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Review:
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| Brahms's chamber music has become a growing source of delight for me, and I'm increasingly coming to see it as his greatest achievement. He did everything, from string sextets to clarinet sonatas, and it was with his chamber music that he truly relaxed and let his gift for lyricism roam free. If his symphonic works were driven by the need to come to terms with and transcend Beethoven, then These trios are a great introduction, since they are drawn from every stage of Brahms's career. The Beaux Arts Trio offer definitive proof that it's best to go for an established ensemble rather than the superstar collaborations that record companies dream up to try and up their sales figures. There's an instinctive dialogue going on between these three veterans, and Brahms's two later piano trios are exquisitely done. Their approach is relaxed, with none of the reversion to manic keyboard hammering that seems to characterize many interpretations of Brahms's piano trios/quartets/ quintet. Brahms wrote his chamber pieces for clarinet toward the end of his life, and the Beaux Art Trio's interpretation is appropriately, wistfully autumnal. Like Brahms's other clarinet music, this piece is very special, and this is the most appealing interpretation I've heard. As for the horn trio, which isn't done by the Beaux Arts Trio, but features an ensemble led by Arthur Grumiaux, they just don't play music this way anymore.--C.Smith |
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| Sir Simon Rattle and the Berliner Philharmoniker have recorded the complete symphonies of Johannes Brahms live in a series of concerts from the Philharmonie, Berlin. This is a major recording of music that is central to the tradition of the 127-year-old orchestra, and is bound to be as groundbreaking and |
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| This superb 1978 Brahms Requiem, bathed in glorious sound that lets you hear details in the chorus and orchestra often missed in other versions. Part of that, of course, is due to Kubelik's conducting. He always stressed proper balances, taking care to bring out details but never exaggerate them. Kubelik recordings usually also feature sane, middle-of-the road to slightly fast tempos, a wide dynamic range, and string sound that glows with warmth. They're all present here. In the Requiem, he's some five minutes slower than his atypically fastest competitor, Klemperer (EMI), and at 74 minutes somewhat slower than most of the other performances I checked. But the impression the recording makes is of The choral first movement, "Selig sind, die da Leid tragen" (Blessed are they that mourn) encapsulates Kubelik's approach as it unfolds throughout the work. The very quiet opening is shrouded in warmth; even at pianissimo levels the chorus projects, the beautiful melody made more tender for being allowed to speak for itself. The slow rise in volume to the optimistically emphatic music of "werden mit Freuden ernten" (shall reap in joy) is perfectly calibrated as is the choral climb down from that dynamic peak. Also impressive is the way the different sections of the chorus emerge and then retreat into the mass without spotlighting. The ensemble's tonal body is accurately caught by the engineers, who also conquer that bane of large-scale choral pieces--the difficulty of making out the words. Here, words are always intelligible, as are the chorus' subtle tonal inflections. Such details are replicated in the orchestra, whose winds briefly introduce a shaft of sunlit hope to accompany the faith-filled brightness of the chorus at the repeat of the "Blessed are they that mourn" line. Yet another instance is the discreet harp whose plucking illustrate the falling tears at the word "Tränen" (tears). The rest of the performance continues in this fashion, with powerful dramatic contrasts and an abundance of revelatory details. Kubelik's accomplishment is not dimmed by his soloists, nor is it enhanced either. Baritone Wolfgang Brendel is a shade over-emphatic in his solo in the "Herr, lehre doch mich" (Lord, make me to know mine end) movement, apparently mistaking a request for a demand. Interestingly, the slight note of pleading in the chorus' tone when they repeat the line shows us how it should go. Brendel is better though, in his sixth-movement solo. Edith Mathis finds heavy going in the cruelly high tessitura of "Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit" (And ye now therefore have sorrow), compromising both the comforting message of the text and her silvery bright soprano. Sampling some of the competition turned up no one who sounds as shakily fearful of the vocal difficulties, and even at Celibidache's painfully drawn-out tempo (EMI), soprano Arleen Augér remains smoothly unfazed. But these are minor blemishes on a treasurable recording, among the lesser evils that can beset a live performance. Even if you have the Klemperer, this Kubelik disc will enlighten and move you.--Dan Davis |
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| See previous post |
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| Sir John Eliot Gardiner’s Brahms symphony cycle has been stimulating and richly rewarding in equal measure. This was not least because in the concert series, ‘Brahms: Roots and Memories’, during which these recordings were made, he chose to set the symphonies in the context of some of the composer’s choral works and of music by earlier composers whose music Brahms especially admired. This program is in some ways the most stimulating of all in respect of the context in which Gardiner sets the symphony. Unsurprisingly, Gardiner reminds us that Brahms based the passacaglia finale of the symphony on a slightly adapted version of the chaconne in the final movement of the cantata Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich, BWV 150. Gardiner has already given us two performances of the complete cantata in his Cantata Pilgrimage cycle, of which I think the one in Volume 25 is slightly to be preferred (review). On this present disc only the last two movements are performed. It’s