Dip Your Ears: No. 267 (Zimerman’s LvB Piano Concertos, 31 Years Later)

L.v.Beethoven, PCs 1-5 K.Zimerman S.Rattle / LSO Deutsche Grammophon

Krystian Zimerman returns to the Beethoven Piano Concertos

After 31 years, Krystian Zimerman has recorded the Beethoven Piano Concertos again. „When I was a small boy“, he says in the liner notes, „I remember my feeling that this was an old composer, an old man. Today I am seven years older than he ever was and I [see] him as a younger colleague. Now I can have fun playing this concerto more lightly, with more joy.“ Zimerman’s words promise a new approach, a fresh interpretation – away from the stern, towering Beethoven, towards a freer, more audacious, and perhaps faster performance. On paper, that is true, nominally, for the first concerto’s first movement, where Zimerman, along with his collaborators Simon Rattle and the London Symphony Orchestra, shave a substantial five minutes off his self-conducted take with the Vienna Philharmonic. But it’s not actually five minutes „faster“: The tempos are only minimally tightened; the timing discrepancy can be explained by Zimerman using the very short early cadenza of Beethoven’s (which is also what Boris Berezovsky plays in his reference cycle on Simax): An apt choice instead of the later, all-too-heavy bravura-cadenza. But other than that, Zimerman’s cycle is surprisingly free from surprises. Influences from the historically informed crowd are, by today’s standards anyway, so nuanced as to be scarcely noticeable. Less, than you would think, anyway, after Zimerman makes it such a point in the liner notes that the action of the piano has been adjusted or switched out entirely to fit each concerto’s demands. Perhaps it can be heard in the bell-like ring and subtly glassy-transparent sound of the first two concertos?

The Andante con moto of the Fourth Concerto, meanwhile, is as baritonal and sonorous as it was three decades ago: creamy gorgeousness reigns. What it isn’t, however, is „con moto“ in any possible sense of the word. No furies of Hades are battling with Orpheus here. The slow(ish) movement, allegedly inspired by the legend of the Maenads, becomes absolute music. If you want absolute contrast: Listen – at your own peril – to what the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra does, accompanied by Kristian Bezuidenhout’s tender fortepiano sounds: It sounds like they are plucking a Late Cretaceous chicken from hell. (It’s really quite fitting, actually.) Simon Rattle, in his third Beethoven Piano Concerto cycle – after one with Brendel in Vienna and a recent one with Mitsuko Uchida in Berlin (my ClassicsToday review here) – accompanies crisply and with routine. The woodwinds sound alive and are nicely balanced against the sometimes garish violins. A good cycle, full of strangely empty promises and perfectly fine playing.

7/8
References: Bronfman/Zinman (Arte Nova); Berezovsky/Dausgaard (Simax); Pollini/Abbado (DG); Uchida/Sanderling (Decca); Fleisher/Szell (Sony); Serkin/Kubelik (Orfeo); Levin/Gardiner (Archiv)

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Dip Your Ears, No. 257 (Rattle's Bavarian Lied von der Erde)

Gustav Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde Simon Rattle/Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra/ Magdalena Kožená (mezzo), Stuart Skelton (tenor) (BR Klassik)

There’s a reason to eye musical nepotism critically. Mediocrity rears its head when relatives – usually spouses – ride on the coattails of their more talented counterparts. Just think Garanča/Chichon, Netrebko/Eyvazov, or Zukerman/Forsyth. Even at the more exalted and mutual levels of talent, a critical stance is merited: Much is great, but hardly all. Even the best of them – Britten /Pears, Fischer-Dieskau/Varady, Vishnevskaya/Rostropovich – had their off-moments. And with conductors generally aging better than singers, the same caution is warranted when Simon Rattle and Magdalena Kožená are sold to us as a package.

