"Powerful, Rhythmic Interpretation of the most popular symphony by
Shostakovich, that reveals the whole tragic beauty of the piece in its
lyrical passages."
The historical background of the seventh "Leningrad" symphony by
Dimitri Shostakovich that we know – that of Leningrad encircled by
German troops, released by the Red Army - often hides the fact that it
is an ambivalent piece. Shostakovich's Trojan horse hides a sarcastic
caricature of the ugly side of Stalin's dictatorship behind a curtain of
patriotism. Paavo Järvi (like his father Neeme) is an experienced and
subtle Shostakovich exegete with exactly the right feel for the
multi-layered psychology of this piece. He addresses the embittered
ambivalence of the music with strict tempos (similar to Rostropovich and
Barshai) and a very rhythmically driven interpretation. In the
continuous building of the powerful (and violent) first passage, he
reveals the whole insanity of the desperate situation of those weeks of
war. The enormous sound of the Russian National Orchestra is
unmistakeably in its element here, but it is only in the lyrical
Chiaroscuro-like passages of the second and third passages that this
truly successful interpretation unfolds its full tragic beauty. Here,
Järvi and the Russian Orchestra place musical accents, where others only
reach a strange indifference. Bravo! And we should also mention that
this PENTATONE production is (as always) recorded with a superb sound.
Dmitri SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975) Symphony No. 7 in C major, Op. 60, Leningrad (1941)
Russian National Orchestra/Paavo Järvi
rec. February 2014, Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory, Moscow, Russia
Reviewed as a 24/96 download from eClassical.com
Pdf booklet included PENTATONE PTC5186511 SACD [72:59]
Time was when Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony
was regarded as something of an embarrassment, even by those who championed
the composer’s cause. In a welcome reversal the piece has now
been rehabilitated, as the parade of new recordings confirms. Among
the latter is Mark Elder’s 2013 account with the Hallé Orchestra,
its virtues intact despite poor balances (review).
Valery Gergiev’s Mariinsky recording from 2012 comes up trumps
too (review),
and Dmitri Kitaienko’s – which dates from 2003 – is
one of the glories of his Capriccio box (review).
There are others, such as
Vasily Petrenko’s and Andris
Nelsons', which have excited others far more than they have me.
When Paavo Järvi’s Leningrad recording was first announced
I really didn’t think it would be a contender. In the past this
conductor has struck me as meticulous almost to a fault, and not the
most communicative of baton wavers. That said, a Russian orchestra playing
Shostakovich usually demands a listen. Factor in PentaTone’s reputation
for fine recordings and it would seem this new album is a decent prospect.
Even then I must admit to feeling somewhat blasé; with so many potent
rivals what more could Järvi bring to the piece?
As it happens, quite a lot. For a start the half-hour first movement,
with its long, much-derided march, is full of surprises. There’s a
sweetness to the introductory section – an innocence, if you like – that
seems very apt in the light of what’s to come. Sunny and unsuspecting
this music is played with a simple loveliness that had me hearing the
notes anew. Even more impressive is the superb recording, whose
perspectives are as close to the concert-hall experience as I’ve heard
in a very long time.
When it materialises the march is spine-tingling; it’s well paced,
without haste or histrionics, and it’s all the more effective
for that. The Russian woodwinds, so naturally caught, are first-rate
and those cymbal clashes are powerful but proportionate. That’s
very refreshing in a work that’s often presented in a crudely
filmic way, not least when so much of the score’s fine detail
is allowed to shine through. This is the very antithesis of Elder’s
St-Vitus-like version, yet by some unexplained alchemy Järvi never wants
for strength or intensity.
The oh-so-pliant start to the Moderato has seldom emerged with
such disarming loveliness, its quiet, affectionate recollections accompanied
by a wistful smile. The breath-bating hear-through quality of the playing
and recording beggars belief; it really is as if one were at a live
concert, caught in that almost hypnotic state where one communes with
musicians and audience alike. Also, Järvi adds a penetrating chill to
this spectral music, the like of which I’ve not heard since Gergiev’s
deeply unsettling performance at the RFH some years ago.
