Beneath the Surface #3 – Bloch: Voice in the Wilderness, Schelomo; Caplet: Epiphanie

Composers: Ernest Bloch (Swiss-American, 1880-1959); André Caplet (French, 1878-1925)

Works: Bloch: A Voice in the Wilderness (1936), Schelomo (1916); Caplet: Epiphanie (1923); Ravel: Kaddisch (1914)

Performers: Raphael Wallfisch (cello), BBC National Orchestra of Wales / Benjamin Wallfisch

Label: Nimbus

Background and Critical Reception

Ernest Bloch has a fascinating biography. Born in Geneva, he moved around Europe before settling in the US in 1916, taking up citizenship eight years later. Early studies were with the great violinist-composer Ysaÿe in Belgium, while later in America he taught the maverick George Antheil and Roger Sessions.

A Jewish composer, Bloch often looked to his heritage and culture when writing music, as well as incorporating elements of the Baroque in dramatic works such as two Concerti Grossi for piano and strings. Yet his harmonic language could often be strikingly original, as it was in his Violin Sonatas, Symphony in C# minor and Violin Concerto. His time in America yielded a number of works delighting in his new-found heritage, such as the Sacred Service and the patriotic rhapsody for orchestra America. Despite his new found surroundings Bloch often made strong references to his Jewish roots, with modal scales that link closely to the musical language.

André Caplet, meanwhile (on the left in the picture) is known primarily as the composer who orchestrated a number of works by Debussy (also in the picture) – yet he was to win the Prix de Rome in 1901 with his cantata Myrrha, emulating last week’s composer Dukas. Of his Debussy orchestrations, Children’s Corner, Le Martyre de Saint-Sébastien and the celebrated version of Clair de lune all passed through his hands. Yet as a composer Caplet has a substantial output of that features some highly regarded if seldom heard vocal music. He died as a result of health complications sustained from World War I.

Thoughts

This disc is themed around the Holocaust, and was in fact released by Raphael and Benjamin Wallfisch and Nimbus to mark International Holocaust Remembrance Day on 27 January.

Bloch’s prayerful style of writing for the cello is ideally suited to the instrument, his melodies finding the strongest possible penetration from its tone. The disc opens with his Voice in the Wilderness, a 25 minute piece for cello and orchestra in six linked sections, written during a return to Switzerland in 1936. It is not as well known than Schelomo but is nonetheless a very emotive utterance.

Raphael Wallfisch probes hidden depths when the cello is cast adrift in its opening lament, before finding impressive strength in depth for the solo utterance that becomes the fifth section. The orchestra give him terrific support, and the clarion call of the third section is sharply caught by the recording engineers. The closing meditation is tremendous, with a really big but remarkably clear sound from the BBC National Orchestra of Wales brass. They are superb throughout, and here get a surefooted high register response from Wallfisch. The highlight for me was the terrific third section, marked Moderato, where there is a bright clarion call from the orchestra, with a real strength of feeling, before the cellist enters with assertive chords.

Bloch’s writing is quite modal, as described above, which often gives the music a closer relationship to folk melodies, meaning that sometimes his music is not a million miles from Vaughan Williams as a result. The cello’s ascent in the middle of the final section typifies this.

Schelomo, meanwhile, is a less sectional piece, about the same length as Voice in the Wilderness. Subtitled Rhapsodie hébraïque, it is a setting of melodies Bloch had written down as possible settings for songs of Solomon, from the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes. Because Bloch felt his grasp of Hebrew was not strong enough to set them directly to music, the cello provided him with a solution – so this work is effectively a group of songs without words.

That would explain the highly charged lyrical content, and cellist and orchestra feel more united here, singing with one voice. There is time for contemplation but often there is a deep seated anger, bristling just beneath the surface but sometimes surging forward through crescendos in the whole orchestra.

Again in this recording the balance between the two forces is just right. Schelomo really comes across as a powerful and anguished work in this performance, and the orchestra play brilliantly, especially the brass. The ending is downbeat – a rarity for Bloch – and completely convincing here, with cellist and orchestra completely immersed in the music they have just made.