Happily, this BR Klassik release of the couple’s Das Lied von der Erde stands up to scrutiny – and then some! The river-like clarity of the BR Symphony Orchestra is not of a cold, but elegant, perfection. Every instrument can be heard and every one of them is a joy to listen to. Any number of examples might underscore this, but just try the woodwinds in the opening of “Von der Jugend” for size. Rattle leads with zaftig grace and leaves no ostentatious fingerprints on the score. Kožená is not the first mezzo to sing these songs beautifully, but she really throws herself into it, in all her autumnal glory, dramatic, generous and clear, with warmth and intensity, never swooping and with splendid handling of the text. No hints of an aging voice here, as I’ve encountered on some live occasions.

But of course every Lied von der Erde stands or falls with the contribution of the ‘high’ voice’s part, the tenor. It’s the downfall of many otherwise splendid accounts when those admittedly difficult and much less grateful parts are croaked or wailed or underpowered. Meet Australian heldentenor Stuart Skelton, who actually approximates Kožená in the sonorous warmth of his portrayal, even if he does not match her handling of the text. Without following the libretto it’s occasionally a bit of a guessing game what he is singing about, but in fairness, most native speakers aren’t much better. It’s a minor caveat, given the quality of the whole package here, which amounts to nothing less than one of the finest and best-sounding modern recordings of Mahler’s de-fact Ninth Symphony.

Or is it? Over at ClassicsToday, you’ll find a very, very different, almost diametrically opposed #CDFromHell review of this release, which doesn’t agree with any of the above. Obviously, it sent me scurrying back to this recording, wondering if I had been deceived by headphone-listening or drunkenness. Not from what I can tell. The singers are prominently recorded, yes, which was more notable via speakers, but nothing worrisome. That said, we certainly agree on the reference versions… which you can read more about in the Lied-chapter of the ionarts-Mahler Survey.

9/9

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Forbes Classical CD Of The Week: An Imaginary Orchestral Journey With Haydn And The LSO

...What about the “pick-and-choose assemblage of bleeding chunks disrespectful to Haydn” angle? Oh, please. Every lamely performed Haydn symphony to open a concert – as a warmup, not quite taken seriously[1] – is a greater offense to the master than this amiable, well-intentioned in-concert sampler…

-> Classical CD Of The Week: An Imaginary Orchestral Journey With Haydn And The LSO

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Latest on Forbes: Making Music Visible: Peter Sellars' St John Passion From Berlin

The Bach Passion ceases to be a spectator sport, it becomes a passively participatory event…

…The St John Passion performed by the Berlin Philharmonic under Sir Simon Rattle (with a stellar cast) wouldn’t be an unusual thing, even in times where fewer and fewer big romantic orchestras perform early music that has become the provenance of Historically Informed Performance groups. But as the Berlin Radio Chorus assembles – then lies down – on the blank space of Berlin’s Philharmonic Hall (space the much reduced and original-instrument-studded baroque core of the Berlin Phil. does not need), one begins to suspect that something is different. Or, more likely, the watcher of this DVD/Blu-ray set already knows that they are watching Peter Sellars’ staging of the St John Passion…

->Making Music Visible: Peter Sellars' St John Passion From Berlin

Kožená Shines, Rattle Struggles, Vienna Phil Sleeps, Mahler Suffers

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The final scene from Janáček’s Cunning little Vixen is a lovely curtain raiser before a performance of Das Lied von der Erde. Especially when a cunning little vixen is so readily at hand as it must be for Sir Simon Rattle who programmed this for his Vienna Philharmonic appearance at the Wiener Konzerthaus. Then again, Magdalena Kožená wasn’t technically being particularly foxy in the Cunning little Vixen excerpt, but instead took on the rôles of (surviving) Innkeeper and (new generation) Froggy. Simon Keenlyside sang

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Notes from the 2012 Salzburg Festival ( 14 )Lutosławski, Simon Rattle, Berlin Phil

Berlin Philharmonic • Sir Simon Rattle

Accompanied by Lutosławski’s Third Symphony, Brahms’ Piano Concerto in B-flat looked like the pacification of the kind of Berlin Philharmonic-attending Festival audience member who has booked the tickets based on the orchestra’s reputation alone, and booked a table at the Goldener Hirsch for right after intermission. Surprisingly few of them seemed to have made such modern-music-avoiding reservations, though judging by comments overheard, the in-performance coughing, premature exits, and the very tame applause after the Lutosławski, a few more may have wished they had.