In a composer – and a symphony – that’s no stranger
to banalities it’s remarkable that Järvi’s discreet, unhurried
approach brings with it a sustained coherence and logic that never sell
the music short. Even the bleak, upward-winding start to the Adagio
has a beauty that far from minimising the underlying grief actually
seems to intensify it. The RNO strings sound glorious, the dark-toned
woodwinds even more so, and it’s impossible not to be moved –
and mightily so – by these spare, artless utterances. Indeed,
I can’t recall the score being laid bare in such a way, its beating
heart open to the elements.
One might think that such attention to detail is the enemy of purpose
and momentum, but in this case it most certainly isn’t. Even the
rollicking, circus-like episodes – played without recourse to
vulgar emphasis – have a certain dignity that I find most affecting.
And that’s the nub of it; this is a performance that eschews the
fearsome in favour of the fragile, and favours the individual over the
faceless crowd. Indeed, there were times when I wished the ravishing
Adagio would never end, such is the heartfelt eloquence with
which it’s delivered.
This conductor continues as he began, with a calm, clear-eyed Allegronon troppo. As so often the result is anything but prosaic,
with the fleeting jauntiness of the first movement caught to perfection.
Järvi also constructs a mean climax, and the music’s underlying
jubilation never succumbs to emptiness or anarchy. The nobility here
is entirely personal – a tribute to the indomitability of the
human spirit, perhaps – and if Järvi seems a tad measured at this
point it’s because there’s so much to filter out from the
surrounding tumult. At the same time tension builds – quietly,
unobtrusively – and all the while one has to marvel at the equally
discreet virtuosity of this Russian band.
It’s not just about detail though, for Järvi shapes the music
in such a way that hidden rhythms and phrases are disinterred as well.
Goodness, is there no end to the revelations of this performance? As
for the finale it unfolds with an unforced, passionately voiced grandeur
that couldn’t be further from the bombast that some find here.
That should come as no surprise, given the number of times Järvi defeats
expectations in this paradigm-shifting performance. Even if you prefer
cruder, more equivocal accounts of this symphony you simply cannot overlook
this extraordinary alternative.
An unaffected, deeply humanising Seventh; quite possibly the best thing Paavo Järvi has ever done.
British cellist Steven Isserlis delivers an
unmissable disc, says Peter Quantrill, in this collection of Russian
repertoire that even challenges the supremacy of the great Rostropovich.
Label: Hyperion
Rating *****
Deranged nuns, inveterate gamblers and fairytale princesses are stock-in-trade characters for Prokofiev’s
operas, and it doesn’t take a wild imaginative leap to hear such
fantastical characters peopling the busy, welcoming sprawl of his Cello
Concerto like a comic-book city. It's thanks to Steven Isserlis, who
makes a piece with a chequered history and ‘difficult’ reputation sound
like a masterpiece completely characteristic of its creator.
In his hands, the yearning melody of the opening Andante is worthy of Romeo and Juliet
(also composed in the mid-1930s), while the Scherzo’s rough humour jabs
you in the ribs like a red-nosed joker from Gogol thanks to punchy
support from the winds of the Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra. Even
the rambling variations of the finale are held together with a very
timely narrative of one man against many, elucidated by Isserlis in a
passionately argued booklet note: 'The better I know it, the more I love
it', he says, and sympathetic listeners will feel the same. Shostakovich’s First Concerto may require less personal advocacy, but Isserlis steps out from Rostropovich's
bear-like shadow in this music to present another confrontation between
individuality and the mechanistic forces of unknowable power. There’s a
wonderful moment in the second movement where a waltz drifts in like a
ghost orchestra in a deserted ballroom, and Paavo Järvi works hand in
glove with his soloist throughout, offering more positive and detailed
support than Isserlis received on a recent DVD of the work with
different accompanists. It’s an unmissable disc. Artists: Steven Isserlis (cello), Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra/Paavo Järvi Peter Quantrill has written for (among others) Gramophone, Deutsche Grammophon, the Salzburg Festival and Paul McCartney
Seen and heard international
Robert Beattie
14.04.2015
Haydn, Beethoven, Nielsen,Martin Helmchen (piano) Philharmonia Orchestra/Paavo Järvi (conductor) Royal Festival Hall, London 12.4.2014 (RB) Haydn – Symphony No. 88 in G Hob 1/88 Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 5 in E Flat Op 73 ‘Emperor’ Nielsen – Symphony No. 4 Op 29 The Inextinguishable
Carl Nielsen’s music is featuring prominently in concert programmes
across London at the moment. Oramo and the BBC Symphony Orchestra are
presenting their own interpretations of all six symphonies at the
Barbican while Järvi and the Philharmonia are also performing all of the
symphonies at the Southbank Centre. This concert featured one of the
most incendiary works in the Nielsen symphonic canon – The Inextinguishable.
