Reviews
Welcome
This issue is out just in time for Easter and so there’s more than the usual share of sacred works in our Choral & Song section, with two Stabat Maters, Bach’s St Matthew Passion and whole discs of Easter works from the Cambridge colleges of St John’s and King’s, among others. Whether you’re a church-goer or not, there’s no denying the power and beauty of this music.
Beyond that we’ve a dollop of Vaughan Williams, plus dazzling debuts from Samoan tenor Pene Pati (see our Opera Choice) and young Finnish conductor Klaus Mäkelä, who has struck gold with his Sibelius cycle (our Recording of the Month). There are plenty of wise elders, too, including a brand new recording from the 97-year-old American pianist Ruth Slenczynska.
Michael Beek Reviews editor
This month’s critics
John Allison, Nicholas Anderson, Michael Beek, Terry Blain, Kate Bolton-Porciatti, Geoff Brown, Michael Church, Oliver Condy, Christopher Cook, Martin Cotton, Christopher Dingle, Misha Donat, Jessica Duchen, Rebecca Franks, George Hall, Malcolm Hayes, Julian Haylock, Claire Jackson, Daniel Jaffé, Stephen Johnson, Erik Levi, Andrew McGregor, David Nice, Roger Nichols, Bayan Northcott, Steph Power, Anthony Pryer, Paul Riley, Jan Smaczny, Michael Tanner, Roger Thomas, Kate Wakeling
KEY TO STAR RATINGS
Outstanding
Excellent
Good
Disappointing
Poor
RECORDING OF THE MONTH
Mäkelä’s Sibelius is an electrifying triumph
David Nice is blown away by the prowess and creativity on display in the young Finnish conductor’s very first recording
Sibelius
Symphonies; Tapiola; 3 Late Fragments
Oslo Philharmonic/Klaus Mäkelä
Decca 485 2256 264:33 mins (4 discs)
Most Finnish greats have recorded cycles of Sibelius symphonies at least once: Berglund, Salonen, Saraste, Segerstam, Vänskä, Oramo, Kamu, Storgårds. Who’d have predicted that this latest, from Klaus Mäkelä at the helm of the Oslo Philharmonic, one of the two orchestras who adore their principal conductor, would be the most electrifying and often revelatory of them all? Having encountered this phenomenon, just 26, live in concert in Oslo, I certainly thought it possible. But the results have exceeded all expectations.
In that often-paraphrased conversation about the nature of the symphony between Sibelius and Mahler, the Finn favoured compact logic in contrast to Mahler’s ‘the symphony must be like the world; it should contain everything’. This cycle as a whole reinforces Mahler’s dictum, simply because Mäkelä avoids a uniform approach to the seven masterpieces.
The first two have space and grandeur when needed, and some surprisingly slow tempos held up by intensity, detail and a sense of the bigger picture, but also keen forward movement at vital points. I didn’t think those violin tremolos near the start of the First could be more exciting than the ones Santtu-Matias Rouvali got from his Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra in his first Sibelius recording, but they are; the Oslo Philharmonic strings sound equal to Berlin (and I know from the concert performance of Bartók’s Miraculous Mandarin Suite that superb recorded balances aren’t glamourising). Similarly I couldn’t imagine any performance of the Second Symphony’s extraordinary slow movement as stupendous as the live one I heard from Paavo Järvi and the Estonian Festival Orchestra, but Mäkelä and his Oslo players do it again.
Also at the very top of the tree is this Fifth Symphony (though how I wish the radically different earlier version had also been included). Mäkelä does like to treat what’s usually a central intermezzo as another slow movement, and the same is true of the mystery at the heart of the Third Symphony – for me, Oramo found a unique key to the hypnotic circling – but the quality of the solos and the colourings always holds the attention. After spending a long time with the Fourth Symphony for BBC Radio 3’s Building a Library, I’m convinced that its bleak ending has to proceed without any slowing down; that Mäkelä does so might stop this being my top choice. Then again, the dark colours and the cello solo at the start as well as the nurturing of the Largo towards its shattering, short climax go beyond what any other recorded performance has achieved in this unique anatomy of a symphony. No. 6 is fascinating but may flow more miraculously in time; No. 7 sounds like the work of a conductor at peak maturity; and again this Tapiola, right from the opening urgency through the introspective mystery of the middle to the terrifying storm, is peerless. Thanks, too, for the three late fragments of what may have been intended for the Eighth Symphony Sibelius destroyed. I don’t agree with Mäkelä’s declaration in the booklet note that they ‘suggest a completely new language’ – the continuity persists – but his way with them makes one long for more. The rest of the tone-poems and Kullervo next, please.