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Notes from the 2012 Salzburg Festival ( 8 )Simon Rattle conducts Carmen

Georges Bizet • Carmen

Miscast, well conducted: Salzburg’s Carmen was smoothly and accent-free performed by Simon Rattle and the Vienna Philharmonic. Anyone expecting musical exoticism might have disappointed, but then how exactly do you authentically fake faux-Spanish flavor with an Austrian Orchestra led by an English conductor, supporting an international cast in a French opera? The singers meanwhile weren’t able to distinguish themselves quite as much.

This Carmen (in the Oeser edition) is something of a road show, first aired (and recorded) in Berlin, with the same cast but the Berlin Philharmonic. Then it traveled to the Salzburg Easter Festival, where it had Aletta Collins’s production fitted. [Edit: The other way 'round: First at Salzburg's Easter Festival, then on the road in Berlin.] And on August 14th it was billed as a premiere (again) at the Summer Festival. To imagine Collins’s work, think Baz Luhrmann, minus any excitement: An ever so slightly modern take on the most traditional-imaginable concept; a laborious direction that relies almost entirely on its perfectly gorgeous sets (Miriam Buether); the dreamt-up early 20^th century idea of a tobacco factory in act one; the sumptuous, velvety red-and-black lounge and bar with mini-stage in act two; the conveniently hygienic sewer under the border wall in act three; and finally the embarrassingly campy, colorful Spanish pre-arena cityscape / costume-processional of act four.

Magdalena Kožená as a tall, read-headed Carmen, is cast against the grain, intentionally, not unlike Anne Sofie von Otter was, ten, twelve years ago. Instead of being a counterintuitive revelation, she ended up a decent Carmen, but a vulgar one that never quite clicked. The part was successfully enough sung and with redeeming fourth-act moments of character-maturation, largely stipulated by a dowdy red, tulip shaped skirt (costumes Gabrielle Dalton) that prevented her, at long last, from squatting like a two-dime hooker, which had been her modus operandi in the first two acts. Apart from her barefooted ‘look-at-me-I’m-a-hooker’ gyrations, Kožená wasn’t an eventful Carmen. As a thin-lipped redhead of attractive maturity, she could have developed a particular sensuality, indirect and quite different than would a sultry black-maned wildcat. But neither she nor the direction played to those strengths. Her smoky, heaving Habanera was tarter than it was seductive.

Jonas Kaufmann wasn’t at his most impressive, or even anywhere near it; on this occasion his tenor, slightly fuzzy and lachrymose, noodled along harmlessly, only occasionally rousing, ma non troppo. He did look ever so lovely, though, which suited the production in its shallow ways.

G.Bizet, Carmen, S.Rattle / Berlin Philharmonic Kožená, Kaufmann, Kühmeier et al. EMI

Kostas Smoriginas, who had already struggled through the part of Escamillo during the Easter performances, was truly out of his depth: He cracked and whimpered, capitulated before the low notes, and was substituted at half time since a sudden allergy attack (so we were told), left him in no condition to sing any further (this we didn’t need to be told). He still got to play-act his part on stage, limply mouthing his words vis-à-vis Kaufmann and Kožená, while Massimo Cavalletti (Marcello in Salzburg’s Bohème) belted the music very impressively from the sidelines.

Genia Kühmeier, who has a lovely voice—in fact the most impressive of the night: clear and responsive through the entire range she needs—and she uses it well. But unless a part is dramatically spelled out for her, she’s as interesting as watching paint dry. Christina Landhamer and Rachel Frenkel as Frasquita and Mercédès, in lush comparison, provided a dash of diversion as kinky blonde twin entertainers. The Salzburg Festival kid’s chorus (directed by Wolfgang Götz) was well coached and—very unusually—nearly believable in their dramatic hoppings-about.

So safe was this production, so seemingly inoffensive, so very eager to please—and yet the Festival audience booed poor Aletta Collins, who doesn’t at all seem the kind of director who thrives on-, or even expects boos. As I quietly watched myself, I gained some newfound respect for the Salzburg audience, apparently unwilling to be pandered to, all-too explicitly.