Before the apocalyptic eruptions of the Nielsen, Järvi and the
Philharmonia presented us with two contrasting works from the Classical
period.
Haydn’s Symphony No. 88 was written in 1787 immediately after the
Paris symphonies and before the London symphonies. It is one of the
composer’s most inventive and highly regarded works and it follows the
traditional four-movement Classical format. The Philharmonia’s strings
gave us broad, clean strokes in the Adagio introduction before launching into the ensuing first movement Allegro.
Vibrato was kept to a minimum and there was clearly enormous attention
to detail as conductor and orchestra worked through the composer’s
tightly argued contrapuntal textures. Järvi coaxed some very muscular
and gutsy playing from the Philharmonia, which I liked and did a
wonderful job of bringing out the harmonic surprises and dynamic
shifts. The Largo slow movement is an exquisite set of
variations which received a very graceful and beautifully shaped
performance here – bravo in particular to the Philharmonia’s principal
oboe! Järvi adopted a nice flowing tempo that seemed spot on to me and
was alive to both the nuanced Classical elegance and filigree decoration
in the score and the striking dramatic interjections. The droning of
the bagpipes was perfectly realised in the third movement trio while
Järvi was hopping about on the podium to the rustic foot stomping of the
minuet. The finale was light and effervescent with Järvi and the
Philharmonia nicely capturing the ebullient high spirits of the work.
Martin Helmchen joined the assembled forces for Beethoven’s Emperor
Concerto. I normally like Helmchen’s playing but I was a little
disappointed with this performance. He opened well, capturing the
grandeur and majesty of the piece in the initial flourishes while Järvi
and the Philharmonia brought a feeling of strength and exhilaration to
the subsequent tutti section. One of the key challenges the
soloist faces with this work – one of the most famous in the repertoire –
is making the material sound fresh and unhackneyed. In the first
movement, Helmchen’s performance came across as technically competent
but slightly jaded, perhaps because of over-exposure to the piece.
There was some very fine playing, particularly in the development
section where Helmchen’s rapport with Järvi and the orchestra was
exemplary but there were also moments when his playing sounded a little
too casual and untidy – a glaring example was the last chord which was
held down too long by the pedal. The slow movement was better and I
loved the soft-grained poetic sounds which Helmchen conjured from his
Steinway and the way in which he allowed the gorgeous suspended melody
to sing. However, the sequence of ascending trills did not quite have
the magic that it should and Helmchen lost the pulse of the music a
little and went off too fast in the subsequent section. He seemed to
spark much more in the romping finale, saving his best playing to last.
He gave us some excellent shaping of the line and very fine
articulation and at the same time brought out the discrete character of
the contrasting episodes.
Following the première of his Fourth Symphony, Carl Nielsen spoke to the newspaper Politiken
and is quoted as saying: “Music is life, and as such
inextinguishable”. In his private correspondence he amplified his
thought processes further when he wrote that he was “trying to describe
all that has the will and the urge to life, which cannot be kept down”.
The Fourth Symphony was composed while the First World War was raging
around Europe and it describes the will to survive and to overcome the
dark destructive forces engulfing the continent. Järvi and the
Philharmonia captured the white heat of the opening movement presenting
us with an uncontained maelstrom of sound. Järvi synthesised the
composite elements into a seamless organic whole, bringing out the
angularity of the writing and feelings of disquiet in the more
reflective material. Nielsen’s sonic and harmonic shocks, rhythmic
asymmetries and unusual textural collages were all brought thrillingly
to life.
