Dip Your Ears: No. 283 (Martin Fröst’s maudlin’ mushy B.A.C.H.)

Martin Fröst B.A.C.H. (Sony, 2024) US | UK | DE

Martin Fröst and his album of Bach Transcriptions. You have been warned!

Martin Fröst is truly a generational musician who has pushed his instrument places it had not hitherto gone, a paragon of quality in established repertoire and bold, glad explorer of all things new. Occasionally, as with his penchant for dance intruding into his performances, I found that he could be “a bit much” for me, watching his gyrations. But it never affected the quality of the output.

Because he is the kind of artist where you would assume that every release of his must be stupendous (a fairly rare category also occupied by the likes of William Youn, Manfred Honeck, Marc-André Hamelin, Mitsuko Uchida, Pygmalion), this album, “B.A.C.H.” comes as a bit of a surprise and might be worth the warning, for a warning it is.

Regular ionarts-readers will know I have more than just a penchant for Bach… and moreover Bach-transcriptions of all kinds. Add a favorite artist into the mix and the assumption may well be made that we have an absolute winner at our hands here… and somehow, we just don’t. But what went wrong?

Well, for one, the selection of bits and bobs from Bach’s oeuvre, appears as perfectly haphazard. A collection of the most memorable tunes, strung together without little more rhyme or reasons than that they might be tempting to play on the clarinet, if one happens to be a Bach-loving clarinetist. They are, as per Sony’s marketing blurb, “Fröst’s favourite pieces that have been with him constantly throughout his own musical expeditions.” But the result is not, as might be ideally hoped for, some sort of exotic-sounding new Suite of Bach, it’s the output from a randomizer – and one that did not appear to take key-relationships much (if at all) into consideration. The brevity of the pieces (just under two minutes on average) and the resultant number of grating gearchanges don’t help.

Nor is the adaptation for the clarinet particularly fortuitous. Even a wizard like Martin Fröst can only play one line – usually a melody. But in Bach, it’s about counterpoint. The missing parts are thus entrusted to other instruments, most prominently among them the bass. Not inappropriate, generally speaking. But double bassist Sebastien Dubé can play as delicately as he wants to, the nature of the music pushes him to the forefront quite often. For a third of the disc, the album sounds like a solo double bassist with clarinet accompaniment. For another third like a lame imitation of the Jacques Loussier Trio (try the Prelude in D minor for size), and for the rest like a book of Bach-style Etudes for clarinet.

We get Fröst crawling through the Goldberg Variations Aria. Naturally, we get the Air from the third Orchestral Suite, though lugubrious, is probably one of the more successful pieces – if it doesn’t come across as painfully obvious. Truly beautiful on its own is the arrangement for clarinet and of “Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden” from the Matthew Passion for Clarinet and Cello (Anastasia Kobekina). When it isn’t bass or cello supporting the clarinet, it’s Jonas Nordberg’s theorbo. The “Ave Maria”, a “Mediation on the Prelude” for dominant cello and undulating clarinet sounds, alas, shlocky as if it was re-arranged by a lesser Saint-Saëns. Oh, and ABBA’s Benny Anderson tinkles along on the piano to the closing track.

Clunkers and gems as are included on this disc, the whole comes out as much less than the sum of its parts. A friend, moderately versed in classical music, who listened with me, not knowing what was playing, or why, said, once I had voiced some criticism of the disc myself: “Yes, I was wondering why you were listening to such a… childish album.” Thereby hitting the nail on the head.

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This review had been previously published on Classics Today.

#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 019 - Alexander Zemlinsky, the Opera Composer

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 019, which tackles the operatic side of Alexander Zemlinsky and his development throughout. Or as the blurb states: "Once upon a time, there was a tiny little man in Vienna, who composed the grandest operas..." Chronologically correct, we start with the alluded-to Once upon a Time, and work our way to the Ouverture to a Grand Opera.

