Submitted AUGUST 2000

In the twentieth century, chamber works have often been the domain of more personal or private musical expression wherein the composer can play with motifs unfamiliar to them and experiment with tonalities that their broader-canvassed works don’t (or can’t) contain. This is true of Bartok and Shostakovich; it is certainly true of Aaron Copland. In Copland’s case, however, more weakness than strengths appear in his chamber music. And in the hands of a less adept ensemble, these weaknesses can become glaring. This is all too evident in Movement for String Quartet where the young composer struggles with sustaining clear Bergian motifs even as the composer’s penchant for melodiousness wants to emerge. Two Pieces for String Quartet (1928) hints of the more expansive Romantic to come in Copland, but the roughness of the playing occasionally pushes the work’s indigenous lyricism into an unpleasant shrillness. The Quartet for Piano and Strings (1950) is the only mature work on this disc, but the Vanbrugh Quartet has trouble at several important junctures and the conflicting notes simply jar (especially in the first movement, about half-way through). Worse, the overall sonics are biased toward the high end (always risky when you only have strings). But the overall impression one gets when listening to this disc is that the Vanbrugh Quartet is simply unfamiliar with this music.

Soldaten (or Soldiers) by Manfred Gurlitt (1890-1973), a three act opera in a decidedly conservative vein (more Wagner and Strauss than Schoenberg and Berg) was composed in the late 1920s (no date is given for its exact composition) as a protest against the predations of the officer class of the ruling aristocracy (and, by extension, the Nazis, who were on the rise at the time). This opera and one other caused Gurlitt his citizenship, forcing him into exile (but he went to Japan , of all places, and spent World War II there). The opera, here rendered in a heart-warming performance, is an easy-going affair of recitatives, chaconnes, and thematically charged lamentos to evoke sympathy for those reduced to poverty by the soldier class of Germany . The roles require no vocal gymnastics, nor are there any dry, spoken passages with no underscoring music. Gurlitt knew how to move a story along melodically, allowing no element to get lost in grandiosity (i.e. Wagner). Soldaten is understated, with fine performances by Michael Burt as Herr Wesener and Michelle Breedt as Frau Wesener who try to keep their daughter Marie, played by Claudia Barainsky, out of trouble with a predatory paramour, Desportes, played by Thomas Harper. Manfred Gurlitt might have been a minor voice in German opera in this century, but his music definitely deserves attention..

This is Volume 5 of MDG’s ongoing series of the complete piano music of John Cage (1912-1992). The grand irony for most composers is that they never live to see either their fame grow or their influence felt. This series—and this particular disc—highlights Cage’s influence on much of postmodern American music (especially piano music) but especially the music of Morton Feldman. Feldman has his own distinct voice, but he got from Cage his sense of suspended time and his knack for surprising (and unpredictable) tonalities. Of course, the student can also influence the teacher, as in Cage’s 1989 composition called Two. Only Cage’s predilection for thematic cogency and tonal fluidity prevents it from sounding like a disjointed Feldman work for two pianos. Exceptional here is A Book of Music, a 1944 composition for prepared piano that seems to anticipate some of Alan Hovhaness and much of Lou Harrison. It’s unpredictable and never overstays its welcome. Experience 1, of 1944, is a heartbreaking homage to Satie, played only on the white keys, itself strangely innovative. Music for Two (1984/87) has each note framed in specific phased structures with the actual piano strings bowed with fish line or wire to establish contrasting underlying textures. Pianists Josef Christof and Steffen Schleiermacher play with extraordinary care and exhibit a clear fondness for this music. Cage, however, isn’t for everyone. Still, this series should become the high watermark for John Cage’s piano music.

These are works for cello and piano by Astor Piazzolla (1921-1992) and Joaquin Nin (1879-1949). Maya Beiser is the cellist and Anthony de Mare in the pianist. These are not strictly duets, nor are they pure sonatas where the piano is only meant to underscore the cello, though some of of Nin’s writing does recall Bach, especially in Cuatro Cometarios. Nin was of de Falla’s generation of Spanish composers, but he rarely abandoned European modes in his writing. Piazzolla was clearly the more inventive, influenced by a wide range of Latin American elements. However, both Piazzola and Nin drew from folk material from their ancient Latin cultures, especially tangos, and this is what we have on this disc. Sad to say that the performances aren’t as crisp as they could be nor are the sound values consistent. Pianist de Mare fairs well in Chants d’Espange but elements of his right hand enunciation seem week in Adios Nonino. The piano is altogether submerged in both La Mufa and Ave Maria. But that could be attributable to studio ambience and not the pianist’s fault. The middle registers of the cello, which is admittedly a limited instrument, also tend to get fuzzy, as in the opening work, Oblivion by Piazzolla. These are not technically difficult works, but the performers needed a bit more attention to detail as well as more precise transitions (as in Cuatro Comentarios) where the cello seems absolutely lazy.