The Philharmonia’s woodwind provided an oasis of calm in the tranquil
second movement – the music had a charm and timeless beauty all of its
own. The strings achieved a searing intensity in the opening of the
third movement in a very dramatic piece of playing. Järvi allowed the
subsequent fugue to build in a powerful and incremental way and the
dramatic conflict at the heart of the piece was brought vividly to
life. The final movement is famous because of the explosive battle
between the two sets of timpani on either side of the orchestra and the
Philharmonia’s percussionists did not disappoint, giving us explosive
fusillades of sound. The brass gave the final bars of the work a
life-affirming grandeur while the rumbles from the timpani warned us
that the threat of war and the descent into barbarism is never far away.
This was great playing from Järvi and the Philharmonia – and it’s
good to see these wonderful symphonies by Carl Nielsen receiving so much
public exposure.
Sunday, April 12, 2015 Southbank Centre, London – Royal Festival Hall
Haydn
Symphony No.88 in G Beethoven
Piano Concerto No.5 in E flat, Op.73 (Emperor) Nielsen
Symphony No.4, FS76/Op.29 (The Inextinguishable)
Martin Helmchen (piano)
Philharmonia Orchestra
Paavo Järvi
On the evidence of the previous Nielsen collaboration between Paavo
Järvi and the Philharmonia Orchestra (Symphony No.1 last year)
expectations were not high. In fact this was an outstanding concert from
first note to last and a salutary reminder to keep an open mind.
At one time Haydn’s Symphony No.88 seemed to be as frequently played
as the later ‘London’ Symphonies. Its inclusion here was doubly welcome.
With a substantial complement of strings (violins antiphonally
positioned, cellos and double basses to the left of the conductor, just
as in Klemperer’s day) this was big-orchestra Haydn but with the added
twist of hard-sticks timpani and an appropriate cutting edge to the
brass. The outer movements developed a fine momentum. The slow one
brought an eloquent cello solo from Timothy Walden and abrupt tutti
interjections whilst the Minuet had a real spring to its heel and its
rustic Trio was notable for Gordon Hunt’s affectionate oboe-playing. The
reception included whoops of joy.
Beethoven composed his E flat Piano Concerto (to become known as the
‘Emperor’) under the least propitious of circumstances – Vienna was
under heavy bombardment from Napoleon’s forces – but one would hardly
have suspected this from its Olympian splendour. Martin Helmchen numbers
Alfred Brendel amongst his mentors and is a notably fine player in the
best classical mould.
Particularly noticeable was Helmchen’s care over note-values and
markings. In the first movement there is a series of descending
semiquaver scales rounded off with a triplet, which emerged with
crystalline clarity; and there is a bar where Beethoven
uncharacteristically interrupts the flow with a senza tempo as
though the music has momentarily lost its way, precisely observed here.
In the Adagio, normally treated with quasi-religious devotion, Helmchen
and Järvi adopted a slightly faster tempo than normal, yet lost none of
the music’s inwardness. The gradual descent towards the finale achieved a
moment of timelessness and rightly Helmchen delayed the ff
till the first bar whereas many players jump the gun and start on the
last beat of the slow movement, thus losing its shock value. Under Järvi
the accompaniment was both muscular and sensitive, the piano’s frequent
exchanges with the woodwinds marking Helmchen out as a fine
chamber-musician.
Carl Nielsen’s ‘Inextinguishable’ Symphony was a game changer for its
composer. When he conducted it at Copenhagen’s Odd Fellows Hall in 1916
it changed perceptions of him. Later, a performance at an early
Edinburgh Festival under Launy Grøndahl did much to establish Nielsen’s
reputation outside Denmark. Nielsen could scarcely but be affected by
the horrific unfolding events of the First World War. There is also an
extraordinarily positive attitude which is quintessentially Danish. As
Nielsen put it, “only music has the power to express fully the
elementary will to live. Music is life, and like life inextinguishable.”
At the outset Järvi and the Philharmonia hurled us into the vortex
with maximum force. It is possible to take a longer view building more
patiently to the first movement’s glorioso climax, but this had
conviction in spades and in Nielsen conviction counts for a great deal.
