#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 00 - Who Needs Another Podcast?

Welcome to #ClassicalDiscoveries. You have stumbled upon our podcast!

Who is the “us” in “our”? That’s Johannes “Joe” Kernmayer, proprietor and manager of the classical music label Capriccio Records and my little self, the “Jens” in the blathering equation. With #ClassicalDiscoveries, we try to offer a podcast about classical music that, well, is interesting, honest, and perhaps on the odd occasion amusing. With two opinions (and the occasional planned guests), we want to look at forgotten composers (“Surprised-by-Beauty”-style, in a way) both within – but certainly also outside – the repertoire of Capriccio. (If not right away, well get there, before long.) We won’t be shills, we’re not trying to do marketing in podcast’s clothing, we will never tell you to “like and subscribe” to the podcast (although that does, apparently, help a great deal in the visibility) and we’ll take your criticism to heart, so lay it on! Suggestions are welcome, too.

We’re working on the podcast also to be available in audio-only versions on the relevant podcast platforms. Now here’s Episode “00”, where we’re trying to introduce ourselves and figure out how we should go about the whole thing:

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Critic’s Notebook: Budapest Festival Orchestra's Brahms Festival in Vienna

Also reviewed for Die Presse: Iván Fischers Budapester Brahms begeistert im Konzerthaus

J.Brahms, The Symphonies Fischer Iván / BFO Channel Classics

J.Brahms, The Symphonies G¨nter Wand / NDRSO RCA

J.Brahms, The Hungarian Dances Fischer Iván / BFO Philips

The Delight of Sheer Craftsmanship

The Budapest Festival Orchestra has a little Brahms Festival going on at the Konzerthaus in Vienna, where they play(ed) all four Symphonies, the major concertos, and a little stuffing and garnish around it all. On this, the third of four concerts last Thursday, they presented the Third Symphony and the Violin Concerto, embedded in two Hungarian Dances. It was a triumph of craftsmanship over showmanship.

In their unassuming way, the two Hungarian Dances, Nos. 17 (orchestrated by Dvořák) and 3 (by Brahms himself), almost stole the show. Relaxed and matter-of-factly on the outside, but lovingly painted in with all the Echt-faux Hungarian/Gypsy vibe, that Brahms so lovingly imbued it with. The orchestra produced that color in spades, with real fiddling, twirping, cooing, lively and colorful, and with lots of transparency amid the large orchestral apparatus. The third Dance wasn’t so much played, it was downright danced – all with a coy, knowing little smile around the orchestra’s collective lips.

Then there was Nikolaj Szeps-Znaider (he’s not going the full Stephen Bishop-Kovacevic on us, he’s merely restored his full last name to his artist’s biography, having felt bad dropping the first part out of career-considerations many years ago). Happily, he was playing the violin, not conducting. He played along with the tuttis before his entry – and when it came, it was as if notes simply poured forth from his instrument, in a nice, leathery tone. Fischer and Znaider both went for a nicely unsentimental, none-too-sweet tone yet for plenty romantic freedom: Flexible phrasing, liberal portamenti, all building on the dark sound of the orchestra. More buoyant than energetic, more flexible than suspenseful. Even the oboe, gifted the finest melody of the work, didn’t indulge and went for clear lyricism instead of schmaltz. After the imposing first movement, a part of the Viennese audience applauded. Shocking, I know. More shocking still: This was the third time this week this happened (all after movements that clearly demand applause, that is), and already the second time that the Vigilant Applause Police^™ did not hiss them down. Might things be changing for the better?

In the rhythmically tricky Third Symphony of Brahms, the Orchestra under Fischer Iván showed full command over the score. Without much of a fuss, they started in the Allegro con brio. The shifted pulse, that the second violins answer the first violins with, came to the fore beautifully – helped by the antiphonal seating, with the violins facing each other on either side of the orchestra. The double basses were happily plucking away amid the swinging rhythm or, when called upon, drove their colleagues on with furious strokes. Everything worked like clockwork, everything was solidly put together. There was no show, no smoke and mirrors. No radical tempi, no aggressively accentuated subsidiary melodic lines… but when a brass chorale entered, it did so on point, nicely blended in, and in nearly Wagnerian splendor. The fourth movement, before it comes to its relatively quiet close, built up such force, that the experience became a visceral, physical one – almost oppressively so. Finally a choral encore, as Fischer likes to do: A Brahms serenade (Abendständchen op.42/1) from the entire orchestra-as-amateur-choir. A lovely gesture about making music together – and touching, to boot.


