Piston: Orchestral Works
View record and artist detailsRecord and Artist Details
Composer or Director: Walter (Hamor) Piston
Label: Delos
Magazine Review Date: 9/1990
Media Format: CD or Download
Media Runtime: 67
Mastering:
DDD
Catalogue Number: DE3074
Tracks:
Composition | Artist Credit |
---|---|
Symphony No. 2 |
Walter (Hamor) Piston, Composer
Gerard Schwarz, Conductor Seattle Symphony Orchestra Walter (Hamor) Piston, Composer |
Symphony No. 6 |
Walter (Hamor) Piston, Composer
Gerard Schwarz, Conductor Seattle Symphony Orchestra Walter (Hamor) Piston, Composer |
Sinfonietta |
Walter (Hamor) Piston, Composer
Gerard Schwarz, Conductor New York Chamber Symphony Orchestra Walter (Hamor) Piston, Composer |
Author: Edward Seckerson
The insert-note speaks of Piston as the performer's composer, a reminder of his unshakeable faith in the power of the interpeter. But actions speak louder, as Gerard Schwarz and his players so ably demonstrate. Page upon page of these scores is possessed of a questing, improvisatory nature which can live or die in a player's hands. I'm thinking of the Second Symphony's Adagio, of the long, sinewy, sad but inspiring clarinet (and then flute) plaint, unforgettable for the blues inflexion in its tail; or the solo cello singing its hopes and fears in the Sixth's Adagio sereno. There are no easy options, no ready solutions in passages like these. They unfold at length with no preconceived objectives (or so it seems), just an overriding spirit of resolve and a profound sense of longing.
The remarkable Sixth Symphony was a direct response to the Boston Symphony in the Charles Munch era and almost imperceptively takes on board their very particular qualities (not least with regard to the French repertoire), creating a marvellous dynamic tension between Piston's 'rocky road' music, toughly syncopated and impulsive (the symphonic rigour of his music is irresistible—Piston, the qualified architect, is reflected in his sense of structure and balance) and brief impressionistic glimpses of Elysian fields, his texture all at once dominated by florid woodwind and the glitter of harps. Ample homage is paid to the Boston/Munch virtuosity (well emulated in Seattle): scherzo and finale are nothing more, nothing less, than a celebration of those skills—the former a puckish, quick-witted creation with a streak of devilment (piquant use of percussion), the latter a four-minute concerto for orchestra in all but name—assertively major-key, demonstratively 'American'.
In the much earlier Second Symphony colour and cast immediately hint at an altogether more traditional, open-aired Americana. The long dark-hued melody in the strings at the outset has something of a pioneering spirit about it, and it isn't too long before itchy feet break into an audacious barn-dance jig. Again, the dramatic tensions are sustained here through unsettling contrasts: a freewheeling jauntiness offset by the urgent need to seek, and find, a purpose. A decisive welter of sound (horns and bass drum foremost) is the outcome of a probing development, and the haunting coda in canonic brass throws up harmonies that get right to the very soul of the American heartland. For all its shadows, this is the open-faced and lyric Piston that gave us the ballet suite The Incredible Flutist: the colours are primary, the themes are more easily graspable, more emotive, the neo-classicisms less abstract, less astringent than in later works. The 1941 Sinfonietta is a far sharper indication of things to come—an intense, toughly argued 15 minutes, seemingly hell-bent on contradicting the slighter implications of its title. Edgy contrapuntal games are its motivation; dexterity rules. It's Hindemith without the greyness.
This is a welcome addition, then, to the depleted Piston discography. I honestly can't think of a better introduction to the mind and manner of Piston, the symphonist, than through these bold, instinctive, and highly contrasted pieces. Schwarz is never less than persuasive—Piston's unquenchable faith in his performers thoroughly vindicated—and the Delos sound is big, warm and vibrant, pulling no punches.'
The remarkable Sixth Symphony was a direct response to the Boston Symphony in the Charles Munch era and almost imperceptively takes on board their very particular qualities (not least with regard to the French repertoire), creating a marvellous dynamic tension between Piston's 'rocky road' music, toughly syncopated and impulsive (the symphonic rigour of his music is irresistible—Piston, the qualified architect, is reflected in his sense of structure and balance) and brief impressionistic glimpses of Elysian fields, his texture all at once dominated by florid woodwind and the glitter of harps. Ample homage is paid to the Boston/Munch virtuosity (well emulated in Seattle): scherzo and finale are nothing more, nothing less, than a celebration of those skills—the former a puckish, quick-witted creation with a streak of devilment (piquant use of percussion), the latter a four-minute concerto for orchestra in all but name—assertively major-key, demonstratively 'American'.
In the much earlier Second Symphony colour and cast immediately hint at an altogether more traditional, open-aired Americana. The long dark-hued melody in the strings at the outset has something of a pioneering spirit about it, and it isn't too long before itchy feet break into an audacious barn-dance jig. Again, the dramatic tensions are sustained here through unsettling contrasts: a freewheeling jauntiness offset by the urgent need to seek, and find, a purpose. A decisive welter of sound (horns and bass drum foremost) is the outcome of a probing development, and the haunting coda in canonic brass throws up harmonies that get right to the very soul of the American heartland. For all its shadows, this is the open-faced and lyric Piston that gave us the ballet suite The Incredible Flutist: the colours are primary, the themes are more easily graspable, more emotive, the neo-classicisms less abstract, less astringent than in later works. The 1941 Sinfonietta is a far sharper indication of things to come—an intense, toughly argued 15 minutes, seemingly hell-bent on contradicting the slighter implications of its title. Edgy contrapuntal games are its motivation; dexterity rules. It's Hindemith without the greyness.
This is a welcome addition, then, to the depleted Piston discography. I honestly can't think of a better introduction to the mind and manner of Piston, the symphonist, than through these bold, instinctive, and highly contrasted pieces. Schwarz is never less than persuasive—Piston's unquenchable faith in his performers thoroughly vindicated—and the Delos sound is big, warm and vibrant, pulling no punches.'
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