It also had genuine finesse, for instance as the initial hubbub
subsides giving way to a curious accelerando flute passage
picked up by the violins and vehemently disrupted by the violas. The
intermezzo-like second movement brought some particularly sophisticated
wind-playing, the bass clarinet dying to near silence before that
extraordinary unison violin entry which ushers in the slow movement.
This had all the unanimity and depth of tone which this music cries out
for but seldom receives and has been compared to an eagle soaring and
swooping. The finale, presaged by another eruption despatched here with a
visceral panache, features two battling timpanists in its progress
towards the ultimate peroration. This was a concert to make one realise
why one keeps coming back for more.
Impassioned performance … Paavo Järvi. Photograph: Julien Hekimian/Getty Images
Even within my lifetime a Guardian critic could write a review complaining that Nielsen’s fourth symphony
should not have been titled the “Inextinguishable” but the
“Indistinguishable”. We are certainly more interested in and hopefully
much wiser about Nielsen’s achievement now. And with two cycles of his
symphonies – the other under Sakari Oramo – interweaved in London’s current concert season, Paavo Järvi’s
impassioned performance of this craggy yet sweeping masterpiece was the
best possible retort to an earlier era that struggled to get it about
Nielsen’s individuality and metaphysical drive.
Few symphonies explode with such pent-up energy as Nielsen’s first
world war-era assertion of what he saw as the embattled life force. A
conductor must work hard to prevent the piece becoming so wild and
relentless that its textures and motivic structure are lost. Järvi was
equal to that challenge, hugely helped by some committed wind playing,
which brought out the more angular dimensions of the score. But he never
lost his grip either, and the awesomely executed duel of timpani
thunderbolts across the orchestra in the final movement was not allowed
to eclipse the compelling trajectory of Nielsen’s argument.
Järvi had begun with Haydn’s 88th symphony in G,
a work that is musically and emotionally on another planet. Järvi’s
big-band Haydn was a throwback in terms of modern performance practice,
but the phrasing and wit of the symphony, a favourite of many early 20th-century conductors, came through just as irresistibly all the same. In between the symphonies, the notable young pianist Martin Helmchen
gave a sparkling account of Beethoven’s Emperor concerto, which at
times tended to go its own way rather than working in rapport with the
orchestra. The rewards of Helmchen’s reading lay more in the exceptional
detail and tonal range of his piano-playing, which was extremely
impressive, than in the bigger Beethovenian picture, which never quite
left the ground as one hoped.
http://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/apr/14/philharmonia-jarvi-review-nielsen-royal-festival-hall
Wie der estnische Dirigent Paavo Järvi mit drei Kantaten zu Ehren Stalins seine Landsleute provozierte
Einen Bodyguard, "dreimal so breit wie ich
selbst", engagierte Paavo Järvi, um ein Konzert daheim in Tallinn geben
zu können. Der Dirigent, 52, widmete sich der Musik von Dmitri
Schostakowitsch, die der sowjetische Komponist einst Stalin zu Gefallen
geschrieben hatte. Haarsträubend propagandistisch – und heute aktueller
denn je, wie Järvi im Vorwort der Mitte Mai bei Erato erscheinenden
CD-Aufnahme schreibt. Järvi, der am Pult der Berliner Philharmoniker vom
14. bis 16. Mai Schostakowitschs "1. Symphonie" präsentieren wird,
hatte sich mit dem Tallinn-Projekt im April 2012 bewusst in die
kulturelle Frontlinie zwischen Estland und Russland begeben.
ADVERTISEMENT
Bei Järvis Konzert in Tallinn hatten
die Zeitungen die Ironie des Komponisten übernommen. "Paavo Järvi
huldigt Stalin", titelten sie, provozierend. Daher der Bodyguard, nur
zur Vorsicht: "Sie wissen nicht, wessen Gefühle Sie verletzen", so
Järvi: "Schostakowitsch schrieb die Kantaten 1964, zwei Jahre, nachdem
ich geboren wurde. Historisch gesehen gewissermaßen gestern. Wer nahe
der Grenze zu Russland wohnt, hamstert Vorräte im Keller und ist
jederzeit auf einen Einmarsch gefasst." Jedem Konzertbesucher sei aber
die Ironie des Projektes klar gewesen, nicht nur den Bildungsbürgern,
sagt Järvi, und vergleicht es mit Pop-Art in Russland, die Jesus, Micky
Maus und Lenin Hand in Hand abbildet.