The two works on this release are relatively easy-going affairs that attempt, with a some success, at melding various aspects of popular music, as Imants Kalins’s “Rock” Symphony and bizarre instrumentation, the “garbage” in Jan Jarvlepp’s Garbage Concerto. The music is quite interesting to listen to, but whether these works hold up over time, as anyone’s guess. The problem here, and it seems to be a problem with most hybrid genres, is one of miking. Jarvlepp’s Garbage Concerto (1996) makes use of metal cans, glass jars, plastic bottles, hubcaps and the like. This isn’t Edgar Varese or Frank Zappa; the music is tightly controlled, thoroughly tonal. But the miking on the solo instruments tends to be distant, as in the slower, mellower second movement of the Garbage Concerto. Clearly the engineers, more used to recording standard orchestras with a handful of strategically placed microphones, didn’t know how to mike glass bottles or hubcaps. Sometimes they’re too close; other times they’re quite a bit further away. (The orchestra’s settings, however, are right on the mark.) This happens in “rock” symphonies, “rock” operas, and no one’s gotten it right yet. Imants Kalnins “Rock” Symphony (his Symphony #4) is a much better recording. It’s more of a minimalist affair in which Philip Glass and John Adams emerge as clear sources for inspiration for the composer. These works are congenial and fun but require some fiddling with the volume settings while you listen.

Alberto Williams (1862-1952) was an Argentinian composer whose long life was spent in advocacy of Argentinian music and the music of Latin America in general. He wore many hats. He was a composer, pianist, conductor, conservatory director, a scholar, poet, and essayist. During his student days in Paris he was a student of Cesar Frank (and you can hear some of Frank’s influence in the not-particularly-Argentinian Hueyas, supposedly a gaucho dance that sounds as if it comes from Provance rather than Argentina ). Mostly Williams’s early music shows strong influences of the French (Saint-Saens, then later Debussy). His techniques, however, come from Chopin. This can be seen in Berceuses where there are scale runs common to Chopin. Milongas is a gathering of ten ballroom dance pieces that incorporates the semi-tonal moods that characterize Argentinian music. It’s also the first collection of pieces on the disc that even begins to sound remotely Modern (and uniquely South American). By mid-career (around 1910) has his own voice, living and writing in his own country. Primera Sonata Argentina (of 1917) is Williams’s only sonata and has elements that incorporate both Indian motifs and those of earlier Spanish influences. These works are not technically difficult nor particularly challenging for both pianist (Valentin Surif) or the listener. This is music for a pleasant summer afternoon, done rather nicely.

This is a fairly standard collection of orchestral showpieces of 20 th century Spanish music and every work on this disc can be found on perhaps dozens, if not hundreds of other releases. What remains is the question of performance values and sound, and these are quite good. Maestro Serebrier is noted for his skillful handling of strongly ethnic, strongly Romantic works, particularly of both French and Spanish composers.. The standouts here is Isaac Albeniz’s Iberia suite. Originally written for piano in twelve pieces, Iberia was later orchestrated by the composer’s friend, Fenandez Arbos. Whenever Iberia is performed today, it’s in the Arbos transcription. Particularly effective is “El Puerto”, the lilting second movement. Serebrier gives the music a lushness that contrasts with, for example, the countless Eugene Ormandy/Philadelphia Orchestra versions that tend toward orchestral fireworks that sparkle and glitter. Serebrier’s touch is more sultry than Ormandy’s and is probably the most appropriate to this music. The most closely “postmodern” work here is a coy version of Tomas Marco’s Arbol De Arcangeles and the only vocal work here are the Cinco Conciones Negras by Xavier Montsalvatge, sung by soprano Carol Farley in an engaging performance that calls more for flirtatiousness than sultriness. All the way around, a satisfying collection.

