I have to start this review by saying that the Brahms
Clarinet Quintet, Op. 115 is my all-time favourite chamber work. So settling down to a performance by the
excellent Brodsky Quartet together with clarinettist of the moment, Michael Collins, promised much. But first, they
opened with the second String Quartet. Brahms
composed just three String Quartets, and he was forty before he published the
first two, Op. 51. Much has been written
about the shadow of Beethoven that stunted Brahms’ confidence, and the string
quartet genre it was also the vast body of work from the other string quartet
giants, Haydn, Mozart and Schubert, that must have been intimidating for any
composer following so soon after. In
fact the Op. 51 pair were received well, if not overly enthusiastically at the
time, but the ever self-critical Brahms wasn’t entirely happy with them. Interestingly, he seemed to favour the
expanded resources of quintets and sextets, which perhaps gave him more scope
for his often richer, thicker harmonic writing.
However, the second String Quartet in A minor, Op. 51 No. 2 is on the
whole, a lighter, more lyrical affair, although darkness lurks in the
thoughtful slow movement, and in the weighty yet lively Hungarian dance
influenced finale. The Brodskys give a
fine performance here, nothing remarkable, but giving due weight where
required, and a lighter touch, for example, in the alternating Allegretto
Vivace section of the third movement.
However, there is definitely a feeling of this being a curtain raiser
for the main event, the Clarinet Quintet.
This dates from the Indian summer of Brahms’ compositional output, after
he had said he would compose no more. A
number of key works stem from this period, including three other chamber works
including the clarinet, all inspired by the playing of clarinettist Richard
Mühlfield. The Clarinet Quintet is a
masterpiece of nostalgia, sadness and at times, exquisite beauty. This is a more laid-back performance from
Collins and the Brodskys than some – their take emphasises the introspection
and reflection, and less so the dramatic outbursts of frustration, even anger
that are there in the music. Their tempi
throughout are relaxed, which is a noticeable Brodsky characteristic. So I
missed the full extent of this passion, particularly in the turbulent second
movement. However, Collins’ warm,
honeyed tone is perfect for the sense late summer turning to autumn, matched by
the rich, full-bodied string playing from the quartet. The poignant return of
the music from the first movement is played with great sensitivity and pathos.
So overall, a fine performance, but not quite hitting all the right buttons for
me.
Back in February I reviewed a disc of Franco-Flemish
renaissance music sung by the all male Italian ensemble Odhecaton, and their latest disc tackles the strange and wonderful
world of Carlo Gesualdo (1566-1613). He is almost more famous
for having murdered his wife (who was also his first cousin) and her lover,
than for his unusual and strikingly chromatic music, so it’s always good to see
new recordings of his music. As with their previous disc, the soundworld
is different from what we are used to from many English early music ensembles. On this disc the singers are joined in some
pieces by instrumentalists and the viol group Ensemble Mare Nostrum, and the blend of sounds is extraordinary, to
the extent that at times, separating the sound of the counter-tenors from the
cornett is not always easy. This mix of
textures, as well as the insertion of several short organ pieces, makes for a
varied programme. The works on this disc
come from Gesualdo’s first book of Sacrae
Cantiones, and there isn’t space here to go into detail about all the pieces
here. Highlights include the weird
falling harmonies in Deus, refugium et
virtus, and the subtle mix of singers and instruments in Tribulationem et dolorem and Dignare me laudare te. But if you want
to discover more about Gesualdo’s music, this is a great place to start.
Violinist Jennifer Pike has carved out a great career already, having been the youngest winner
of the BBC Young Musician of the Year back in 2002, aged just twelve. In her performance here of one of the last
great Romantic concertos, the Concerto
for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 47 by Jean
Sibelius (1865-1957), she demonstrates incredible musical maturity,
combined with an effortless virtuosity.
There isn’t a flicker of difficulty as she negotiates the challenges of cadenza
passages in the first movement, and the fiendish octaves and harmonics of the
finale are rock solid. The only cost of
such effortless command of the technical difficulties is that we occasionally
lose an edge of danger, important in such a passionate work. The passion rises in the slow movement
however, and she is supported by some beautiful playing from the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra,
especially from the wind section. Sir Andrew Davis and the orchestra then
fill out the disc with a selection of orchestral works by Sibelius, some better
known than others. The most substantial
is the enjoyable Karelia Suite,
rooted in Finnish folk music from the region bordering Russia, and Sibelius’
strong belief in the freedom of Finland from Russian rule. Davis and the orchestra give a rousing
performance, and their Finlandia is also
strong, with rich and stirring orchestral tones. The highlight, however, is their performance
of one movement from Sibelius’ Lemminkäinen
Suite (a shame we couldn’t have all four), The Swan of Tuonela. The
conversation between solo cor anglais and cello, over muted divided strings, is
one of Sibelius’ most inspired creation, and the soloists here (Hege Sellevåg, cor anglais, and Jonathan Aasgaard, cello) make a fine
job of it. The popular Valse triste is accompanied by the less
well-known Valse lyrique and Andante festivo, all receiving strong
performances.
(Edited versions of these reviews first appeared in GScene, December 2014)