No. 7 sounds like the work of a conductor at peak maturity, and this Tapiola is peerless
PERFORMANCE
RECORDING
Debussy
Petite Suite (orch. Büsser); La boîte à joujoux (orch. Caplet); Children’s Corner (orch. Caplet)
Orchestre National des Pays de la Loire/Pascal Rophé
BIS BIS-2622 (CD/SACD) 65:07 mins
Some of Debussy’s later output tends to be rather overshadowed by the muchcelebrated masterworks of his earlier maturity (especially Nocturnes and La mer). La boîte à joujoux grew from an idea by book illustrator André Hellé for a ‘ballet for children’ – about a box of toys, whose occupants come to life to tell their story of the Soldier’s ultimately successful rivalry with Polichinelle for the hand of the Doll. (One of Hellé’s pictures is on the booklet cover.) Debussy wrote the piano score in 1913 but left most of the orchestration unfinished at his death; this was completed for the 1919 stage premiere by André Caplet, himself a gifted composer, whose earlier arrangement of Children’s Corner Debussy had much liked. The result is a total delight – beautifully wrought and paced, and conveying that poignant child’s-eye view of the world, relating to his adored daughter Chou-Chou, that was one of Debussy’s special insights.
Both La boîte à joujoux and the similarly enchanting Children’s Corner are performed with deft panache by this quality orchestra, whose subtly shaded tone and style sound much more like those of earlier French vintages than the globalised full-colour sonority dominating elsewhere today. There are outstanding individual players, among them the principal oboe, whose haunting contribution to ‘The Little Shepherd’ in Children’s Corner is a special moment.
It’s a small pity (only) that this high-class collective response to Pascal Rophé’s conducting doesn’t quite happen in the Petite Suite, whose naturalness and charm here sound strangely earthbound. Malcolm Hayes
PERFORMANCE
RECORDING
Gail Kubik
Divertimentos Nos 1 & 2; Symphony Concertante; Gerald McBoing Boing
Terry Everson (trumpet), Jing Peng (viola), Vivian Choi (piano); Boston Modern Orchestra Project/Gil Rose
BMOP BMOP/sound 1085 (CD/SACD) 69:19 mins
This American composer once inspired an enthusiastic LP sleeve note written by the formidable teacher Nadia Boulanger in praise of the music’s ‘unfaltering energy’, ‘dreaming power’, and ‘fecundity of mind’. But that was almost 60 years ago, and the hyperactive output of Gail Kubik (1914-84) has long since dropped off most people’s radar. Its reappearance is delightful and delicious, especially when performed as by Gil Rose’s Boston forces with so much wit, bright colouring and punch. Terry Everson’s jazz-inflected trumpet solos, prancing through the late 1950s Divertimenti, are particularly invigorating: icing on the cake in music already irrepressibly lively, though the second Divertimento proves more thoughtful and relaxed.
Built from little building blocks, crisp in the neo-classical Stravinsky manner, Kubik’s music found a natural home in film documentaries, a few features and cartoons, most typically in Gerald McBoing Boing (1950), adapted from Dr Seuss’s story about a boy who ‘speaks’ noises rather than words. Frank Kelley’s very lively narrator is an asset in the concert version we hear.
That leaves the Symphony Concertante, with its quirky solo line-up of trumpet, viola and piano – three instruments that should never mix. Bracing enough for the composer to win the 1952 Pulitzer Prize for music, the piece isn’t as well-knit as its companions. But it still offers multiple chances to feast on Kubik’s individual panache, the clear and vibrant recording, and a conductor and instrumentalists at the top of their game, clearly enjoying every note. Geoff Brown
PERFORMANCE
RECORDING
Ravel
Le Tombeau de Couperin (complete, orch. Hesketh); La valse; Alborada del gracioso; Une barque sur l’océan; Menuet antique; Pavane pour une infante défunte
Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra/Sakari Oramo
BIS BIS-2438 (CD/SACD) 68:43 mins
Hard on the heels of John Wilson’s fine Ravel orchestral music album for Chandos comes this equally impressive and brilliantly recorded programme from Sakari Oramo and the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic. Both conductors offer viscerally exciting performances of La valse, but I find Oramo’s interpretation probes deeper into the music’s sinister subtext, driving home the final terrifying descent into chaos with greater ferocity. Honours are more evenly divided in the Pavane, the other piece common to both discs. Here Wilson draws some ravishingly beautiful sounds from his orchestral players in contrast to Oramo’s more restrained textures.
His linear approach works particularly well in Le Tombeau de Couperin. Here, unusually, it’s performed in the sequence of movements as originally conceived for Ravel’s piano version, and features marvellously idiomatic orchestrations of the ‘Fugue’ and ‘Toccata’ by Kenneth Hesketh. The Royal Stockholm Philharmonic negotiates the tricky rippling figurations of the ‘Prélude’ and the fleet-of-foot articulation of the ‘Rigaudon’ with remarkable clarity, but the ‘Forlane’ seems a little breathless and lacking in elegance.
is given a superbly controlled and atmospheric performance, vividly conveying the physical sensations of standing aboard a ship, breathing in the sea air and experiencing the unpredictable thrill of the crashing waves. There’s lots of energy and, but Oramo doesn’t quite capture the sultry warmth of its slower middle section.