All pictures courtesy Salzburg Festival, All © Forster, except (excerpted) picture of Jonas Kaufmann above, © Luigi Caputo

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Notes from the 2010 Salzburg Festival ( 15th and last for 2010 )Simon Rattle in Mahler’s 11th Symphony

Berlin Philharmonic • Simon Rattle • Schoenberg, Berg, Webern, Wagner

You can tell that the Salzburg Festival is wrapping up when the local camera teams, trying to catch a glimpse of B- and C-celebrities, are thinning out, when outside seating at the Triangel restaurant across from the Festspielhaus becomes easily attainable, when the days get notably shorter than they were at the height of July and the temperature drops. The spot of the Festival’s last orchestral concert traditionally belongs to the Berlin Philharmonic, and after the out-of-this-world Firebird from the Concertgebouw Orchestra and Mariss Jansons, the Berliners under Sir Simon Rattle had to do something very special to see that their appearance would not be an anti-climax.

The Pieces Are Coming Together

Fortunately, they did have something special on offer, namely the programming. After Wagner’s Parsifal Vorspiel and Richard Strauss’ Four Last Songs with Karita Mattila, Sir Simon programmed a veritable Second Viennese School workshop: Schoenberg’s Five Orchestral Pieces op.16 (1909), Anton Webern’s Six Pieces for Orchestra op.6b (1909, rev. 1928), and Alban Berg’s Three Orchestral Pieces op.6 (1914, rev. 1929). In a very succinct introduction, Rattle asked to abstain from applause between the works, so that they might be appreciated as a triptych, “…or more—maybe even as an imaginary 11^th Symphony of Gustav Mahler.”

What a daring, good program. Not so much a crowd pleaser as it is a taste-builder. This wasn’t going to elicit the ecstatic applause the Concertgebouw got post-Stravinsky, and indeed many in the audience fled pretty much immediately after the March from Berg’s 3 Pieces ended, but every disturbed set of ears was matched by a grateful, spellbound set that got lost in Schoenberg, Webern, Berg. Spellbound by the yearning love that Webern’s opening “Langsam” exudes, the cautious restlessness and search of “Bewegt”, the sweet longing of “Mäßig”, the looming, cloudy slowness of “Sehr Mäßig”, the road to serenity in “Sehr langsam”, or the mourning in the final “Langsam”. By the impossibly compelling climaxes of the “Präludium. Langsam” in Berg (finally putting an end to all distracted coughing), the audible heartbeat in “Reigen. Anfangs etwas zögernd – Leicht beschwingt”… by the rousing, gripping “Marsch. Mäßiges Marschtempo“, with Wozzeck bleeding through the score. One of Berg’s great skills is that he can cumulate climaxes, one after the other, without losing any tension in the stops, only re-gripping to further tighten the screws. The trombones, finally, burst out (Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk District-style) with a sexuality that belies any ideas of dry, theoretic dodecaphonic music.

Wagner from the Fridge

The Berliners, though distracted by a hearing-aid with its high-pitched feedback that reared its ugly head throughout, traded some of their perfection for grit and brawn, made Rattle proud and many in the audience very happy, indeed. That their Second Viennese School ended up more moving and romantic than the first part of the program was partly due to their excellence in the latter, partly due to blasé Wagner and cold Strauss. With little mysticism, nor even the absolute precision they are uniquely capable of under Rattle, Parsifal was more stuffer than spiritual experience. And The Four Last Songs, insensitive to Karita Mattila’s need to sing through the wall of sound around her, didn’t stir, didn’t move, and would have been unintelligible even if Rattle had taken his band back whenever he realized that Mattila was in trouble. Mattila was warmly received from the audience anyway, and half sang, half yelled a Straussian “Habet Dank” back at them, but the best thing about her that night was a tastefully purple, body-hugging dress that, in sharp departure from a dress recently worn during Strauss in Munich, didn’t make her look like a GDR shot putter.

