Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.2 (Sinfonia Elegiaca

Background

Panufnik's first published symphony, the Sinfonia Rustica, celebrated Poland through interpolations of folk tunes. The second, however, is the chalk to its cheese. Sinfonia Elegiaca reflects its composer's experiences in Poland in the Second World War.

'Tragic indeed was the fate of Warsaw', he wrote – 'in 1943, the Nazi destruction of the Ghetto, and in 1944 the Warsaw Uprising, when the Russian Army, right close to the city gates, passively watched the Germans systematically flattening almost the whole of Warsaw, killing over a quarter of a million defenceless Polish men, women and children. During this uprising I lost my Tragic Overture together with every note of music I had ever composed in my first thirty years of life'.

Then, under pressure from above, Panufnik was urged to write a 'Symphony of Peace'. This he completed, but the music was anything but peaceful – and while well received by the public, the authorities were far less certain.
After Leopold Stokowski conducted it in America in 1955, Panufnik rethought the work, turning it into what is now known as Sinfonia Elegiaca, and removing its vocal lines, casting it as a long slow movement with a fast central scherzo.

Christoph Schlüren's booklet notes for a new recording of the piece by the Konzerthausorchester Berlin and Lukasz Borowicz, on CPO, go into much greater detail on Panufnik’s feelings on the piece. 'It has no literary programme, but emotionally it expresses sorrow for the victims of the war, then protest against inhumanity, madness and violence – coming back to the lament for the dead and the bereaved – thus emphasising that their agonising sacrifice brought neither peace to the world nor full freedom to countries such as my native Poland.'

In his biographical chapter on Panufnik in the rewarding Phaidon book A Polish Renaissance, Bernard Jacobson questions the attributes of the finalised piece. 'Eloquent and accomplished though it is, the Sinfonia Elegiaca of January 1957 must also be regarded as in some ways a work of less than complete maturity. Neither here nor in Sinfonia Rustica does the composer achieve or aim for the range of poetic evocation already covered in 1947 by both Nocturne and Lullaby (the latter a daringly original work).'

Thoughts

There is certainly no shortage of feeling in the Sinfonia Elegiaca, whatever its perceived shortcomings. The opening pages are cold indeed, with the strings literally raising the music from the ground as it moves slowly and gradually upwards.

Then there is an aching cor anglais solo, the same instrument used by Shostakovich to convey pain in his own 'war symphony', the Eighth. Here it shows the pain and sorrow Panufnik clearly feels for his native country. Meanwhile the strings' slow chords seems to take their lead from the chorale O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, which J.S.Bach uses at the start of the St Matthew Passion, though its arrangement and harmonies are much less sonorous.

The profound first movement cuts suddenly to an explosion of anger and resilience in the second section, which is effectively the scherzo of the symphony – though there is very little in the way of humour here. Instead there are shrill brass, volleys of percussion and a more folksy melody from the strings, which does at least supply some hope.
Yet soon this much more energetic music peters out, and we are left once again with the sombre mood of the opening, Panufnik unable to shift his mood and the feeling that the war and the uprising have led to little more than huge, devastating loss.

Verdict

Because of its subject the symphony leaves an empty feeling at the end, but it does so having delivered some very powerful music. The first movement, which is effectively a prayer to the lost, is extremely moving, and although the sudden change of mood is a shock it is entirely in keeping with the swift changes of feelings that so often mark the experience of bereavement. So while Panufnik's symphonic thoughts are still a little ragged, they are strong and meaningful.

Recordings and Spotify link

The new recording from Borowicz certainly does the Sinfonia Elegiaca justice, and is much better played and recorded than the composer's own version with the Louisville Orchestra, though this perhaps not surprisingly shows even keener emotion. The chosen speeds are different, too – Borowicz is much slower in the outer movements and quicker in the middle, heightening the contrast between them.

Panufnik's own recording can be heard on Spotify here

Next up: Sinfonia Sacra

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.1 (Sinfonia Rustica)

Introduction

This year marks the centenary of the birth of Andrezj Panufnik, the Polish composer who spent the majority of his life in England, where he died aged 77. Even for a composer his story is a remarkable one, a tale of great strength in adversity and a musical career that somehow flourished in the shape of war and deep suspicion.

Once in this country, Panufnik was encouraged by Vaughan Williams and Arthur Benjamin, both of whom supported him when in financial need, and also by Leopold Stokowski, who gave American premieres of a number of his orchestral works. When considering his achievements, Panufnik's profile is still relatively low in spite of the admirable efforts of his daughter, the composer Roxanna Panufnik, who has honoured her father’s work not just in words but in music also.