Antonio Pasculli (1842-1924) was part of an obscure generation of 19 th century Italian wind virtuosos whose music, though popular in his own time, faded as the 20 th century approached. Audiences then (as now) preferred the piano or the violin or cello as the instrument choice in the field of the solo concerto. Composing works (sonatas, concerti, etc.) for wind instruments became mostly an Italian mode because of the proximity of the great opera composers. The wind repertoire thus became filled with fantasias on themes from the operas of Rossini, Bellini, and Donizetti, and were often preferred over solo vocal adaptations by the Italian public. Antonio Pasculli was perhaps the best of these “adapters” and this disc contains his works for the oboe. What makes the oboe an interesting instrument of choice here is that its enunciation potential far out-reaches that of a human voice. Indeed, Pasculli composed in a way that had the notes coming so fast and so furiously in arpeggios and staccato scales (in very extreme tempos, at that) that no room was made for the soloist to take a breath. You absolutely have to hear soloist Yeon-Hee Kwak make her runs in Fantasia Sull’ opera Poliuto di G. Donizetti. That this extraordinary young woman doesn’t pass out is truly a miracle. It must be said that these works are not merely designed to display prolixity. Pasculli never forgets that these are basically songs and allows both the oboe and piano room to cajole and delight. As young as Yeon-Hee Kwak is (she’s only 20) she is clearly master of her domain.

The music on this disc centers around the flute (the soloist is Susan Glaser) though it is not, per se, standard sonata repertoire for accompanied flute. Instead, what we have here are several non-standard pieces employing the flute, the harp (Emily Mitchell), the viola (Stephanie Griffin) and various percussion instruments (Matthew Gold) taken from mostly contemporary sources. Most approachable (in Western terms) is Stella Sung’s Dance of the White Lotus Under the Silver Moon combines melodious flute passages that move in and out of Japanese atonal constructions (these are provided by the harp). The work is quite beautiful (and beautifully done). Zhou Long’s simple Su is a duo for flute and harp and makes more extreme use of the flute as it melds both Western and Chinese modalities. Oddly, it sounds neither particularly Chinese nor specifically Western. Su, though, is definitely postmodern and segues nicely into Tan Dun’s harrowing In Distance, which is extremely postmodern with its rigorous atonal elongations on the flute and stark silences punctuated by the harp and various percussion instruments. More than any other work on this disc, In Distance demands patience and an appreciation for the unusual tonal elements Dun is trying to sustain. Korean composer Jacqueline Jeeyoung Kim’s Tiger Chasing the Wind is a bit more melodic with its occasional nod to Korean folk elements, here making strong use of the viola. Hwang Yoon Hee’s dharma-Dharma also weaves hints of Korean folk melodies, but seems a bit more conscious of the importance of melody to Western ears. Altogether, this is an excellent collection of post-modern works for flute, but it is not for the squeamish.

Peter Eotvos (1944) was born in Transylvania and studied throughout Europe and has made a living conducting some of the most prestigious ensembles on the Continent. His music, particularly on this release, is postmodern in the extreme. The emphasis here is on various percussion instruments and their extended dynamics. To his credit, Eotvos keeps his music cogent—if a bit difficult to comprehend—and he avoids mere cacophony, at least cacophony for its own sake. Psalm 151, written in memoriam for Frank Zappa, is for a solo percussionist (in this case, Zoltan Racz) and draws both from African statements (tone merely, not rhythm), as well as some of John Cage’s concerns with time and Edgar Varese’s simple unexpectedness (Zappa drew from Varese as well). Psy (1996) is a trio for marimba, flute and cello. The marimba, moody and tempestuous, gives the work an unusual depth, with the cello moving eerily in the background. As in Psalm 151, Eotvos here also makes use of Cage’s consciousness of time drawn-out, where statements (tonal, atonal, whatever) can linger long enough to be intellectually digested by the listener. Triangel (1993) is the longest work here at 36 minutes. Its subtitle is: “Actions for a Creative Percussionist and 27 Musicians” and could very well have been written by Frank Zappa. Zappa, though, would have written horrendously fast tempos; Eotvos chooses to keep things slow. This serves the music well, with every percussion instrument (including steel drums, no less) standing out and never getting swamped. The performances are quite good with excellent sound. But be forewarned: this music is probably only going to appeal to the very adventurous.