Eine
Gänsehaut sei ihm über den Rücken gelaufen, als er Schostakowitschs
drei Kantaten vor ausverkauftem Saal dirigiert habe. "Ich habe mich
geschämt, über die Schulter zu schauen, denn ich hasste jedes Wort, das
ich da dirigierte. 'Stalin – unser Land wird geführt von einem Genie'
und so weiter. Die Hälfte der Bevölkerung unseres Landes ist in
Konzentrationslagern von Stalin umgebracht worden!"
Paavo
Järvi, der in Tallinn, damals Hauptstadt der Estnischen Sozialistischen
Sowjetrepublik, geboren wurde, war 1980 mit seinen Eltern in die USA
emigriert. Nach der Unabhängigkeitserklärung Estlands von Russland
kehrten sie zurück. Heute fördern Paavo Järvi und sein Vater, der
Dirigent Neeme Järvi, mit ihrem Sommerfestival im südestnischen Pärnu
und der Järvi Academy für junge Künstler den Musikernachwuchs ihres
Heimatlandes.
Mit dem
Schostakowitsch-Projekt habe er, zum ersten Mal, dass dies ein Künstler
überhaupt tat, die drei Chorwerke "Über unserer Heimat scheint die
Sonne", "Das Lied von den Wäldern" und "Die Hinrichtung des Stefan
Rasin" dort aufgeführt. Der Komponist schrieb sie, nachdem er mit seiner
"4. Symphonie" beim Regime in Ungnade gefallen war. "Die Stücke könnten
vordergründig kaum lauter und pompöser sein, mit Posaunen und
Knabenchören. Aber es gibt da diese Doppelbödigkeit. Schostakowitsch
muss beim Schreiben vor Lachen vom Stuhl gefallen sein." Ein
lebensgefährlicher Humor. Die Entscheidung des Regimes fiel zu seinen
Gunsten aus. Schostakowitsch kam nicht nur mit dem Leben davon, diese
demonstrativ propagandistischen Werke ermöglichten ihm, seiner Berufung
weiter nachzugehen. Angst vor der Willkür aber muss er bis zu seinem
Lebensende verspürt haben.
Auf die
Frage, ob ein solches Konzert nicht eine Art Über-den-Zaun-spucken sei,
verweist Järvi auf Schostakowitschs künstlerische Bedeutsamkeit. Sie sei
in allen ehemaligen sowjetischen Ländern unumstritten, in Estland wie
anderswo. "Deshalb konnte ich das Konzert überhaupt spielen. Hätte ich
ein Programm mit Musik von Schostakowitschs Zeitgenossen Dmitri
Kabalewski geplant, wäre es verboten worden." Ob Kabalewski in derselben
Situation wie Schostakowitsch war, wissen wir heute nicht. Der "schmale
Grat zwischen richtig und falsch", auf dem auch ein Künstler
balancieren muss, ist an Schostakowitschs Werk plakativer abzubilden.
Prokofiev, Shostakovich: Cello ConcertosSteven Isserlis (cello), Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra/Paavo Järvi (Hyperion) Prokofiev
began writing his Cello Concerto for the great Russian cellist Gregor
Piatigorsky in the early 1930s. The work was completed after Prokofiev’s
1936 return to Moscow, meaning that Piatigorsky, as a Soviet refugee,
was no longer able to give the premiere. Several unsuccessful
performances led to the concerto falling into obscurity, until
Prokofiev’s post-war decision to rewrite the piece for the young
Rostropovich as his Op.125
Symphony-Concerto. Here, Steven Isserlis gives us the composer's first
thoughts, and it’s hard to understand why such a dramatic, melodic and
approachable work has been so neglected. It grips from the outset, the
cello melody heard over a stabbing, ticking ostinato that couldn’t have
been written by anyone else. Conductor Paavo Järvi rightly emphasises
Prokofiev’s sinuous writing for lower strings and tuba. Things get
better still in the central Scherzo, 11 hyperactive minutes sounding
like a collection of the best bits of Prokofiev you’ve not yet heard.