Background to the Sinfonia Rustica

Ever since the mid-1990s, when I first heard the Old Polish Suite , one of several works in which Panufnik pays homage to the land of his birth, I have wanted to explore more of his music – and am taking the chance in the form of his unconventional symphonic cycle, where works tend to be named rather than numbered. The first published symphony that survives to this day is the Sinfonia Rustica, coming in the wake of two scores that were either lost (Symphony no.2) or lost, reconstructed and then destroyed (Symphony no.1). Even the Rustica was revised itself, in 1955 – long after its world premiere in Warsaw, 1949.

Boosey & Hawkes, who publish Panufnik's work, detail how the piece 'was condemned politically as 'alien to the great socialist era', and the Polish Minister in the presence of the General Secretary of the Soviet Composers' Union supposed himself to be pronouncing the 'final verdict' when he said ‘this work has ceased to exist'!'

Happily that is not the case – and I've been using as my guide a new recording of the work from Lukasz Borowicz and the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra, released by the German record label CPO. Panufnik himself also recorded the symphony with the Monte Carlo Opera Orchestra, in a version available on EMI.

Sinfonia Rustica won First Prize in the 1949 Chopin Competition in Warsaw, and the composer's dedicated website has a quote from Panufnik himself on the creative process. "I was always attracted to the rustic art of Poland, especially the intricate, colourful paper-cuts, worked through the long winter evenings by the imaginative and dexterous Polish peasants. These paper-cuts were usually semi-abstract, with symmetrical designs incorporating flowers, trees, animals, even sometimes people and country scenes. Using fragments of Polish folk themes as a basis for the material, I decided to compose a large-scale work in which I could transform these primitive, naive elements into music."

Panufnik divides the strings into two orchestras, one either side of the stereo picture, with winds placed in the middle and brass at the rear. The running time for the Sinfonia Rustica is just shy of half an hour.

Thoughts

Panufnik's first lasting symphonic statement is a curious combination of styles that has a strong melodic thread running all the way through it – and the fragments of Polish folk themes are difficult to shake off after a few listens! These are held in a framework where the music calls in elements of Gershwin, Stravinsky and Hindemith, but it does not feel derivative in spite of those references. Rather its invigorating spirit finds room for jazzy elements too, with excitable whoops from the horns and punchy riffs from the bass strings as the fourth movement builds up a head of steam.

There is however a sensitive underbelly to this piece, and the second movement's autumnal feel carries through to swooning violins in the third movement, both exotic and strangely sad. One melody in particular tugs at the heartstrings when heard on cor anglais.

Verdict

Although the Sinfonia Rustica feels a little underdeveloped in terms of form and design, there is plenty to enjoy here, with emotional twists and turns, memorable melodies and fresh orchestration. It is an auspicious start to the cycle!

Spotify

Sinfonia Rustica can be heard in Panufnik's own version here. Lukasz Borowicz achieves perhaps even greater freedom in his own recording, taking slightly longer in the last two movements, while he also includes the first version of the third movement.

Next up: Sinfonia Elegiaca (1957, rev.1966)

A tribute to Frans Brüggen

Even when taking into account the departures of some incredibly high profile names from the creative world this week – Robin Williams and Lauren Bacall in particular – classical music is still having a rough time of it. Claudio Abbado, Peter Sculthorpe and Lorin Maazel are just three of highly respected artists who have recently departed, and to that list can sadly be added the name of Frans Brüggen, whose death at the age of 79 was revealed yesterday.

We can be grateful this quartet lived long and extremely fruitful lives, but I wanted to focus on Brüggen this time as I absolutely love his recordings. In fact I hold him pretty much responsible for helping my initial aversion to what we awkwardly term 'period instrument' recordings, and I think he brought so much character to his interpretations he made me realise it was possible to use instruments of the time, with the sound to which we were unaccustomed, and still build cultured and individual interpretations.

The first disc of his I remember hearing was Rameau – a sparkling and colourful account of the suite Les Indes Galantes. Yet the one that made even more impact was a Philips disc bringing together middle period Mozart symphonies – the celebrated Symphony no.29 in A major, K201 and the much less known – but equally inspired – Symphony no.33 in B flat major, K319. Brüggen and his charges, the Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century, bring a freshness to this piece, but importantly for me the orchestra still pack enough heft in the bigger chords, together with a string sound that is positively luxurious for a period band.