Outside the Festspielhaus an old but sharp lady approached me, shaking her head about that ‘modern, newfangled music’, and how she could not be expected to like it, or applaud after it. Since I wasn’t going to pretend to agree, I tried to make the Second Viennese School slightly more palatable to her in the gentlest terms possible, suggesting that if she—by her own admission—could find it impressive or even rousing, just not beautiful, she was already three quarters of the way down the road to appreciating it. ‘Beauty’, in the conventional sense, isn’t the point of these works, but then that isn’t the point of something like Le Sacre (which she likes), either. And I couldn’t help point out that, and I went about this tactfully, the music she just heard and found so awfully ‘new’ was older even than she. There we are: A century later, Schoenberg, Webern, and Berg are still poster boys for “New” music.

• • ♥ • •

Later that night the Berlin-bound Jürgen Flimm, the Intendant of the Festival for the last four years, threw a little parting party at the Triangel that marked the end of his reign. Markus Hinterhaeuser, the mind behind the concert series and the new music programs at the Festival, is responsible for the tantalizing next season, which includes Claus Guth's complete DaPonte/Mozart cycle (Minkowski, Nezét-Séguin, Ticciati), a Frau ohne Schatten with Christian Thielemann conducting and Christof Loy directing, and Esa-Pekka Salonen in Janáček’s The Makropulos Case. After that, it will be up the experienced (ex-) Zurich Intendant Alexander Pereira to take the reins, a choice that especially the modern music enthusiasts among the Salzburg Festival audience fear might be a leap backwards but should be rich in populisms.

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The 2008 Salzburg Festival ConcludedRattle’s Messiaen Tribute with the Berlin Philharmonic

O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, P.L.Aimard, D.Kim / K.Nagano / BPh Warner O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, J. & Y.Loriod / M-W.Chung / Bastille Opera Orchestra DG O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, F.Weigel, T.Bloch / A.Wit / Polish NRSO Naxos O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, J. & Y.Loriod / S.Ozawa / Toronto SO RCA O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, J-Y.Thibaudet, K.Harada / R.Chailly / RCO Decca O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, M.Béroff & Y.Loriod / A.Previn / LSO EMI O.Messiaen, Turangalîla Symphony, P.Donohoe & T.Murail / S.Rattle / CoBirmSO EMI

The concert of the Berlin Philharmonic on Sunday, August 31st, concluded the Salzburg Festival 2008 – and it concluded it in style. Simon Rattle presented his band with Wagner’s Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan & Isolde followed by Olivier Messiaen massive Tristan-inspired spectacle of color and sound, theTurangalîla Symphony for Solo Piano, ondes Martinot, and large orchestra.

Love was the theme, in either case, and there was plenty love in the Berliner’s playing: Absolute evenness in the continuous build-up of the Tristan Prelude was achieved with tension and volume being increased at such a minimal gradient and with such consistency that it wasn’t noticeable — only felt. This was perfection in conceptualization and execution, scarcely doable with but a handful of orchestras.

The swelling and receding, the thrillingly gentle pianissimos, the falling and lifting of the Liebestodwas no less nuanced. It encapsulated the essence of ‘smooth’ without a hint of glibness. And all in the Berlin Philharmonic’s terrific, involving sound in the Large Festival Hall.

It is hard to say if this was a typical ‘Berlin’ sound – not the least because bands are known to play better on the road. But it was stunning to hear – and stunning to hear how nothing on Sir Simon’s recent recordings with this orchestra – nothing at all – suggests what they can really sound like.

Hearing the Berlin Philharmonic in this program of traditional as well as (relatively) new repertoire, it became clear why the orchestra has voted to reaffirm and extend Rattle’s contract last April. At the same time, it was a vital reminder that recorded output can give a hint of an orchestra’s and its conductor’s quality, but that it need not necessarily give an accurate impression.