Isserlis’s gutsy, passionate playing defies belief, notably in the
extended finale’s sequence of variations. The concerto’s uncompromising,
violent close is devastating – fast major key music which leaves a
defiantly bitter aftertaste.
As a coupling, Isserlis and Järvi
give us Shostakovich’s taut, compact Cello Concerto no 1. Prokofiev’s
concerto is epic and darkly romantic; this one is pithy and ironic. This
performance is up with the best; Isserlis’s warm, sonorous tone a real
asset in the slow movement and extended cadenza. The Allegro con moto’s
riotous close is both witty and disturbing. Isserlis throws in a
delicious encore as a palate-cleanser: Piatigorsky’s solo cello
arrangement of a short march from Prokofiev’s piano suite Music for
Children. Hyperion's engineering is impeccable. Only the cover photo
disappoints; a greyish portrait of a sleepy-looking Isserlis contrasts
with the dynamism of his playing.
When you're all grown up, you — at least theoretically — put away childish things. But there are exceptions, as violinist Hilary Hahn proves in her latest recording project.
The album is a pairing of two concertos she's been playing since she
was just 10 years old: 19th-century Belgian composer (and violin
virtuoso) Henry Vieuxtemps' Violin Concerto No. 4 in D minor and Mozart's
Violin Concerto No. 5 in A major, nicknamed "Turkish" — a concerto that
Mozart wrote when he was just 19 himself. (And how's this for historic
continuity? Hahn first studied the Mozart with her beloved teacher at
Philadelphia's Curtis Institute of Music, Jascha Brodsky, who in turn
studied with the legendary Eugène Ysaÿe, who was himself a student of
... Vieuxtemps.)
Now that Hahn is 35 and has been playing these
concertos regularly for a quarter century, she brings both grace and
immense force to these performances with conductor Paavo Järvi and the
Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen. There's no better example than the
final movement of the Mozart, a rondo that is by turns regal and
rollicking. Hahn never gives up her pinpoint precision in the movement's
minuet theme. And she brings out real muscle when, in the middle of the
movement, Mozart inserts a janissary-influenced
section that evokes a Turkish military band and gives the concerto its
nickname. The whole album is a pleasure — this is just a little taste.
Eine neue CD des Labels Hyperion vereint das Cellokonzert von Sergej
Prokofjew und das 1. Cellokonzert von Dmitrij Schostakowitsch in einer
faszinierenden neuen Produktion des hr-Sinfonieorchesters mit Paavo
Järvi und Steven Isserlis.
Mit dem weltberühmten britischen Cellisten hat das hr-Sinfonieorchester
in der Vergangenheit bereits mehrfach erfolgreich gearbeitet, zuletzt
2013 bei der Präsentation des Cellokonzerts von Sergej Prokofjew, das
lange nur in der stark überarbeiteten Fassung als »Sinfonisches Konzert
op. 125« bekannt war. Die von Steven Isserlis vorgestellte, eminent
anspruchsvolle und – nicht zuletzt deshalb – selten zu hörende Urfassung
des Prokofjew-Werkes wurde im Rahmen eines gefeierten Konzerts in
Frankfurt zugleich für CD produziert und macht diese neue Publikation
allein schon interessant.
Mit Schostakowitschs 1. Cellokonzert ist auf der CD darüber hinaus ein
Hauptwerk der Celloliteratur des 20. Jahrhunderts zu erleben – ein
skurriles und hintersinniges Konzert des aus ideologischen Gründen
seiner künstlerischen Freiheiten beraubten Komponisten, das voller
Masken, Fassaden und Doppelbödigkeiten steckt. In beiden Werken besticht
Isserlis dabei mit seiner tiefen, leidenschaftlichen Virtuosität, und
das hr-Sinfonieorchester und sein langjähriger Chefdirigent Paavo Järvi
bringen auf beeindruckende Weise ihre große Interpretationserfahrung in
Sachen Prokofjew und Schostakowitsch ein.
Prokofiev, Shostakovich: Cello Concertos Steven Isserlis (cello), Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra/Paavo Järvi (Hyperion)
When you're all grown up, you — at least theoretically — put away childish things. But there are exceptions, as violinist Hilary Hahn proves in her latest recording project.
