms-Saal. What? An entirely Czech program, running from the sole string quartet of the short-lived Vítězslava Kaprálová (1935) through Bohuslav Martinů's Fifth Quartet (1938) to that most reliable of pleasures, Antonín Dvořák's Fourteenth and last quartet, in A-flat major, op. 105 (1895). Kaprálová's music, barely two dozen works in total, has been rediscovered in spasmodically over the decades, tenaciously if intermittently — but one does not actually get to hear it very often. (Or else it's hidden in well-meaning but generally dismal "look: Women composers!" programs that are such an ironic, unintended bane to composers that happen to have been women.) This is a substantial three-movement quartet of some twenty minutes, written by a twenty-year-old nearing the end of her studies in Brno: rhythmic, mobile, tonal, but facing boldly forward — unsurprisingly in the musical orbit of Schulhoff, Pavel Haas, and Martinů. Certain works carry a luminous seriousness and quality that shimmers through them; Kaprálová's op.8 is one of those.

The Fifth Quartet of Martinů was not chosen as a companion piece, merely because it's a sensationally effective work at the intersection of Bartók, Shostakovich, and Janáček, and (like all of Martinů's quartets, which the Pavel Haas Quartet is currently recording for Supraphon) deserves to be far better known. Kaprálová is also the direct inspiration for the piece: she was Martinů's student in Paris for three years — and thereafter, in all likelihood, his lover. Think of it as Martinů's equivalent of Janáček's "Intimate Letters" — quartet. The work rocks from the opening bar with an irresistibility that seems to want to carry the momentum of Kaprálová's dynamic finale straight into itself. The relentless climaxes of the partially spooky Adagio, each time the Pavel Haas Quartet allowed them to relax, offered a delicious shiver of complex lyricism. As fragile as the movement dissolves, so wild does the Allegro vivo return — with maximum, ferocious forward thrust. Feet and heads bobbed in the audience, pretty much universally. The viola-throaty tone of the first violin in the finale's Lento feigned relaxation before the irresistible surge of the Allegro that followed.

Throughout all, one didn't actually pay all that much attention to the quartet's playing as such — because it seems to function by itself, entirely naturally: what one hears is not interpretation but music. Here, as in the Dvořák — whose fugal opening gradually yields to the composer's characteristic melodic abundance — it was the tonal richness of the ensemble that was so arresting. This isn't some pretty-playing style they indulge in, but a style that adapts, like an octopus, to its musical environment as needed: pallid, wild, sweet, spiky — irresistible. One could look elsewhere for finer individualists: the second violin in the Quatuor Ébène, the viola in the Belcea Quartet, the Cuarteto Casals' cello. But anyone who can make your ears dance the way this quartet did in the Dvořák is offering something singular — and seems to make this argument: one good string quartet evening is worth ten orchestral concerts, so sustainably and deeply satisfying are these hours.

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STC's 'Othello' on the Jersey Shore

Ben Turner (Iago) and Wendell Pierce (Othello) in Othello, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane

In Simon Godwin's new production of Othello, mounted by Shakespeare Theatre Company at the Harman Center and seen last week, the action has been updated to "a modern capital" and "the time is now." The Moor and his soldiers are not Venetian guards and sailors, but a general and his men in an American military unit. Clearly members of a lower class, they serve at the pleasure of their wealthy betters. Wendell Pierce, familiar from his television roles in The Wire and Treme, sports a blue beret and military uniforms. He woos and marries Desdemona (Olivia Cygan), the daughter of a wealthy family, and serves a Duke of Venice (Todd Scofield) wearing a suit like an American president. The war scenes, with explosions and warships firing, seemed to evoke the Iran conflict, although it is timed with that war only coincidentally.