This is only the tip of the iceberg where Brüggen is concerned, however. With his orchestra he completed a very fine cycle of Beethoven symphonies, which Universal are helpfully making available again this month, as well as an extremely enjoyable Schubert canon, featuring among other things a Symphony no.5 in B flat major that preserves the composer's fresh inspiration.

This is before we even get to his Haydn – for it's this area of Brüggen's output that appeals to me most. To me he understands Haydn's wit and good humour, but also his craft, and there is always an elegance to Brüggen's interpretations that makes the next note in each phrase so inevitable. In Haydn that helps an awful lot – and yet the surprise element of some of the symphonies is also retained. Brüggen’s music making in the London and Paris symphonies in particular has given hours of pleasure, and I would urge you to listen if you haven't before.
And how could I almost have forgotten his Rameau? Two discs leap out at me that Brüggen recorded for Philips – the highly characterful live recording of the suite for Les indes galantes, and an equally invigorating version of a suite from the opera Dardanus.

Even before his successes as a conductor Brüggen had shown unusual ability as a flautist and recorder player. In the 1960s he recorded a sizeable amount of Baroque music for Teldec's Das Alte Werk imprint, producing some ground breaking discs of Telemann, J.S. Bach and Handel – as well as exploring some of the lesser known corners of Baroque chamber repertoire.

Even in the last years of his life, when he clearly wasn't as sprightly as he used to be, Brüggen continued to conduct from a seating position – which was the case on the only occasion I encountered him in concert, where he and his guest charges, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, gave a typically inspiring performance of Mozart's Paris symphony.

Despite his less than ideal health, Brüggen continued to record to great effect, with recent releases bringing Mendelssohn's Italian and Scottish symphonies to life, not to mention another visit to Mozart's last three works in the form. There is quite literally never a dull note in Brüggen's recorded work – and it deserves to live on long after the sad passing of its creator.

A Frans Brüggen miscellany be found on Spotify by clicking here , including Les Indes Galantes, Beethoven's Eroica symphony, a fantasia by Telemann and symphonies by Schubert (no.5), Haydn (no.102) and Mozart (no.39).

Harkive - what music do you listen to in the course of a day?

It's Tuesday 15th July, 2014 - which means it's another Harkive day, where I am to document all the music I listen to from start to finish. Since the last such day in 2013, I've turned 40. Does that explain why I now listen to BBC Radio 2 in the mornings? Probably not, as I've always had a liking for music back to the 1970s – 1960s at a push – and that's where Vanessa Feltz was intent on taking us early on this cloudy Tuesday morning. Feltz is a much better music presenter than I would have previously given her credit for – and here she was playing The Sweet's Ballroom Blitz and Blockbuster before 6:15am! Heady stuff.

And so to the hour-long train journey into London, which always gives me the chance to listen to albums that I'm reviewing for DMC World. This is primarily a dance / electronic music website, and in the mornings I tend to opt for something that might be a bit more chilled out. That's how my choice of the System 7 remix album Out came around, but by the time I was at London Bridge I was in receipt of some pretty lively techno through remixes from Plastikman and Carl Craig. Again, an unexpected burst of energy for an otherwise lethargic Tuesday morning.

And so to Pret A Manger, for half an hour's reading and writing – in this case, writing up a concert I'd been to the previous day at the Wigmore Hall for another website I write for, Classical Source. Pret tend to opt for bursts of jazz and funk with singers that sing too many notes, but more recently they've chilled out a bit, and it was lovely to note the distinctive tones of Cate Le Bon, singing I Can't Help You, before the more generic stuff appeared and was shunted to the background of my head.

And so to work – where Tuesdays mean BBC 6Music is the radio station of choice in the office. This is wholly appropriate, because in my day job at PPL we are responsible for ensuring the distribution of monies for broadcast and public performance gets made to record companies and performers as quickly and accurately as possible. From where I sit though the radio can sometimes be frustratingly out of reach, and that was the case today – so I drifted in and out of consciousness as the daytime schedule wore on.

However I was able to pick out the squelchy bass of Roots Manuva's Witness (1 Hope), and a track of the same name by the unexpected combination of Brian Eno and Underworld's Karl Hyde, which has yielded some interesting results at times. Lauren Laverne also played The War On Drugs' heady single Burning before arriving at what is possibly my favourite single of the year so far, Morrissey's Istanbul – like the city, a startling collision of East and West that is both graceful and chaotic. Later still we had Motown Junk, a sign that recent Manic Street Preachers material is definitely worth investigating further.

