
Canadian pianist Louis Lortie has reached the fourth
volume of his recordings of Chopin’s piano works, and for this latest release
he again uses Nocturnes to vary the programme of the disc’s main genre focus,
in this case the Waltzes. He also doesn’t present the waltzes in
chronological or numerical order, but favours a more logical order in terms of
key relationships, so that the disc makes for a pleasurable programme for the
listener. Of all his genres, the Waltzes
might initially appear to be the least profound – in fact Chopin only thought
eight were worthy of publishing as proper ‘works’ in his lifetime. Included here however are eleven further Waltzes
published posthumously – of these, one (B150,
which opens the disc) is considered spurious, and a further one (B46) is now considered to be probably
by one of Chopin’s students. Lortie’s performances here emphasise the dance
qualities of these short miniatures, of which only a couple top five minutes,
and most are around two minutes long. He has a lightness of touch, even in the
more virtuosic moments, such as in Op.
70 No. 1, never letting the rapid figurations get bogged down in any way.
He uses rubato (a pulling about of the tempo) appropriately but never
indulgently, and the tempi of the faster examples (such as the famous ‘Minute Waltz’, Op. 64 No. 1, and the Grande Valse Brillante, Op. 18) are
perfectly judged. However, the downside
of this focus on the dance means that one or two of the slower Waltzes feel
slightly rushed – the darker A minor Waltz, Op. 34 No. 2, marked ‘lento’, for example, needs a bit more time to
emphasise the mournful, mysterious outer sections. Yet there are moments where the poignancy and
delicacy of Chopin at his most deceptively simple really shine through. The
five Nocturnes on offer here, towards the end of the programme, pick up on the
darker atmosphere, particularly in Op.
32 No. 1, whose simple lyrical opening leads through darker moods to a
strange, dramatic recitative ending. The
disc ends in a brighter mood, however, with the lilting ballad-like Op. 37 No. 2. A most interesting
presentation of the Waltzes, with Lortie once again showing himself to be a
thoughtful and insightful performer.

British conductor Sir Andrew Davis lives in Chicago where he conducts the Lyric Opera, but he
must spend a lot of time in the air, as he also conducts the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, the BBC SO and the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, and it is with the last of these that he has released a
live recording of an all-Strauss
programme. The disc opens with a lively
performance of the swashbuckling tone poem, Don Juan. They performed this when they visited the Proms in London
in 2014. It was well-received then, and
Davis certainly brings out the detail of this imaginatively (and challengingly
for most instruments) scored piece here, letting the music tell the story, making
this a great disc opener. This is
followed by Strauss’ sublime Four Last
Songs, with soprano Erin Wall. Her voice is beautifully rich without being
too heavy or dark, and September is particularly enchanting here. The rest of
the disc is given over to Also Sprach
Zaruthustra, his most ambitious tone poem.
Despite the somewhat episodic writing here, the work has symphonic
proportions, and Davis shows that he fully understands the architecture, giving
perfect sense to the frequent changes of mood.
The orchestra are on fine form, and as in the Don Juan, they rise to the
challenges of Strauss’ writing. The final sequence of alternating wind and
strings quiet chords are perfectly placed – all the more impressive in a live
recording. As the first of a promised
Strauss cycle of recordings, this certainly bodes well.

Chandos have gathered together their recordings of Sir Malcolm Arnold’s (1921-2006) nine Symphonies in a box set re-release. The recordings include the first six
symphonies performed by the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by the late Richard Hickox, and the final three from the BBC Philharmonic under Rumon Gamba. Arnold’s music was somewhat
unfairly dismissed by many in his lifetime, with many not able to separate his
more substantial and ‘serious’ output from his more popular works, particularly
his extensive filmscore output. Yet the
symphonies, which span most of his career from 1949 when the Symphony No. 1 was composed, right
through to 1986 when he finished the Symphony
No. 9. The early symphonies show influences of Sibelius and Mahler, yet
very soon Arnold develops his own particular style, and the symphonies become
progressively darker, and more disturbing, somewhat reflecting Arnold’s own
difficult mental health. It is perhaps
not surprising that the Symphony No. 5,
the most disturbing, labelled by one critic as ‘a study in disintegration’, was
apparently Arnold’s favourite. His mental health deteriorated significantly in
the early eighties, and he pretty much stopped composing altogether from 1982
to 1986, and it was only thanks to the help of his companion and carer, Anthony
Day, that he was able to regain his creative inspiration to compose the Symphony No. 9. It is a particularly
desolate creation, and it struggled to receive a first performance, owing
partly to the delay in its completion, but also to its stark, bare
scoring. Yet it is a work of remarkable
if uncomfortable intensity, and in many ways makes perfect sense in the context
of the progression through the symphonies, which makes this box set
particularly powerful. The recordings
are exemplary throughout, with the LSO under Hickox perhaps achieving a tad
more intensity than Gamba and the BBC Phil – it would have been great to hear
Hickox perform the ninth. This is an important digitally remastered collection, and hopefully will
add further to the belated reappraisal of this troubled and misunderstood
composer.
(Edited versions of some of these reviews first appeared in GScene, July 2015)