Ben Turner, who had an affecting turn as Macduff in Godwin's Macbeth two years ago, makes a cagey, street-wise Iago. The backwards baseball cap and gangster attitude implied the Jersey Shore more than his clipped American accent, not particularly specific to any part of the country. Melanie Field reinforces the idea as his smart-talking wife, Emilia, costumed in somewhat trashy outfits (costumes by Susan Hilferty and Sarita P. Fellows). By the end of the play, she becomes the fierce defender of truth in a world of lies. Daniel Velez's Roderigo and an ensemble of misfit grunt soldiers break into hip-hop dances (choreography by Jonathan Goddard) and have a rowdy kegger in the drinking scene that disgraces Lucas Iverson's forthright, even goofy Cassio, who was a very funny drunk.

Melanie Field as Emilia in Othello, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane
Turner had the strongest handle on the rhythm of Shakespeare's language, shifting effortlessly from prose to poetry and back again, in what is the play's longest role. He made savvy use of a soldier's barking tone at times, especially to show deference, real or ironic, to a superior. Pierce tended to roll too quickly through his lines, choosing words to punch and eliding others, but his transformation from loving husband to jealous murderer moved in a believable arc. Cygan's Desdemona, beautiful and heart-breaking though she was, felt overshadowed by Field's more raucous Emilia and Giovanna Drummond's bubblegum-smacking Bianca. Although Shakespeare's songs are cut from the drinking scene, the modernized rendition of Desdemona's Willow Song, with a sort of background vocal by Emilia (music by Shiloh Coke), worked remarkably well.

Othello runs through June 28. shakespearetheatre.org

#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 022 - Engelbert Humperdinck: Miraculous and Ecclesiastic Adventures

Welcome to #ClassicalDiscoveries. Here is a little introduction to who we are and what we would like to achive at the first (or, in a nod to Bruckner, "double-zeroëth" episode). Your comments, criticism, and suggestions remain most welcome, of whatever nature they may be. Comments on YouTube directly are even more appreciated, as they will help the visibility and reach of the podcast - and because they make us feel like what we are doing is not completely in vain.

Now here’s Episode 022, on "Mr. Hansel & Gretel", Engelbert Humperdinck, but in works you might not ever have heard of. (Arnold George Dorsey-jokes included!)

When you hear 'Engelbert Humperdinck', you'll invariably either think of the King of Romance's hit ballad "Release Me" (in which case you've got the wrong Humperdinck, as far as we are concerned) or of the King of Romantic Children's Opera's greatest hit "Hansel & Gretel". Well, in their latest podcast, Jens and Joe will try to re-wire your brain so that you will associate the name with mystical blue birds and nuns on the run. Romance, however, remains the name of the (musical) game all the same.

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Critic’s Notebook: New Production of the Rosenkavalier in Graz

Also reviewed for Die Presse: „Rosenkavalier“ in Graz: Wo die Frauen hauen und stechen

Richard Strauss Der Rosenkavalier C.Kleiber, Bavarian State Opera Watson, Fassbaender Popp, Ridderbusch (Orfeo, 2008) US | UK | DE

Richard Strauss Der Rosenkavalier C.Thielemann, Munich Phil Fleming, Koch, Damrau, Hawlata (DVD, Decca, 2011) US | UK | DE

Marschallin across Generations: New Rosenkavalier in Graz

Philipp M. Krenn’s new Rosenkavalier in Graz is a production brimming with ideas, gently nudged toward the present. In the way it succeeds at explaining itself, it comes startlingly close to a directorial ideal.

Strauss and Hofmannsthal are always about human relationships. In the new Graz Rosenkavalier that’s literally true, so liberally do director Philipp M. Krenn and set designer Momme Hinrichs deploy the revolving stage. We move seamlessly from foyer to antechamber, to servants’ quarters, to billiard room, bedroom, and kitchen. This way, Krenn manages to stage the Marschallin and Octavian’s early-morning dalliance during the overture already, while revealing – in an Upstairs/Downstairs type scenario – how the staff sorts laundry, stocks shelves, listens at doors, whispers and gossips. There are fewer secrets in this household than you’d think. Small wonder that the Marschallin (Polina Pastirchak) and Octavian (Anna Brull) are so surprisingly indiscreet.