As the afternoon passed in a heat haze we had Radcliffe and Maconie, still on 6Music. Unfortunately I missed them playing Ozric Tentacles, but was at hand to hear Frank Zappa's riotous Valley Girl. On my own headphones I was listening to some Benjamin Britten, some early pieces for viola and piano – which I would listen to several times before writing them up on my blog about the composer, Good Morning Britten.

Work over, it was time for 5-a-side football – which involves a round trip of two hours on a train to and from Harrow and Wealdstone. It's another chance for a load more music to review! Before football I try and psyche myself up with some more up tempo stuff, so this time I chose a compilation – the second in Bill Brewster's series of Late Night Tales After Dark. Brewster is a dance music historian, and his knowledge of all things rhythmic informs his set, so that you always end up hearing stuff you didn't know about – surely one of the prerequisites of a good compilation. Two of my choices from his selection would be the wonderful Boutade by Mugwump, an atmospheric piece of deep funk, and the crafty synth workings of Justus Köhncke's Tell Me.

These got me to football, followed by a couple of drinks and a bite to eat, before the journey home – which brought me full circle musically, with the second part of the System 7 album to cover. There is some pretty euphoric music here – not just for dancing! Some of it was from the duo as they turned remixers – their work on Japanese duo Rovo's Eclipse especially good. There is always an emphasis on melody with System 7, in spite of Steve Hillage's prog-rock past with the noodly Gong. He and Miquette Giraudy have always worked well together in this way, and I realise I've been tracking their progress for the last 20 years or so.

Mind you, this time I had a late night drunk for company – the only other person in the carriage deciding she wanted to sing Justin Timberlake's Like I Love You as loud as she could. I couldn't stop laughing as alcohol-soaked Timberlake got through my headphones to receive a techno makeover in my very confused brain. Definitely time for bed!

Beneath the Surface #12 - Panorama of American Piano Music – From Antheil to Zappa: 1911 to 1991

Composer: Various, all American

Works: Many! For a full tracklisting click here

Performers: Yvar Mikhashoff (piano)

Label: Mode

Background and Critical Reception

On Saturday May 19th, 1984, Yvar Mikhashoff (seen in the picture with John Cage) gave an extraordinary concert on Broadway.

Billed as The Great American Piano Marathon, it fulfilled a promise of Seventy Works in Seven Hours from Seventy Years, and made the most of the pianist’s friendship and contact with many of America's leading composers.

Mikhashoff, who died in 1993, began with an excerpt from Charles Ives' vast Concord Sonata, The Alcotts, while his finishing piece was the Tango by John Cage, one of four of the composer’s works to be included. He travelled by way of some of the great luminaries of American music – Copland, Gershwin, Bernstein, Nancarrow and many more. Yet he chose not to go with conventional or obvious pieces, which led to the inclusion of rarities such as the Copland Three Moods, and Gershwin's Impromptu In Two Keys.

For this album Mode revisit Mikhashoff's recordings, building a history of the century's piano music in America in his memory. What we get is therefore not so much the great works of twentieth century American piano music (some examples being Barber's Piano Sonata, Gershwin's Three Preludes or Steve Reich's Piano Phase) but more examples of compositional craft in the country, as well as intriguing morsels and rarities.

The Alcotts is once again the starting point, and the four discs unfold chronologically through works by Griffes (Three Preludes), Antheil (Sonata: Death of Machines), Morton Feldman (Vertical Thoughts 4) and John Cage (Landscape), arriving at the premiere of Nancarrow's Three Two-Part Studies, given by Mikhashoff in 1991.

Thoughts

It would of course be foolish to try and experience all this music in one sitting, but dipping in and out of Mode's compendium is a fascinating experience, providing a wholly alternative history of the piano and its development in America.

Several different 'movements' present themselves – we have minimalism from Philip Glass and Lukas Foss, a work for piano and tape from Mario Davidovsky, four differing works from John Cage, or the more bluesy approach of

A wistful performance of The Alcotts, one of the cornerstones of the American piano repertoire, makes for a winning start, while the Griffes preludes are very enjoyable too, the third lost in its own thought.

There are also some unexpected additions from composers of abroad who spent time in America – Grainger (the expansive Pastorale from In A Nutshell), Stravinsky, Bloch and Krenek, all of whom were in a sense ‘honorary’ Americans.

The range and scope of the whole collection is too much to do justice to completely in the course of a shorter review, but memorable excerpts begin with Henry Cowell’s Amiable Conversation, which could easily have been written yesterday but which is actually from 1917. The very valuable rarities are well worth hearing too, especially the first recording of Copland's Three Sonnets.