most interesting, for study purposes, to be able to switch immediately from the second of these two cantata movements to the mighty passacaglia finale which it inspired. Schoenberg famously referred to Brahms as “the Progressive”. He was speaking of Brahms the composer but quite possibly the same description could have been applied to Brahms the conductor. Brahms’ love of and respect for the music of previous ages is well known but this was no mere private, academic interest. Gardiner expands on this in the notes, which take the form of a conversation between him and composer Hugh Wood, as in previous volumes in the series. He points out that in 1864, when Brahms conducted the Singakademie concerts in Vienna he included in his programmes several cantata movements by Bach and also the pieces by Schütz and Gabrieli that are on this disc. In fact both of these pieces were included in Brahms’ second concert with the choir, in January 1864 and Jan Swafford observes in his biography of the composer (Johannes Brahms, 1998) that neither work was well received. The performance of the Gabrieli broke down, necessitating a re-start. The inclusion of such unfamiliar music was daring indeed. Needless to say, the performances on this disc contain no such frailties. Gabrieli’s Sanctus has grandeur and I appreciated very much the lightly-sprung jubilation that Gardiner brings out in the “Hosanna”. The Schütz, by contrast, is an imposing piece. It’s scored for two violins, six vocal soloists and two four-part choirs. Gardiner also includes the optional brass parts, which double the choir parts. The piece is a masterpiece of concision and the performance it gets here is darkly dramatic - the soloists are excellent. The other antecedent composer represented here is Beethoven, of whose shadow Brahms was always conscious. In the conversation with Hugh Wood, Gardiner brings out the influence of Beethoven on the Fourth Symphony and does so very convincingly. He makes the point musically too in a taut account of Beethoven’s spare, dramatic overture, which is expertly played by the ORR. The interpretation is quite fleet and the period instrument textures are light. The performance, which is strongly projected, is a very good one. And so to Brahms. It’s good to find the Fest- und Gedenksprüche for a cappella choir included here because they’re not heard that often. However, what caught
hope that it will be published for I’m sure other choirs would like the opportunity to perform it. Gardiner and his choir give a luminous performance of this lovely miniature, culminating in a radiant ‘Amen’ (from 3:56 onwards). This conclusion is crowned by a soaring phrase for the sopranos (4:12), answered by the tenors and that moment is so beautifully done here as almost to be worth the price of the disc. All these fascinating pieces lead up to the Fourth Symphony. Gardiner leads a trenchant and convincing account of the work. In I his interpretation is fluid and forward-moving and one feels a strong sense of purpose at all times. The ORR produces a lean, muscular sound and the part-writing emerges with great clarity. I particularly admired the dexterous woodwind playing. The coda is conspicuously successful; here the music is surging and powerful. Clarity of texture is again very apparent in II. Gardiner is clear-eyed in his approach and so the music is not sentimentalized. But that doesn’t mean for one moment that the performance lacks feeling. On the contrary, the spirit of the music is brought out very convincingly and, for example, the noble melody between 7:28 and 8:17 is sung out with very satisfying warmth by the lower strings. The Allegro giocoso third movement brims over with energy and high spirits and the end of this movement is particularly exciting. The epic passacaglia finale opens with great strength and purpose and throughout the movement Gardiner displays gripand maintains the tension. The flute variation (from 2:55) is remote and sad and the quiet variations that follow feature some splendidly assured and controlled playing on the part of the ORR. There’s a good deal of fire in the closing minutes of the movement and overall I felt this was a very successful and satisfying interpretation and performance not just of the finale but also of the symphony as a whole. So Gardiner’s Brahms symphony cycle concludes in fine fashion. It’s been an absorbing series. Not only have the symphony performances been extremely fine but also, as I said earlier in this review, the way in which the symphonies have been placed in highly relevant musical contexts has given the series an added importance and distinction. This series has made me think about and appreciate the Brahms symphonies anew and that, surely, was the object of the exercise. Though the symphonies have all now appeared that’s not the end of the cycle. I knew that the concert series had also included Ein deutsches Requiem but I wasn’t sure if a recording was to be issued, not least because Gardiner has already given us a very fine studio recording of the work, albeit that was issued quite a few years ago. It’s now clear that a new live recording is indeed on the way and that’s something to which I’m looking forward keenly.--John Quinn |
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| This CD is a re-issue on EMI of Klemper's German Requiem conducting the Philharmonia Chorus and Orchestra with Elizabeth Schwarzkopf and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau as the soloists. The release is part of EMI's "Great Recordings of the Century" and it replaces an earlier CD in the series in virtually the same format which is now out of print. This is a classic recording which in one format or another will long be in the catalog and which will be important to any music I can't think of a more fitting interpreter of the German Requiem than Otto Klemperer or of a better recording to bring this music to life than this historic, 1961 recording with the Philharmonia Chorus & Orchestra, with soloists Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf. The recording is available at modest price on the EMI Classics series of "Great Recordings of the Century." It is that, indeed. |