Hinrichs’ sets and Eva Maria Dessecker’s costumes span a parallel palette from early 20th century (the aristocratic society, dueling type student fraternities) through the 1970s (replete with Bubble Chair and large-floral wallpaper) to a subtle present-day — expressed, among other things, in the kitchen where the Marschallin makes her morning coffee and where Ochs and the ever-present Leopold (Arthur Haas) brazenly help themselves to anything in sight. Whether the “carnal offspring”, as Leopold is referred to in the libretto, is Ochs’ illegitimate son or on-and-off lover... with this sexually insatiable opportunist Ochs, anything is possible.

Apropos. Wilfried Zelinka’s Ochs was magnificent: He nails the greasy vulgarian who thinks far too highly – and all the more imperturbably – of himself with fearsome ease. Someone for whom women are mainly status symbol; sunglasses casually cocked in his hair that’s a good deal longer than advisable and thinner than desired, dress shirt stretched across the paunch, lordly manner, and shoes without socks. Whether petty nobility or Mittelstand nouveau-riche – if you’ve been to Austria long enough, you know the type. That his lowest notes weren’t quite there was irrelevant amid such a vivid display of character.

In Act II Zelinka also becomes a hybrid of Ochs and the Feldmarschall, who still rightly rankles the sensitives of Sophie, even as he’s a bit more dashing, kept keep in check by his manners where his morals wouldn’t, and displaying the debonair cool of a man not used to being flustered. This whole act is the coup de théâtre Krenn has been preparing since Act I, when a Super-8-movie flashback takes us to the Marschallin’s own wedding. At the very end of the act, she finds herself face to face with her younger self in the bridal gown: This is simultaneously the young Maria Theres’ and Sophie (Tetiana Miyus). It’s a passing-of-the-torch moment. And this is also how the second act, throughout which the Marschallin is silently present – begins. She is there to support Sophie and, by extension, herself – in her struggle for marital self-determination. Sophie’s marriage is actually the memory of her own. The Marschallin’s fate (none-too-bad, if sprinkled with regrets) was not hers to decide; Sophie’s, at least, should be. It is Sophie, too, who settles the matter of the Ochs-Octavian duel when she takes a carving knife to Ochs’ calf, to make sure worse does not befall young, out-fenced Octavian.

You can like this sort of thing or not (at the premiere it was unabated applause for the directorial team), but for Krenn to pull off this act of doubling – past and present; amending the past to cure the future – in a way that explains itself with such self-evidence, brings the production startlingly close to a directorial ideal.

The orchestra under Vassilis Christopoulos supported the proceedings well, often superb; the winds especially; the violins at times rather less so. It certainly wouldn’t have hurt throughout most of the performance, if the orchestra could have played a touch more quietly throughout. The acting meanwhile was superb: the deeply moving, full-voiced Marschallin, the nuanced Ochs, the adorable, feisty Sophie. Even the torn-and-striving Octavian hardly lagged behind, and the cast as a whole delivered very decent (and better) vocal performances without, admittedly, threatening to redefine the standards for excellence. Noteworthy, however, among smaller roles were Leitmetzerin Corina Koller and Neira Muhič’s Annina. The social-media-addicted Italian singer (Iurie Ciobanu), meanwhile, had a small message for young Mr. Chalamet ready: He took selfies with a “#WECARE, Timothée” sign.

At the close, the Feldmarschall wanders past Sophie and Octavian’s embrace and finds Faninal’s “Sind halt aso, die jungen Leut’!” put in his mouth. When he watches with rather too much interest, his wife gives him a tender-but-firm tap – “Come along now, darling” – and leads him away, back to their reality.

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Critic’s Notebook: Olivier Latry and Shin-Young Lee

Olivier Latry & Shin-Young Lee, Stravinsky, Heller, Alain Trois danses (BNL, 2013) US | UK | DE

Olivier Latry, Transcriptions Midnight at Notre-Dame (DG SACD, 2004) US | UK | DE

Olivier Latry and Shin-Young Lee Dance the Night Away

Organ Dances at the Konzerthaus's Rieger instrument

While early music is otherwise running riot at the Konzerthaus – it is, after all, “Resonanzen” time – one might intuitively expect an organ recital to be part of the baroque proceedings. For a good two minutes, that was indeed the case on Tuesday evening in the Great Hall, when Olivier Latry, titular organist of Notre-Dame, and Shin-Young Lee brought the Rieger organ to life with an arrangement of Rameau’s Les Sauvages. But the Rieger organ is anything but a baroque instrument, and so the remainder of the evening was devoted to (ballet) music that, while not written for the organ, was at least composed at roughly the same time as the instrument itself came into life.