The piano itself has quite a harsh sound at times, especially in the brief souvenir of Virgil Thomson, which sounds like an unpublished piece from a Bartók sketchbook, but the producer Brian Brandt has struggled manfully to make the sound as forgiving as possible. Brandt contributes an interesting booklet note as a suffix to an excellent mini-book that looks at Mikhashoff's friendship with American composers.

Back to the music – and the second disc feels more traditional, especially in items like Roy Harris' first American Ballad, which has an attractive language. Two of the Seven Anniversaries of Leonard Bernstein make brief and extravert appearances, while John Cage's seminal piece In A Landscape makes a timeless interlude, thoughtfully played.
The third disc begins in mysterious, murky waters with the stillness of Feldman's Vertical Thoughts 4, which leads to the touching simplicity of the Armenian-American composer Alan Hovhaness's Five Visionary Landscapes. The fourth, Evening Bell, bears the accent of both countries.

It is off hearing the other sounds of Davidovsky's piece for piano and tape, Synchronisms no.6, but they are strangely effective, like being in an old curiosity shop of noises. This cuts to the spectacular feats of virtuosity in the Crumb, the tumbling figures from an excerpt from Makrokosmos. Lou Harrison's A Waltz for Evelyn Hinrichsen is delightfully graceful, part of an imaginative and spontaneous sequence of waltzes on CD3 that leads to the bluesy waltz of Tom Constanten, a simple but effective winner. Glass, in his Modern Love Waltz, is quite romantic but inevitably repetitive.

It is ironically the minimalist 'area' where the coverage of this disc is not as effective, with no contributions from John Adams or Steve Reich, and a long piece, Solo, by Lukas Foss, that I found difficult to warm to with its relentless, caustic figurations.

Yet this is a small price to pay for such an imaginative and exhaustive survey. Small portraits of the American prairies or the cities can be found at every term, and are vignettes of emotion, starting points for listening elsewhere. I will definitely follow up on Hovhaness, for instance, but will also return to the Concord Sonata, the music of Antheil, and the massive output of John Cage.

And the Zappa? It's unusually reflective, an introduction to Little House I Used To Live In. But then that’s the charm of this set, always giving new and unexpected insights.

Verdict

If you don't mind quite a dry piano sound this is like leafing through an encyclopaedia of modern American classical music. Yvar Mikhashoff is an ever-engaging guide, playing with great character and affection, illuminating the corners of a repertoire that is far bigger than anyone could possibly imagine.

Further listening

The complete Panorama of American Piano Music can be heard on Spotify by clicking here

Beneath the Surface #11 - Malcolm Williamson: Piano Concertos

Composer: Malcolm Williamson (Australian, 1931-2003)

Works: Piano Concerto no.1 in A major (1958), Concerto in A minor for two pianos and string orchestra (1971), Piano Concerto no.2 in F sharp minor (1960), Piano Concerto no.3 in E flat major (1962), Sinfonia concertante in F sharp major for piano, three trumpets and orchestra (1962), Piano Concerto no.4 in D major (1994)

Performers: Piers Lane (piano), Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra / Howard Shelley

Label: Hyperion

Audio

Clips from this new recording can be heard at the Hyperion website

The current Master of the Queen's Music is Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, a composer who has enjoyed a relatively high profile over the years. Yet the music of the previous incumbent, the Australian composer Malcolm Williamson, has not fared so well – nor has he enjoyed anything of the exposure or critical warmth afforded to Maxwell Davies.

For 28 years he held the post, right up until his death in 2003, but he was the first Master of the Queen's Music not to be knighted. Perhaps this was because he still regarded himself as firmly Australian, despite moving to the UK in 1953. A great quote at the end of the Guardian obituary in his honour sums it up neatly. "Most of my music is Australian. Not the bush or the deserts, but the brashness of the cities. The sort of brashness that makes Australians go through life pushing doors marked pull."

Williamson, a colourful character, wrote a lot of music, but it gradually fell out of favour with the critics during the 1970s. Interestingly, he appeared on Desert Island Discs in 1976, soon after his appointment – a program that can be heard and even downloaded on the Radio 4 website. His choices include Britten's Les illuminations - Britten being the composer who was initially approached to be Master of the Queen's Music. Yet later in his life Williamson was called to question for some disparaging comments about the composer – and blotted his copybook in royal circles by failing to meet the deadline for a commission for the Silver Jubilee in 1977.