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Kritikers Notizbuch: Das Wiener Kammerorchester unter Jan Willem de Vriend Erfreuen

J.C.Bach, The Symphonies A.Hoalstead, The Hanover Band CPO

W.A.Mozart, Piano Cto. No.15 K.450 V.Ashkenazy, Philharmonia Decca

F.Schubert, Symphony No.5 D.Barenboim, StaKap Berlin Teldec/Warner

Klassische Morgengabe

Das Wiener Kammerorchester überzeugt unter Jan Willem de Vriend auch zu früher Stunde im Mozart Saal

Halb-Elf Uhr morgens ist der natürliche Feind des Orchestermusikers; mehr noch, als der des Musikkritikers. Aber das Wiener Kammerorchester spielte im Konzerthaus das Zwillingskonzert zu dem so großartigen Konzert vom 23. September (siehe Rezension in der Presse): Die gleichen Komponisten, die gleichen Gattungen, andere Werke. Johann Christian Bach: Sinfonie g-Moll, op .6/6. Mozart: B-Dur Klavierkonzert K 450. Schubert: Sinfonie No. 5. Konnte dieses hohe Niveau unter dem neuen Chef Jan Willem de Vriend auch ante meridiem wiederholt werden? Kurz: Ja! Spannung von der allerersten Note und im Mozart Saal noch direkter erfahrbar als im Großen. Da knarzt das Blech gleich nochmal so sehr, das Fagott brummt herrlich und zwei engagierte Kontrabässe füllen den Raum locker mit peppigen, antreibenden Noten. Kaum Spannungsabfall im Andante mit aufheulenden Geigen und packend „furioso“ im Allegro molto finale.

Ohne Sperenzchen spielte Jasminka Stancul, mit sympathisch-nervöser Energie, das Mozart Konzert (mit bemerkenswerten Beiträgen von der Flöte und den Oboen) und wurde von freundlich-familiären Publikum wärmstens beklatscht. Ob es die zum Ritual sklerotisierte Zugabe gebraucht hätte, sei dahingestellt.

Dann Schuberts Fünfte. Über Vernachlässigung kann sich die Sinfonie nicht beschweren; alleine im Konzerthaus ist sie seit 1913 öfters aufgeführt worden, als ihr vermeintliches Vorbild, Mozarts „große“ g-Moll Sinfonie die erst am Vorabend vom Bremer Kammerorchester gegeben wurde. Auch diese zeitliche Nähe macht die Beziehung allerdings – außer im letzten Satz – kaum deutlicher, denn wer die Fünfte als „Schubert“ kennen und lieben gelernt hat und nicht als epigonalen Mozart-Light, der hört ein originelles, durchweg entzückendes, zu Recht populäres Werk: Die mit Abstand lebendigste seiner frühen Sinfonien. Aber auch eine schwierige, denn sie soll einerseits sonnig-lyrisch klingen, andererseits heiter-lebendig. Etwas kantig im Holz und mit kurzen Phrasen und wenig warmem Streicherklang ging es hier zuweilen hektisch voran, mit wenig Sonne, aber lieber lebendig und bewölkt als geschmeidig und langweilig. Wenn das Kritik sein soll, zeigt dass nur, wie hoch die Erwartungen nach eineinhalb superben Konzerten unter de Vriend schon sind, nach eineinhalb Jahrzehnten Enttäuschung. Nein, in dieser Verfassung kann man zum Kammerorchester schon nach der Frühmesse gehen und musikalisch Hocherfreuliches erwarten.


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"His face was boyish, despite his wrinkles": STC's cheeky "Babbitt"

Mara Devi and Matthew Broderick (center) in Babbitt, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane Photography

This month's production from Shakespeare Theatre Company is a stage adaption of Babbitt, Sinclair Lewis's critique of middle-aged Midwestern conservativism from 1922. Joe DiPietro converted the novel for an ensemble cast starring Matthew Broderick at La Jolla Playhouse in San Diego, imported to Washington with a few new cast members, seen Friday night at Sidney Harman Hall downtown.

Broderick dives into the plain, empty-headed everyman role of George F. Babbitt, real estate broker, with understated relish. His characterization, two parts "Aw, shucks" to one part "apple pie," reads as if his iconic character Ferris Bueller had grown up into a small-town Republican. "He seemed prosperous, extremely married and unromantic," as Lewis put it in the novel. Broderick's biggest laughs came from his hilarious, very slow attempts to sit on the floor in a younger woman's apartment, as well as dancing with her. The political ideas, representing both liberal and conservative sides as Babbitt rebels from his staid existence, echo today's divides with surprisingly few textual changes (the novel's forays into racist language are happily omitted).