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| Brahms's chamber music has become a growing source of delight for me, and I'm increasingly coming to see it as his greatest achievement. He did everything, from string sextets to clarinet sonatas, and it was with his chamber music that he truly relaxed and let his gift for lyricism roam free. If his symphonic works were driven by the need to come to terms with and transcend Beethoven, then These trios are a great introduction, since they are drawn from every stage of Brahms's career. The Beaux Arts Trio offer definitive proof that it's best to go for an established ensemble rather than the superstar collaborations that record companies dream up to try and up their sales figures. There's an instinctive dialogue going on between these three veterans, and Brahms's two later piano trios are exquisitely done. Their approach is relaxed, with none of the reversion to manic keyboard hammering that seems to characterize many interpretations of Brahms's piano trios/quartets/ quintet. Brahms wrote his chamber pieces for clarinet toward the end of his life, and the Beaux Art Trio's interpretation is appropriately, wistfully autumnal. Like Brahms's other clarinet music, this piece is very special, and this is the most appealing interpretation I've heard. As for the horn trio, which isn't done by the Beaux Arts Trio, but features an ensemble led by Arthur Grumiaux, they just don't play music this way anymore.--C.Smith |
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| ...although the recordings are 32 years old and remastered from analogue originals, no one need complain about the sound: it is warm, balanced, clear, and ingratiating. As for the performances, they are even more astonishing than Andsnes's and Rattle's.The pairing of Barenboim and Barbirolli results in intensely Romantic Brahms; they play this music as if they are on a holy quest (which, in fact, they are). Even though slow tempos are the norm, the constant flowing and surging of passions charges the music, and I doubt that most listeners will be impatient or bored. Compared to Andsnes, Barenboim is less precise, less intentional in the way that he shapes a musical line, and arguably more "natural," although I admit And so is Barbirolli, for the same reasons. No orchestral phrase slips by without his careful scrutiny. I suppose that some listeners might find his conducting a little fussy, but I find his attention to musical ebb and flow sensitive, albeit masculine. In the purely orchestral works, he confirms his status as a major Brahmsian (although still an unhurried one). Fine as the New Philharmonia is, the Vienna Philharmonic outshines and "out-tones" them in the three orchestral works.--Raymond Tuttle |
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The Brahms piano concertos are recorded so frequently, and so poorly, that at times you might despair of ever hearing a modern performance that has both a point of view as well as a profound understanding of the composer's style. Well, look no further. Coming hard on the heels of the droopy and depressing Zimerman/Rattle version of the First Concerto for DG, Nelson Freire and Riccardo Chailly offer interpretations of both works that stand with the very best available. Recorded live, this must have been some pair of concerts. The First Concerto in particular is totally thrilling, a take-no-prisoners, blood-and-thunder account of a work far too often tamed and neutered by its performers.
Chailly begins with a rock-solid opening tutti, his swift tempo reminiscent of Szell in his glory days, and no compliment could possibly be higher. It's remarkable how much better the Gewandhaus Orchestra sounds than does the Berlin Philharmonic for Rattle: the strings phrase naturally and without affectation, the woodwinds are well balanced, and the texture is warm yet transparent. This is the true Brahms sonority. Freire, for his part, has internalized the music to the point where it flows out of him like an elemental force. His initial entrance simply sweeps the listener up into the ongoing dialog between solo and orchestra. As the movement proceeds, he builds the dramatic tension steadily, with huge climaxes and a singing tone that has huge amplitude without ever turning harsh. The movement's coda offers the last word in Brahmsian excitement.
Both here and in the Second Concerto Freire and Chailly stress the lyrical, vocal qualities of the respective slow movements. Tempos flow effortlessly, without dragging, and in the latter work this permits the solo cello to emote without stickiness or excessive sentimentality. In the finale of the First Concerto and the Scherzo of the Second, Freire's articulation and use of accent maintain tension irrespective of the chosen tempo (the former is admirably swift, the latter aptly more measured to give proper weight to the cross-rhythms). The finale of the Second Concerto is lightly sprung, but never to the point where the music turns excessively salon-like, and the Hungarian episodes really smolder: perhaps it's the Latin heritage of both conductor and soloist, but it's so rewarding to hear the music played with passion and temperament.
The engineering in both works is well balanced, big, and bold, matching the extravert character of the performances. To my mind the only serious competition for sets containing both concertos comes from either of the Szells, with Serkin or Fleisher, both on Sony, or possibly Buchbinder/Harnoncourt on Warner or Gilels/Jochum on DG. There are, of course, excellent individual discs, including Arrau/Kubelik live on Orfeo in the First Concerto, and Richter/Leinsdorf (RCA) in the Second; but if you're looking for Brahms playing in modern sound that treats the music as a living, spontaneous event rather than as a decadent relic of a past civilization, as we so often seem to get these days (witness Rattle/Zimerman), you can't do better than this spectacular achievement.—David Hurwitz
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These performances are frequently hair-raising; for sheer excitement they rival Toscanini and Karajan, without the former's tightness or the latter's grandiosity.