Harald Genzmer ( (b.1907) is a contemporary German composer whose career as a teacher and composer spans most of the 20 th century, with the majority of his important works composed from the 1970s onward. Though Genzmer lived through all of the important trends and movements, he mostly retains the elements of composition he learned from his teacher Paul Hindemith. Hindemith’s influence is readily seen in Genzmer’s Prolog II For Orchestra. Prolog II, composed in 1991, revels in bright flirtations on the woodwinds and strong, postromantic assertions provided by strings, a tactic common to Hindemith, especially in his symphonies. But to say that Genzmer’s ideas are derivative is unfair. Genzmer’s music does rely upon an active polyphony, but he has his own distinctive moods—moods Hindemith never had. The dark and spooky opening of the Piano Concerto 3 is an example of this where the piano’s role is in a concertante mode that underscores a gentle (yet somehow sinister) timpani entry to the work. No Hindemith here. Indeed, the strength of the piano concerto is the way the piano never dominates the work (it’s a work that requires considerable competence, but not dashing prolixity). The Symphony 4 is a triumph of moods and tonal textures that at times seems almost British (Benjamin Britten comes to mind, and perhaps Malcolm Arnold). Still, the presence of Hindemith is strongly felt in his work. Performance and sound are quite good. Genzmer just might be the last Romantic German composer working today.

Alexandre Tansman (1897-1986) was born in Poland but spent nearly all of his professional career living (and composing) all over the place, including Hollywood . His music, therefore, tends to have a cosmopolitan air about it, taking the best Romantic impulses from the French (Les Six) and German music (especially Hindemith). Roussel and Milhaud lurk between the lines of Sinfonietta 1, a perky outing with all manner of flirtatiousness among the brasses and winds in the first movement, with specters right out of Stravinsky’s French period haunting the ghostly third movement, a dolorous Notturno lento. More of the American (i.e. Hollywood ) influence can be seen in the Divertimento for Chamber Orchestra, a 1944 composition that belies the wartime mood of the era during which it was written. It bubbles, it dances; it’s a pleasure to listen to. The Sinfonia piccola, written in Paris in 1952, is perhaps the most interesting work here. Its somber opening leads quickly into a jazz-like expression of accelerated rhythms and punctuated syncopations that, again, will recall both Roussel and Milhaud. Unfortunately, for as good (and important) as Tansman’s music is, it quite simply needs a better performance than those collected on this release. The sound is passable, but is biased toward the high end, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that the brasses in general and the flutes in particular keep hitting the occasional wrong note. The shrillness especially asserts itself in some of the difficult wind passages in Sinfonietta 1, in the first movement. The playing is quite insecure also in the horns. Only Sinfonia piccola comes across as well rehearsed. Still, Tansman’s music is appealing; we just need these particular works to be better performed than they are.

Even though American composer Arthur Foote (1853-1937) died well into the 20 th century, his music is definitely a product of 19 th century Romanticism, particularly German Romanticism. This isn’t to say his music is derivative, but it does hark back to modes established by Mozart, Schumann and Brahms, all of which seem to militate against the use of any sort of American folk melodies. (Was he consciously trying to avoid sounding like Stephen Foster, the reigning folk-melodist of the time?) Whatever Foote might have been attempting in these chamber works still delight. Oddly, parts of the perky Piano Trio 1 tap into the folk melodies found in Dvorak as well as Brahms, especially in the second movement. But, again, Foote isn’t a Dvorak or Brahms wannabe. Both of the Piano Trios captured here delight in their own turn of flirtatious melodies, with a clever intermingling of each instrument’s unique nature, with none becoming dominant. The Melody for Violin and Piano, a clear sonata, was written in 1899 and most definitely sounds as if Schumann could have penned it, with the violin taking the role of the human voice (soprano or tenor, take your pick). The final work here is the Ballade for Violin and Piano of 1910, more of a duo than a sonata. Overall, this is an enjoyable collection of surprising delightful music, more European than American in character.

This disc is billed as Witold Lutoslawski’s last studio recording and it’s quite a revelation, particularly in his Symphony 3 (1983). Several recordings exist of the Third, the best—up to this point—being the Esa-Pekka Salonen/L.A. Philharmonic version on Sony (66280). Lutoslawski’s handling of his own work brings out its idiosyncratic character, particularly in the eerie, near-silent passages that call for virtual whispers in the strings. At the same time, the woodwinds are neatly sculpted with clearly framed melodic ideas that prevent the work from devolving into mere orchestral nonsense. The symphony finally emerges as one of the most lucid—if daunting—orchestral works of postmodernism. (And it almost seems to be the culmination of the best ideas advanced music has to offer.) Lutoslawski had also recorded his Piano Concerto on Deutsche Grammophon (431 664-2), with the BBC Orchestra in 1991. This version, performed by the Polish Radio National Symphony Orchestra, is not quite as sonically robust as the BBC Orchestra outing, but this version manages to emphasize some of the spookier moments, particularly in the beginning, where the chirruping flutes seem to overwhelm the opening of the piano, itself peculiarly understated until a few bars later where it emerges with extraordinary confidence—a very nice touch indeed. And this is the overriding virtue in Lutoslawski’s music: He was a master at keeping his postmodern ideas clear and precisely phrased for the listener. And though the DG Piano Concerto is the best yet on disc, this is the recording of the Symphony 3 to have.