The adaptation is essentially a one-man show, with seven "story-tellers," as they are called, both narrating the story, with text lifted more or less directly from the book, and also becoming characters in dialogue with Broderick. Ann Herada reprises the role of Myra Babbitt, the long-suffering wife, with pathetic patience, while Mara Davi plays the younger woman, Tanis, who enchants Babbitt. Lewis's slightly twee commentary does not exactly convert easily to the stage, undermining the play's dramatic potential. The main appeal of the production remains the chance to see Broderick in his STC debut.

Christopher Ashley's production, made for La Jolla Playhouse, revolves around a somewhat pedestrian concept: it is set in a sterilely lit library, complete with shelf stacks, book carts, desks and chairs (scenic design by Walt Spangler). The action remains in Lewis's 1920s, although some character changes do not quite fit that setting. The justification for the library setting comes from a tiny alteration to the story: Babbitt's wife goes to stay with her sister when they have fallen out and is comforted by reading books in the local library. To make up with her, after her life-threatening illness that forces Babbitt to see reason, he atones by handing her a new library card.

Babbitt runs through November 3 at Sidney Harman Hall. shakespearetheatre.org

Critic’s Notebook: A Flying Dutchman from the Budapest Opera

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer F.Fricsay, RIAS SOB DG/Eloquence

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer F.Konwitschny, StaKap Berlin Berlin Classics

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer D.Barenboim, StaKap Berlin Teldec/Warner

A Pleasing-Enough Dutchman

The point was to come to Budapest and witness the Hungarian Premiere of Nixon in China, but en passant it only seemed fitting to stop by the opera house proper (Nixon took place in a different venue) for a Flying Dutchman. It was celebrating its 140th birthday and, owing to it having been shut down for several years for comprehensive renovation work until its re-opening in 2022, I had never actually been. High time to change that, after all, it’s one of the finest examples of the neo-Renaissance style, a jewel among opera houses, perfectly sized (unless you want to make money with it), and now glowing again in its new-old splendour that had (allegedly) elicited the congratulatory grumble from Emperor Franz Joseph I at its opening that he “prescribed it to be smaller than the opera house in Vienna” but should also have “decreed that it not be more beautiful”. And indeed, it’s a truly grand opera house, all gilded, marbled, satined, and candelabraed. And yet just small enough to be intimate. (Far away enough to be ignored by the Western press, you’d think it’s the ideal stage for trying out new rôles for ambitious singers.)

So the Flying Dutchman it was. Earlier that day, a matinee of Carmen had already been produced… and apparently exhausted the Budapestian’s hunger for opera that day: The attendance was somewhere between “low” and “pitiful”, but certainly below 50% capacity of the roughly 1000 comfortable seats (fitted with subtitle screens) that the new post-renovation arrangement provides. What the hardy Wagnerians got was a fine Dutchman with some good singing in a production by János Szikora that means to offend no one or maybe just doesn’t mean much at all. The costumes (Kriszta Berzsenyi) are toned down, except for the slightly more elaborate getups of Senta and the Dutchman (a red dress and coat, respectively, with matching concentric yellow and orange circles painted on them) and a brief appearance of the Dutch sailor’s chorus as clunky papier-mâché zombies. Incidentally, that was the production’s only veritable failure. When the Norwegians call on, invite, and tease the Dutchman’s crew, their delayed, eventual response is supposed to be positively overwhelming. Various directors have come up with variously successful means of creating that effect. Amplification of the voices, as done here, is often among them. But then it should really be overwhelming. Here, it was an electronically distorted whimper that never got particularly loud and certainly never intimidating. A damp squib. The cowering visible chorus on stage was shivering for no reason.

Everywhere else, the production did not stand in the way of the music or the singing, which some more conservative audiences (for whatever that’s worth) might consider a good quality. The set by Éva Szendrényi is highly economical; two, three props (large ropes, a large frame, a loom) and otherwise it’s an empty stage, framed by frames with fabric stretched across them, doubling as a projection screen and revolving doors for getting all the seamen on and off the stage.

The singing had a few positive surprises in store. András Palerdi’s was a very pleasantly understated Daland, subtle, with good pronunciation. A bit on the soft side but never trying to overcompensate. Like his Steersman, István Horváth, who seems a fine all-purpose character tenor, à la Kevin Conners, he could be easily found on any international stage in that rôle. Anna Kissjudit’s Mary with a huge, natural, controlled voice that easily rang throughout the round was quite

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