The Caplet makes a fascinating coupling, and in his booklet notes Alexander Knapp draws out similarities between the styles of the two composers. In the case of Epiphanie there is a more obviously Eastern influence to the writing and some of the scoring here, from the tentative first forays made by the cello to the bigger, more confident display music that takes place in the centre of the second movement.

This confidence indicates that Caplet was a composer of whom more should be heard. The piece starts suspended in the treble register, with a sweetly voiced violin solo, and a distinctive sighing melody is heard. Yet the most original feature is the inclusion of a softly pulsing bass drum, a featured of Ethiopian music of which Caplet was aware. It gives the piece a completely new and original dimension, and opens the ears towards the composer’s inventive orchestration, which features some inventive colours from the woodwind as well as original cello writing. Again Wallfisch is alive to all of these elements, and plays with a technical surety that gives this piece the best possible advocacy, especially in the virtuosic final section.

The inclusion of an arrangement of Ravel’s Kaddisch is a nice and effective complement, especially given its Jewish origins. Raphael Wallfisch again plays with deep seated commitment, and his style is beautifully mellow. In the moments where the music is more suspended it is possible to detect pointers towards the meditative qualities of pieces such as John Tavener’s The Protecting Veil.

I could hardly imagine a better or more profound memorial for the members of the Wallfisch family killed in the Holocaust, to whom this disc is dedicated. Reading that part of the programme note alone provides a stark reminder in this, the World War I centenary year, that music has played a significant part in helping its performers and listeners come to terms in some way with the atrocities of the time.

Verdict

I found this disc very moving, especially in the context of the World War I anniversary. Raphael Wallfisch plays with an intensity that seems to be even greater than his other concerto recordings, while the orchestral playing and recording is exceptionally vivid. This is music whose melodies and colours can be greatly appreciated with repeated listening, where the music also becomes more directly affecting. It is very highly recommended.

Further Listening

Click on this link to access a Spotify playlist that begins with the four works on this disc in alternative versions, before exploring more Bloch through the Concerto Grosso no.1, the Violin Concerto, the three pieces for violin and orchestra Baal Shem and the rhapsody America.

Next week’s listening - Early and Late: An exploration of folk music from the Middle Ages and today from Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands

Une rare émotion

It's been a particularly good week for French song at the Wigmore Hall.

First up were Véronique Gens and Susan Manoff with a delectable lunchtime concert of Massenet, Gounod and Hahn. Then two days later Bernarda Fink introduced us to the song cycles of Ravel in a fascinating and rather exotic concert titled 'Une rare émotion', framing them in perspective with works from Debussy and Saint-Saëns.
Attending both concerts showed how the song, like several forms of classical music, made huge advances in style under Debussy and Ravel, becoming more concentrated in expression and more elusive in harmony. Both showed great imagination and flair in their settings, and Fink did really well to resist the temptation to 'over program' her recital. Less in length was definitely more in execution.

The objective of Fink's recital was to show Ravel's genius as a song-setter, but also to show how the French song was developing to include instruments alongside the piano. There was an attractive flute line for Saint-Saëns' Une flute invisible and a cello accompaniment for Massenet's Elegie, an excerpt from his opera Manon. More instructive still were Ravel's Chanson madécasses, where flute and cello offered colourful counterpoint in reaction to the text, which at times had the Wigmore audience scratching their collective heads with its obliqueness.

The Cinq mélodies populaires grecques showed an uncommon concentration of expression, operating as all Ravel does with each note of the utmost importance, none wasted. Only Shéhérazade was found a little wanting, because it is better known in its orchestral version. Adam Walker helpfully supplied the flute line, but Fink was the star, with a vibrant and colourful rendition of Asie, bringing the tale of 1,001 Arabian Nights to life.