Messiaen’s 1946-48 Turangalîla, the central part of a triptych on the myth of Tristan & Isolde (“Chant d’amour et de mort” ‘45 and “Cinq rechants” ’48 being the other two), was commissioned by Serge Koussevitsky for the Boston Symphony and premiered in 1949 under the young Leonard Bernstein. Messiaen himself described this long and lovably strange work as “a love song, a hymn to joy”, a ‘fatal, irresistible, transcending love that suppresses everything outside, an overwhelming, superhuman joy’. Words of either religious motivation or Liebestod inspired, and well possibly both. In any case, a worthy work to serve as Salzburg’s nod to the Messiaen centenary.

For all its relation to Wagner’s Tristan, the concept and music of Turangalîla is vastly different. For one, the “amour impossible” both composers deal with in these works seemed insurmountable to Messiaen at the time of writing – it became possible only 13 years later, when Messiaen married Yvonne Loriod (soloist at the premiere of this work) after the death of his first wife. Wagner, in contrast, took such amorous impossibilities merely as theoretical concerns and discarded them when no longer convenient, necessary, or tenable. In real life, Wagner more or less seized what he wanted, and even in his operas emotional suffering is more of a sport than cause for consternation. There’s scarcely a convention, rule, or law that he won’t let his heroes break, if it’s for love. For the catholic Messiaen, “No” actually meant “No”; his yearning is in that sense more truthful than assertive.

This might be an idea to keep in mind while listening the Turangalîla-Symphony, but it will hardly explain the complex work of ten movements with its four dominant ‘statue’-, ‘flower’-, ‘love’-, and ‘chord’-themes. At points, this symphony makes Messiaen sound like a Bruckner-type of liquid luminosity. The “Introduction” offers musical blocks with edges and corners that wouldn’t be out of place in a Varèse or Stravinsky work – except for the twittering and chirping everywhere. Sometimes excited, sometimes soft elements intrude, the latter bringing short illusions of Saint-Saëns. Just when you think havoc is the name of this game, the love theme tenderly forces itself on the ears with all its seductive might. Even so, this “Chant d’amour” is still one of the more robust love songs written.

Rattle and his Berliners moved through the music with great poise: the echoing ondes Martenot of soloist Tristan Murail, the dreamy tinkling, the respite, and standstill, the swinging rhythms, the sea of Messiaenic sound (“Chant d’amour 2”), the metallic birds that pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard freed from his Steinway, the statue theme in its orgiastic guise in “Joie du Sang Etoiles” where it sounds like a quote from a Broadway musical about the Wild West… it all amounted to what Herbert Glass so aptly calls the “magnificent monster”.

Instead of quietly shifting in their seats and uttering nervous coughs, the audience that remained (some had inexplicably left after the short Wagner appetizer) listened with alert ears and some with open mouths as the music switched from featuring feathered friends to a movement with altogether more hoofed animals running about (“Turangalîla 2”), to movie-music sweep (“Développement d’amour”), to the fanfares of “Joie de Sang des Etoiles 2” again. And if the stars didn’t ‘bleed joyful blood’, the music is ambitiously written to depict a universe in climax. How appropriate that the final exclamation is one of love. And how fitting an end that to the Salzburg Festival, which had chosen as its motto for this year: “For strong as Love is Death.”

Recommended recordings of the Turangalila Symphony (see links above):

Between two fine recordings, this Salzburg line-up can be cobbled together: Simon Rattle conducts the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra on a 1987 EMI recording – and Tristan Murail plays the ondes Martenont. Peter Donohoe plays the piano in that performance which created a small sensation when it was originally issued. The Berlin Philharmonic and Pierre-Laurent Aimard are conducted by Kent Nagano on a 2001, Grammy Award winning Teldec recording. The latter, one of my favorites, is also available in Warner’s splendid 2006 Messiaen Edition box of just about all of Messiaen’s works on 17+1 discs. (One of my “Best of 2006” picks.)

Worthy of everyone’s consideration is also Myung-Whun Chung’s performance on DG with the Bastille Opera Orchestra and the performers who played the work together more than any other artists: Yvonne Loriod and her sister Jeanne Loriod. My favorite, however, is a recording with altogether less famous participants: Naxos’ recording with Antoni Wit, the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra, and Thomas Bloch and François Weigel. It is the very recording that once and for all convinced me how good Naxos recordings really can be, and it remains my first choice at any price.