The programme ranged from Béla Bartók via Maurice Ravel, Manuel de Falla and Alexander Borodin to the main course and undisputed high point: an arrangement of Igor Stravinsky’s Le sacre du printemps. Not such a far-fetched idea, given that The Rite of Spring also exists in a wildly percussive four-hand piano version by the composer himself. But everything before the Stravinsky amounted to little more than preliminaries – with the Rameau (surprisingly) perhaps the least satisfying of the lot: The organ sounded thick and dense in the Les Sauvages (recycled in Les Indes galantes and inspired by Reameau observering six Mitchigamea chiefs dance before King Louis XV. in the Théâtre-Italien in 1725) and in this arrangement – or rather in Latry’s and Lee’s registration – it clattered like a fairground carousel.

The Bartók miniatures, small musical playthings from the Romanian Dances, were never intended by the composer to court broad appeal and were unlikely to have acquired it in Latry’s arrangement either. Interesting, at least, was how the “Bagpipe Players” sonatina recalled 16-bit computer music. Cleanly and securely played, but at times somewhat laborious and monochrome in sound – whether for four hands or two – Lever du jour, Danza ritual and the Polovtsian Dances were hardly more invigorating.

But then! Almost from the very first note, Lee and her husband made it clear in the Stravinsky where all that effort in selecting organ stops had gone. The work gleamed, lively and colourful. The impudent little figures Stravinsky scatters throughout were wonderfully realised by four hands – as was, with two, three or even four feet, the underlying, driving rhythm. Altogether, this sounded far more natural, more organic, than, say, a Bruckner symphony on the organ and it kind-of salvaged the evening.

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Critic’s Vault: Shipwrecked in Ireland

eX presents:, Music from "Shipwrecked", De Cabez, De Morales, De Victor, Byrd et al (Heresy Records, 2012) US | UK | DE

The Dublin Drag Orchestra, Music from "Motion of the Heart" & "Viva Frida!" Dowland, Lawes, Coperario, Ward et al. (Heresy Records, 2012) US | UK | DE

A musical journey with Francisco de Cuéllar

In 2009, a fascinating, even prescient production marrying theater to early music was mounted at Dublin's Royal Hopsital

Queen Elizabeth and Philip II are goofing around behind chairs to the left and right of the U-shaped stage before both break out in a dash through the marvelous Great Hall of the Royal Hospital Kilmainham in Dublin. What are Elizabeth and Philip doing in Dublin, and why is the former wearing ankle-high silver sneakers and a blue dress, and the latter waving a feather and making silly faces?

Abbey and Robert are actually eight years old, and they play their royal parts in “Shipwrecked”, a production of the early music ensemble eX which took place in the (truly) Great Hall of what is now the Irish Museum of Modern Art. The two are impossibly cute child actors who patiently sit through the long rehearsals—almost until midnight the day before the premiere – and they have quickly become the mascots of the production.

Later during the final rehearsal, Queen Elizabeth, who barely reaches up to Caitríona O’Leary’s belt, pipes the tune of Greensleeves in duet with O’Leary, which sounds absolutely adorable – and moderately musical. Then the little Queen gets her wig affixed while rummaging through her Hello Kitty bag and Philip II chats with Kate, the make-up artist, and crinkles his nose as her brush applies white powder to his face.