Ironically in this recital the two Debussy cycles upstaged those of his contemporary and some-time rival, due perhaps to their naturally unfolding performances and easier structure for a live audience. The opening piano salvo in the first song of Chansons de Bilitis, La flûte de Pan, immediately set the scene, the ears keen to hear Fink's first words. In Trois mélodies de Paul Verlaine the air hung thick with the atmosphere of each song – the piano's florid arpeggios conjuring the sea in La mer est plus belle and the shading from accompanist Christopher Glynn exquisite in L'échelonnement des haies, depicting the busy hedgerows. Verlaine's verse and Debussy's music seemed tailor made for each other, the harmonic style relatively ambiguous but the vocal lines beautifully wrought.

It is perhaps inevitable that Massenet should suffer in comparison with these wonderful examples, but Gens showed in her concert how a little simplicity can go a long way. The composer was given quite a hard time in the booklet notes for setting 'second rate verse', and then for not doing enough with the piano part. A bit harsh, maybe – but given these performances it was much harder to find fault. The oscillating arpeggios of La mort de cigale were a case in point, delivered with a real freshness of voice, while Nuit d'Espagne was enjoyably playful.

The Gounod selection she performed was noticeably more accomplished in terms of verse, form and melody, with the Sérénade the single highlight of these two concerts. Gens sang it beautifully; controlling the 'coloratura' refrains with incredible poise, helped by the natural accompaniment from Susan Manoff.

Interestingly Reynaldo Hahn, a contemporary of Debussy and Ravel, made considerable impact in his song settings, making the poet Victor Hugo cry on one occasion when his rivals did not. Gens was the ideal guide to a composer who penned her recital's most dramatic song, the chilling Trois jours de vendange, which took a turn for the dark side half way through. It was a dramatic moment that suggested there is much more to be made in the discovery of French song. True, Debussy and Ravel may be the acknowledged masters, but there was more than enough here to suggest further investigations will be rewarded.

Diaghilev and the Ballet Russes

If you are in any way connected with 20th century classical music, the Diaghilev exhibition running for the rest of the year at London's Victoria & Albert museum is a mandatory visit.

On a walk round the generously filled tableaux, a vivid picture emerges of life on and off stage with the Ballet Russes in Paris, and it was certainly no place for shrinking violets or introverts!

There are many great things to see in the exhibition, but none have the impact of the backdrop used for later performances of Stravinsky's 'Firebird'. Walking round the corner to see this huge piece of cloth is a genuinely breathtaking moment.

What also becomes clear is the sheer number of ballets commissioned and staged by Diaghilev, and all are given plenty of exposure here. As well as the obvious examples - the Stravinsky trilogy of 'The Firebird', 'Petrushka' and 'The Rite Of Spring', Debussy's 'Jeux' or Ravel's 'Daphnis et Chloé', there are other startling pieces of modernism. Erik Satie's 'Parade' features strange, mechanistic figures, two of which stand silently towards the end of the exhibition. Prokofiev's 'Chout', a noisy rabble of a piece, is represented by garish costumes, while other composers we might consider minor are also covered - Liadov, Hahn, Nikolai Tcherepnin and Florent Schmitt all writing stage works for the impresario.

There are more artefacts, with commendable space given to Diaghilev's love of arranging 'old' music. One of the masters in this discipline, Respighi, is represented by a florid letter, while there is a page from 'The Firebird', a backdrop from Milhaud's 'Le Train bleu', and four murky impressions of the 'Rite' itself. A beautiful blue background adorns the design for Stravinsky's 'Apollo', while blazing oranges and yellows stand behind Rimsky-Korsakov's 'Golden Cockerel'.

Inspired by the exhibition I turned to Spotify for a musical complement, which can be found here as a playlist:

http://open.spotify.com/user/benjammin22/playlist/594U5AK8jXv3KPxQvCnbCB

On listening to this it was a delight to rediscover the melodically attractive Poulenc suite for 'Les Biches' and Igor Markevitch's masterly conducting of Rimsky's brilliant suite for 'The Golden Cockerel'. Even without the obvious figures of Stravinsky, Ravel and Debussy, these two alone show how Diaghilev was capable of bringing out the best from his composers.

As something to brighten up the Autumn and provide creative inspiration, this is an hour incredibly well spent - and I will certainly return for more before the exhibition ends in January.