Bright Sheng was born in China in 1955, but has spent most of his life in the United States . He studied at Queens College , CUNY, and Columbia . He particularly studied composition and conducting under Leonard Bernstein and his music does resonate with that kind of cosmopolitan buoyancy Bernstein was noted for. This manifests most clearly in Flute Moon, a 1999 composition in two parts for both piccolo and flute (here ably performed by Sharon Bezaly on both instruments). There is little in Flute Moon that seems particularly Chinese. No Asian modalities are used, although the notes say Sheng uses pentatonic scale here and there. If so, they are not dominant. The piccolo/flute passages are simple ascendancies, racing up and down the scales to the pulse of the martial drums that convey the music along. China Dreams (1995) makes stronger use of sweeping string passages with the flute and piccolo dancing underneath. The second movement here is more telling. It’s called “Fanfare” and could have been penned by Leonard Bernstein. It has all the hustle and bustle of midtown Manhattan . Postcards (1997) is a tone poem meant to depict various landscapes within China . But, again, it hardly sounds Chinese. Sheng’s music is profoundly tonal and neo-romantic, and his influences are many. Bernstein has been mentioned already, but the stronger influence, oddly, is Shostakovich. There are broad string bass passages (as well as all the lower strings) that carry the melodies and themes; also present is Shostakovich’s overall brooding quality. And Postcards has them all, ranging from Shostakovich to Americans such as Howard Hanson, Lou Harrison, William Schuman, with nods to Ottorino Respighi, of all people. Sheng is (relatively) young still and is clearly in search of a voice, but he’s still worth a listen.

Norman Dello Joio (b. 1913) has lived his professional life through all the major (and minor) movements in American music, but his predilections lay staunchly in a neo-romantic mode, in so far as melody is concerned. These piano works show, however, how much Dello Joio regards the utility of 19 th century architectural strategies in the composition of his shorter pieces. These piano pieces could have structurally been composed by Schubert or Chopin, with some of the moods supplied by Johannes Brahms. The melodies and harmonics, though, are pure 20 th century. All three Piano Sonatas (the first two were written in 1943, the third in 1947) are brilliant works of mainstream American Romanticism. The Third has tended to be Dello Joio’s most famous, but the First is a clear challenger, with its perky rhythms and lilting moods. The Second is more assertive in nature, dropping into a more somber second movement somewhat starker in character. Nocturne in E major and Nocturne in F-sharp minor have a more bluesy strategy with some clear suggestions of Gershwin. Both works are the products of the late 1940s. The most recent work here is the Introduction and Fantasies on a Chorale Tune, composed in 1986, and is a cornucopia of all of the pianistic elements someone such as Chopin would have felt comfortable with (but, again, with a more 20 th century bearing in melody and chorale theme). Ms. Jaemi Kim is the pianist here and she has a fine feel for the languorous moods Dello Joio presents. One would wish for more precision in execution here and there, especially in the first movement of Piano Sonata 1, but her overall take on these works makes for a delightful hour of unjustly underrated but very pleasant music.

The notes that accompany this CD of music by American composer Steven Gerber (b. 1948) relate that his early music explored facets of atonality and serialism (still common in the academic world), but you wouldn’t know that from the staunchly tonal and neo-romantic works here. This is particularly true of the Symphony 1 (1989-90) which moves through the comfortable territory already explored by the mid-century American romantics (though Gerber’s voice and vision are entirely his own). The Russian Philharmonic easily pilots its way through this music, including the occasional atonal expression in the winds (always minor when they occur and always nicely in context). Dirge and Awakening (1992) is a lush tone poem, almost an American Marche Slav. These two works both languish in the typical robust studio sound for which Chandos is famous. Problems in miking arise in the Viola Concerto and the Triple Overture. In the concerto the actual sound of the viola strings is strangely grating and may actually be due to the finger pressure on the strings themselves provided by soloist Lars Anders Tomter. None of the viola’s typical warmth is found here with the exception of the tuti passages where it is mostly submerged. The Triple Overture is for violin, cello, piano and orchestra and has some of the same grating sounds when the violin and cello jointly follow the same melodic lines. Moreover, the main theme, which is carried by the orchestra and the piano, sounds strangely familiar—a homage, perhaps—though I can’t place it. The notes themselves do not say if this is the case. But the Symphony 1 is definitely worth a listen. It could portend greater things to come.

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