Shipwrecked is an early music jamboree, a soundtrack of the (literally) incredible journey of a Spanish captain of the Armada who strands in hostile 16th-century-Ireland, and is then chased, maltreated, and occasionally helped by murderous Englishmen and local savages until he – barely – makes it back to safety in the Spanish Netherlands. If only half of his account, a twenty-page letter, is true, Francisco de Cuellar is a mixture between Voltaire’s Candide and George McDonald Fraser’s Harry Flashman. Music directors Caitríona O’Leary (an expert researcher on – and performer of – early Irish music) and Lee Santana (lutist extraordinaire and Los Otros-founder) cobbled together the musical tapestry from lute books, 16th century Spanish composers, traditional songs, and improvisations.

Members of Los Otros, Sequentia, and the Harp Consort, fortified with Irish music experts, provided the music, breaking out into an early music jam session for the finale that had the pint-sized Queen and the King waving their hands in rhythmic excitement. Director Eric Fraad, meanwhile, had the performers – all in full costume – work out the semi-staged element of the performance which included actor Keith Dunphy, as one of three incarnations of Captain Francisco reading out (and sometimes shouting) excerpts of the actual letter, thus providing the story line upon which the pieces of music are hung.

The battle of the percussionists Mel Mercier and Francesco Turrisi and Steve Player*’s Renaissance tap-dance (a combination of brute force and Fred Astaire) rang in the conclusion of an early music spectacle that emerged, seemingly out of buzzing chaos just a few hours earlier, into something akin to perfection, delighting the 150 attendees who had found their way up to the Royal Hospital on a mild Dublin Sunday night. While the music was passionately played and the singers delighted – especially O’Leary’s early music soprano and genre-defying vocalist/guitarist Clara Sanabras – the costumes

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Critic’s Notebook: Barokksolistene and their Alehouse Sessions at the Konzerthaus

Bjarte Eike, Barokksolistene The Alehouse Sessions (Rubicon, 2017) US | UK | DE

Bjarte Eike, Barokksolistene The Image of Melancholie (BIS SACD, 2014) US | UK | DE

Jolly Musicke Till You Drop

Hip vibes at the Norwegian baroque hoedown

For the most part, the crowds pouring into the Konzerthaus on Thursday evening surged up the grand staircase straight into the Great Hall: Mahler’s Ninth, Rattle conducting! The high temple of music was calling. Those who took a turn a little further down the foyer, meanwhile, found considerably lighter fare waiting behind the doors of the Mozart-Saal. Nothing lowbrwo, mind you—Bjarte Eike and his Norwegian Barokksolistene are a superb early music outfit. But their motto (“It’s just old pop music”) already hints at the fact that the promised Alehouse Sessions probably aren't too darn serious.

This baroque watering hole promised Henry Purcell, English shanties, dance, ballads, and traditional tunes. You’d need to have known your Purcell pretty well, though, to pick him out from the charming tangle of virtuosity, comedy, and kitsch. The dramatically—even theatrically—conceived program, about ten years old now, cheerfully plops Purcell’s "Virgin Queen" next to a sea shanty with a Bach riff rising suddenly from the hand harmonica. Bass, percussion, and guitar solos are handled the way they’d be in a jazz club.

The result is less "classical" than when Berlin’s Lautten Compagney tackles similar material, and not as relentlessly dramatized as comparable projects from Ireland’s Heresy Records. It’s just a bunch of cool old dads in mildly hipster=casual carb, noticeably graying hair, beers in hand, having fun with the music and goofing around a good deal. Who could possibly be curmudgeon enough to hold that against them—even if the slow-motion fight scene staged at the end finally tipped this early-baroque hoedown definitively into slapstick territory. Well, if clap-alongs and audience participation were not your thing, then you might have felt a sense of mild vicarious embarrassement. As it was, everyone got the right turn at the Konzerthaus; the crowd in the reasonably well-filled Mozart-Saal positivley lapped it up and responded with enthusiasm to everything that was on offer. So much so, Barokksolistene could almost have forgone the plants in the audience, that goated the audience into the right responses.