A little note on the discography of the Florentine Tragedy, Zemlinsky's one-act opera that's the only one that has had a lot of love lavished upon it, by the record industry: Beyond the two accounts below, you can also choose from: Gerd Albrecht/RSO Berlin/1983/Schwann, James Conlon/Gürzenich/1997/EMI, Vladimir Jurowski/LPO/2012/LPO Live, Armin Jordan/ORTF/2003/Naïve, Marc Albrecht*/Nethelands PO/2021/Pentatone, and Patrick Hahn/Munich RSO/2024/BR Klassik (w/Christopher Maltman!)

Once upon a time, there was a tiny little man in Vienna, who composed the grandest operas. What started out with fairy-tale works of musical theater did, alas, take a tragic end for Alexander Zemlinsky in the New World. In their latest podcast, Joe and Jens track this wildly underrated composer’s operatic career from Vienna via Prague and Berlin to a premature death in New York.

Critic’s Notebook: Beethoven Tradition with the Vienna Symphony and the Singakademie

Also published in Die Presse: Flüssig und nie überhitzt: Beethovens Neunte im Konzerthaus

L.v.Beethoven Symphony No.9 Fricsay, BPh (1957) (DG, 2001) US | UK | DE

L.v.Beethoven Symphony No.9 Abbado, BPh (1996 live) (Sony, 1996) US | UK | DE

L.v.Beethoven Symphony No.9 Böhm, VPh (1970) (DG) US | UK | DE

Annual LvB9 from Vienna; Slobodeniouk-Edition

To round off the year, the beloved tradition of Beethoven’s Ninth returned to the Konzerthaus – with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra and the Singakademie

After a year like this one, it is hard not to view the lofty wishes articulated by the Schiller–Beethoven team in the latter’s Ninth Symphony with a measure of skepticism. How much reason is there, really, for fire-drunken exultation? What can the gentle wing of joy – music, whether Beethoven’s symphony or, say, Straussian waltzes – actually accomplish? Not all that much, to be honest. But what makes the text that Beethoven choose and adapted so appealing is that, almost immediately after stating its ambitious ideals, it concedes that not all men must become brothers right away – however desirable if somewhat naïve that aspiration may be. It’s perfectly fine to start small with a New Year’s resolution or glimmer of hope: Being a friend to a friend, for example, would already be reason enough for jubilation. Heck, even grumbling a little less, being a little kinder in moments when it is most difficult, would be a step toward that famous “embrace, ye millions.” Friedrich and Ludwig both knew: all good greatness begins small.

That insight applies, in a way, to music-making as well. No grand sweep, no overwhelming interpretation can succeed if the basic ingredients – the details – are not right. With the Vienna Symphony Orchestra, guided through the Ninth this year by Dima Slobodeniouk, they were. Engaged, fluent, without exaggeration and never overheated, the performance moved through the familiar work from the opening bars onward. The strings were in fine form, repeatedly finding their way back to a genuine pianissimo between the regular outbursts; the winds were lively; and the horns, for the most part, issued a faultless, even burnished sound. The slow movement unfolded in a gentle, calm atmosphere without grinding down to a halt. And in the Allegro assai of the finale, the bassoon's contribution was delightfully brought to the fore – or at least not pushed aside – bySlobodeniouk.

The details also aligned where the soloists were concerned: a well-balanced, evenly matched quartet singing from the organ loft. The young bass Alexander Grassauer opened proceedings with a large, aptly heraldic voice. Tenor Julian Prégardien sang brightly and naturally into the vast space of the Great Hall – especially welcome for the absence of violent attempts to be heard at all costs, everywhere. Much the same can be said of the women, Christiane Karg (pointed) and Beth Taylor (velvety), whose relative inconspicuousness in this work was probably more a virtue than a fault. The final vocal quartet, which had gone completel off the rails the year before, came off well this time. The Singakademie sohwed up in full force and contributed its share – particularly the energetic tenors – to the starry musical canopy this symphony is. Or can be.

With all these fine ingredients, one must be careful not to grow numb to the sheer stature of the work: to remember that a solid, unflashy interpretation – one that does not clamor for attention – can still ignite the Beethoven spark within us, rather than producing refined boredom. Slobodeniouk managed this very respectably, and fittingly, at the close of the year.


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