Pianist Peter Donohoe has
begun a cycle of Prokofiev’s (1891-1953) Piano Sonatas with the first five, out
of a total of nine. They range from an
early student work, unashamedly romantic in the style of Tchaikovsky, through
to the fifth, a rather introspective and refelective work, and the only one of
the nine to be composed outside Russia.
Whilst the Sonatas 6-8, his ‘War Sonatas’, are widely considered to be
his greatest piano works, these first five show a remarkable journey from the
early romantic work through to the lively challenges posed by the Fourth
Sonata, and the strange expressive harmonic world of the Fifth Sonata. Donohoe recorded the ‘War Sonatas' no fewer
than 23 years ago, to great acclaim at the time. Now he has returned, this time to record the
full set. He is a great British pianist,
with a remarkably sensitive approach to even the most virtuosic of repertoire,
and this combination makes this recording particularly enjoyable. Prokofiev certainly needs virtuosic command,
but the expressive side of his music, most notable here in the slow movement of
the Fourth Sonata, is often given less careful attention. Donohoe brings this first volume to a subtle
and enigmatic close with the final movement of Fifth Sonata’s surprisingly
quiet conclusion – almost as if in anticipation of the next volume to follow
soon.

Jean-Efflam Bavouzet
continues his survey of Haydn’s (1732-1809) Piano Sonatas, with Volume 5 once
again containing 6 sonatas spread across the composer’s output, with the
earliest, No. 15 from 1760, through to Nos. 54-56 from 1784. No. 12 is also here, although its
authenticity as a genuine Haydn sonata is under considerable doubt – but
whoever composed it, it probably originated even earlier in 1755. However you look at it, though, this disc
once again shows the extraordinary range and constant flow of invention that
Haydn demonstrated over such a long period.
Highlights here for me are the lively finale of No. 37, a dance-like
minuet and trio of variations, the startling harmonic jump in the finale of No.
54, and the strangely unsettling and destabiliising rhythmns of No. 56. Once again, Bavouzet demonstrates incredible
precision and command, at the same time as bringing this music alive with a
sense of fun and enjoyment throughout.

Clarinettist Michael Collins
is back with Volume 2 of British Clarinet Sonatas, once again joined by Michael McHale on the piano. Here are five
works, ranging from 1949 to 2010. The
earliest is Arthur Benjamin’s (1893-1960) Le Tombeau de Ravel, a ‘tombeau’
(memorial tribute) in itself to Ravel’s Le Tombeau de Couperin. This sequence of miniature waltz time
sections ends with a wonderful climax reminding one of Ravel’s La Valse. Sir Malcom Arnold (1921-2006) is perhaps
finally gaining the status he deserves, after a lifetime of battling against
being seen as a ‘light’ film composer.
His Sonatina is not a hugely substantial work, but contains delightful
jazz infusions, a beautifully lyrical slow movement, and a wildly virtuosic
finale. Edward Gregson (b.1945) has
written five Tributes to particular composers (including Poulenc and Bartók),
composed for specific clarinettists, including Emma Johnson, and Collins
himself. The other works here are Arnold
Cooke’s (1906-2006) Sonata, a substantial four movement work with influences of
Hindemith evident, with whom Cooke studied, and finally, a delightful Sonatina
by Joseph Horovitz (b. 1926), full of lyricism and bouncy syncopation. Collins, ably accompanied by McHale, is the
ideal advocate for works that sadly seldom receive an airing.

Violinist Arabella Steinbacher has combined an old favourite, the Violin Concerto No. 1 by Max
Bruch (1838-1920), with Erich Korngold’s (1897-1957) Violin Concerto, and the
Poème for Violin and Orchestra by Ernest Chausson (1855-1899). These are all full-on romantic works, and a whole
disc of such music could be rather overpowering, were it not for the fact that
Steinbacher takes a cleaner, more measured approach than one might expect. That is not to say that she is at all
reticent in her playing – on the contrary, in the slow movement of the
Korngold, for example, she extracts every ounce of romantic lyricism, with a
beautifully singing tone throughout.
It’s just that somehow she saves the high romanticism for the ‘right’
moments, rather than wallowing throughout.
Interestingly, if you listen to just one of the works here (perhaps the
Bruch in particular), you might be left wanting more, but listening to the disc
as a whole the end result is just right – satisfying without feeling like
you’ve over-indulged on too much dessert. The Orquestra Gulbenkian, conducted by Lawrence Foster, provide tasteful and solid support.

Finally, more piano, this
time Brahms, from Irish pianist Barry Douglas. He’s on the second volume of Works for Solo
Piano by Brahms, with three of the Ballades, three Intermezzi, a Rhapsody and
the Sonata No. 3. He is taking the
approach of splitting and mixing up Brahms’ sets, creating interesting
programmes as a result. I have to say I
am so used to hearing the Intermezzi in their respective sets, that it takes a
little getting used to hearing them separated in this way. However, once I got used to not hearing what
I expected on the next track, I actually really enjoyed the juxtopositions here
– particularly the sense of building towards the great Sonata at the end of the
disc. Douglas plays with great
sensitivity, and avoids a heaviness that can creep in with Brahms at his most
dramatic. In fact this whole disc builds
beautifully to the heart-stopping Rückblick
before the joyous chorale-like closing finale of the Sonata. The sign of a great pianist is being able to
say something new with familiar repertoire, without resorting to distorting
interpretations, and that is what Douglas achieves here.