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A (Very!) Fine Messiah From Václav Luks and Collegium 1704

G.F.Handel Messiah Luks/Collegium 1704 Semenzato, Schachtner, Adam, Stražanac Accent, 2019> US | UK | DE

G.F.Handel Messiah McCreesh/Gabrieli Consort Röschmann, Gritton, Fink, Daniels, Davies Archiv, 1997 US | UK | DE

G.F.Handel Messiah Bernius/Stuttgart BO Sampson Taylor, Hulett, Harvey Carus, SACD, 2009 US | UK | DE

To say that there is no dearth of recordings of Handel’s Messiah is putting it mildly. Even granting that every generation needs its interpretations of the classics, there is a glut. On the downside, not all of them are very good. On the upside, choice is a beautiful thing and there is bound to be a recording out there for each taste. The recording at hand might be an interpretation for a listener who has heard Handel’s masterpiece one too many times and needs a deliberately fresh take. While Václav Luks and his Collegium (Vocale) 1704 are not yet international household names (though well on their way there), they certainly are a first-class ensemble, up there with the best and most famous… and they have a knack for finding and working with good and excellent singers. So, the fact that the recording features a quartet of unknown soloists does not make this release less promising.

And indeed the singers are very fine; not all of them impressive but all devoid of mannerisms or any ostentatious modi. Bass Krešimir Stražanac hasn’t the most sophisticated bass voice – it’s a little nasal, just a little barrely – but he certainly doesn’t spoil the party. Giulia Semenzato’s soprano is clear, clean and accurate… more like an operatic Mozart soprano than a baroque specialist, although these two fachs very much overlap in reality. Alto/Countertenor Benno Schachtner is a delight; in the duet with Semenzato (“He shall feed his flock like a shepherd”) his voice rings out with artless, unfussy beauty and his “He was despised” is touchingly natural, becoming a highlight of this recording. Tenor Krystian Adam remains a wee indistinct throughout because he blends nicely into the proceedings and never sounds strained or trying too hard. He might be unfairly overlooked: “Thy rebuke hath broken His heart”, for example, is exemplary for unaffected-yet-dramatic singing and very impressive in its subtle ways. The chorus is well drilled, usually easy to understand, and with five singers to a part offers thrilling energy and depth – for example in “Surely, He hath borne our griefs…” (Sound clip)

In Luks’ hands, the famous bits stand-out for being taken in various, slightly unusual ways: “For unto us a child is born” is not just fast which, for its own sake, could be tedious, but communicates splendid excitement and a tangible sense of joy. They sail right through the Halleluja, too. If you come straight from Malcolm Sargent, it must seem flippant but it has ripping, infectious energy to it. The opening of Part II, “Behold the Lamb of God” and the subsequent “He was despised”, makes René Jacobs and his Freiburgers seem positively glacial. (Sound clips) It’s one of Jacobs’ more extreme moments, granted, taking four and half minutes where well under three is HIP-standard. And while Jacobs can certainly please our every inner speed demon – he switches gears sometimes mid-number to press on like there is no tomorrow – there’s a generally heavier touch to the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra while the Collegium 1704 seems to be blown along on a light cloud. Breezy. Too breezy, for some. But after an initial double-take here or there, on repeat listening no part felt like it was being brushed over; what remains is just the impression of a good quick and steady pulse.

With Jacobs being a much more dramatic, downright operatic account with a far stronger interpretative stance, it might not actually make for the best comparison. Frieder Bernius’ fine, slightly matter-of-fact (sound clips) Messiah on Carus is a more similar take: strait-laced, similar tempi, good singing, no-nonsense. Both present a good modern HIP standard; neither outright demand to replace your reference versions, whatever those may be. (A little trivium: In the ten years between those two recordings, the aforementioned Schachtner had made it from choir member for Bernius to soloist with Luks.) The sound on the Accent recording is brighter and more transparent than that of the Bernius SACDs, and the more prominent harpsichord (Joan Boronat Sanz) adds welcome texture. (Bernius uses a positif organ.) You won’t notice that this is a live recording until the enthusiastic roar and applause erupts at the end – but it explains why the chorus is set a little further at the back in this recording than, say, Jacobs’ studio effort.

9/9

(Originally on ClassicsToday)