When John Lill’s account of the Emperor was first issued (in a box with the other four concertos), Richard Osborne praised his ‘realisation of the piano’s energy and vaunting majesty in the outer movements, offset by the chilly stellar beauty of the piano writing in the Adagio’. He further commented, ‘This will be a formidable CD when issued separately.’ So it proves, and the overtures are very successful, too, especially Weller’s exciting Leonore No 3. The only caveat is that the spacious resonance of the Birmingham Town Hall recording, which works well in the concerto, here rather clouds the orchestral detail. A fine disc, just the same.
I can’t be as enthusiastic about Israela Margalit’s collection of ‘Romantic Piano Concertos’, and in any case the gathering together of four such diverse works on two mid-price CDs is not very appealing. The soloist is probably at her best in the Schumann, which she plays with much delicacy but more personal idiosyncrasy in matters of tempo and line than many will like; and the vigorously sparkling Saint-Saens is also enjoyable, although this, too, could use more of the kind of poise Rubinstein brought to it. Her account of the Brahms is impressive, undoubtedly poetic and idiomatic, especially in the slow movement and finale, but the work’s first movement suffers from a backward balance for the violins at the normally leonine opening.
Nor would I count Neeme Jarvi’s none-too-sharply defined LPO account of Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony among the finest versions in the catalogue, although it has an eloquent Adagio. Once again I quote RO, who is firmly dismissive: ‘Not only does it lack the concentration of tone of the various Karajan versions, it also lacks the mastery of line and argument – in a word the mastery of tempo – that is Karajan’s distinguishing feature.’ The Reger coupling (the composer’s abbreviated orchestral transcription of a work for two pianos) is an interesting novelty and is convincingly presented, but like the symphony it suffers from an over- resonant recording.
The three Cantilena CDs of the early Haydn symphonies directed by Adrian Shepherd are a mixed bunch, and unfortunately the CD containing the earliest and rarest works is the least satisfactory – the playing is surprisingly short on character. As Nicholas Anderson observed of the original issue, ‘it all sounds under-rehearsed’, and even intonation is suspect. Although the horns are impressive enough in the A major (No 5), one needs more vivacity and spirit. This is much more readily forthcoming in the named symphonies, Nos 6-8, which, of course, are much finer works. But Nos 9-12, although more strongly characterised than the first five, and well enough played with no lack of warmth, still lack ultimate finesse, and the Minuets tend to drag. Pleasing sound, but this set would have been much more competitive at bargain price.
However, Vernon Handley’s coupling of Delius’s early, richly coloured Florida suite (a much underrated work, seldom played, yet the source of the delightful ‘La Calinda’) and the evocative North Country Sketches was always one of his best CDs. Now it comes with a couple of bonuses, equally sympathetically played by the LPO. The recording is of the highest quality and this reissue is a genuine bargain.
The pleasures of the three Madetoja symphonies are considerable; the writing is eclectic, perhaps, but teeming with attractive ideas. There is a Nordic atmosphere and sonority, yet the earthy vitality is tempered with an almost Gallic delicacy; especially the Third, written while the composer was living in France. Madetoja’s orchestral palette is both individual and imaginative and the two suites are colourfully atmospheric and appealing; the Comedy Overture is delightful. Excellent performances, unsurpassed in the present catalogue, admirably recorded and out of Chandos’s top drawer.
Only marginally less attractive is the Parry compilation. The Symphonic Variations immediately echo Brahms, but have their own pleasures, and the eloquent Concertstuck (which unexpectedly lacks a solo instrument) has equally strong Wagnerian influences. From Death to Life is a pair of contrasted movements, the first sombre, the second lively, easily melodic and Elgarian in the best sense. The poignant Elegy for Brahms is both extended and very passionate, but has a particularly appealing central Largamente. It would be difficult to imagine more committed performances, and the rich recording fits the music like a glove.
It was a happy idea to combine Yuli Turovsky’s excellent performances of the Shostakovich Chamber Symphony and Symphony for Strings (both effectively arranged by Barshai from string quartets – Nos 8 and 10 respectively). The performances are first-rate and full of tension. As Michael Oliver said of the Chamber Symphony, ‘His small group of expressive and accomplished players almost has the best of both worlds, the soloistic eloquence of a string quartet, and the massive impact of a string orchestra.’ The recording, too, is first-class, having plenty of body and bite. The cycle of 11 songs based on Jewish folk music makes an unexpected but stimulating bonus. With boldly coloured accompaniments, the diversity of mood is wide – passionate, light-hearted, touching by turns, ending with a robust concerted song about ‘Happiness’. The singing is strongly characterised, the dialogue songs coming off especially well. This is an altogether most rewarding disc.
One does not expect to apply the word ‘charm’ to Bartok, but his Hungarian Sketches are delightfully scored (the number called ‘Slightly tipsy’ especially so), and if Leo Weiner’s only slightly less attractive Hungarian folk-tune suite has a more obvious Western orientation, there is also a whiff of Kodaly. The second of Enescu’s Romanian Rhapsodies, if not as memorable as the delectably tuneful first, is still worth getting to know when played with such verve. Jarvi, whether conducting in London or Scotland, is in his element and so are the Chandos engineers.
Jarvi’s French collection, however, is rather less appealing, though again it offers splendid sound. Both La mer and La valse are somewhat idiosyncratic, though they flow onward evocatively enough; but the real snag is the heavy-handed account of Milhaud’s usually sparkling Suite provencale. A disappointment.
The selection of ‘Byways of British Music’ is little more than a sampler, though cunningly arranged to catch the receptive listener’s ear. The excerpts from the symphonies of Frankel and Searle and the haunting excerpt from Leighton’s Laudes musicae (Symphony No 3) are all enticing, though they are capped by the Adagio from Alwyn’s lovely Lyra angelica. Fine playing and recording throughout.'