Yet he did write a lot of music for piano and orchestra, which Hyperion have collected here – and which is appropriately accompanied by the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra. There are four numbered piano concertos, a Sinfonia Concertant for piano with three trumpets and orchestra and a Concerto for two pianos and orchestra, a form that was to prove popular with British composers such as Malcolm Arnold and Alan Rawsthorne.

Three of the concertos have been recorded before, but this release sees the first recorded account of the fourth.

Thoughts

In his works for piano and orchestra Williamson writes with great vigour and enthusiasm. The most substantial work, the Piano Concerto no.3 in E flat major, is also the most difficult to work out – but rewards the efforts made.

Its first movement Toccata is almost completely self-contained, but has some brilliant material – with a catchy theme, some imaginative development and instrumentation, and some punchy rhythms. There is more than a little like Stravinsky in its spiky figurations, and some crunchy harmonies, while with a soaring melody on the violins at the end, it almost sounds like a last movement placed first. The second movement, also quite fast, begins with an airy and insistent movement that suggests Poulenc, while the third starts in a haze of strings before bold piano interventions rock the boat. The work ends with a striking epilogue, with strings, high wind and piano in long notes together – brilliantly played in this recording.

The Piano Concerto no.1 in A major is also excellent. A briefly misty introduction quickly comes together into a forthright first movement which has strong hints of Prokofiev in its percussive piano writing, but also in some of the grand themes that come out. A regal tune powers the third movement for a massive finish to a very listenable work.

I found the Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra much tougher going. This is partly on account of my ears – I find two pianos and orchestra quite a tricky combination to enjoy – but also because Williamson seems to delight in hammering home his musical points here, and there is little room for subtlety. The slow movement is unexpectedly graceful however, with a rather moving section taking its lead from plainchant, as detailed in the excellent booklet notes to this recording. The spectacular finish means this is not a write-off by any means – as there are still some good tunes – but ultimately I found this a piece best listened to on its own.

The Piano Concerto no.2, accompanied by strings only, has the best tune – its finale, suggesting encounters with Gershwin, fizzes along and is completely catchy! The tune was in my head within minutes and stayed there for a long time. It caps a work that brims with tunes elsewhere.

Meanwhile the Sinfonia concertante with three trumpets and piano in the exotic key of F sharp major – packs a punch in this performance, brilliantly played by the three brass soloists in a way that makes an unlikely combination work. I don’t find the melodic invention as spontaneous in this work, which is not surprising given his use of serial methods while writing this work, but it is never less than entertaining. The slow movement – again with religious connections, this time drawing from the Salve Regina - is more thought provoking.

The fourth piano concerto, completed as recently as 1994, is a shorter work but it seizes the moment immediately, driving forward with great determination – a bit more mechanical in its profile maybe, but still providing melodic interest. The orchestra is a big one, and Williamson writes some forceful music for it – but again in the slow movement pulls things back for music of grace and poise, reminding us he was a stage composer too.

Verdict

If you like the piano concertos of Prokofiev or Gershwin, Williamson is but a short hop away. There is some really enjoyable music here that suggests some happy acquaintances with jazz and ragtime, as well as twentieth-century classical music. Each of these performances is superb, brilliantly played and thoroughly understood by Piers Lane and Howard Shelley.

In the slow movements especially Williamson reaches deeper emotions, balancing the extrovert faster music very nicely. Because of that balance these works – with the possible exception of the two-piano concerto – are consistently rewarding, and come highly recommended.

Further listening

This Williamson playlist on Spotify includes the composer as soloist in his Piano Concerto no.3, along with the Symphony no.1, the Organ Concerto , the Sinfonia concertante and the Concerto for two pianos and orchestra.

Beneath the Surface #10 - Mieczysław Weinberg: Symphony no.10, works for violin

Composer: Mieczysław Weinberg (Soviet, of Polish-Jewish origin, 1919-1996)

Works: Solo Violin Sonata no.3 Op.126 (1979), String Trio Op.48 (1950), Sonatina for violin and piano Op.46 (1949), Concertino for violin and string orchestra Op.42 (1948), Symphony no.10 for string orchestra Op.98 (1968)

Performers: Gidon Kremer (violin and conductor), Daniil Grishin (viola), Giedrė Dirvanauskaitė (cello), Daniil Trifonov (piano), Kremerata Baltica

Label: ECM

Background and Critical Reception

It is only in the last couple of decades that the music of Mieczysław Weinberg has emerged from hiding – and it is only in the last couple of years that his name has tended towards receiving its correct Polish spelling, as he has normally been known under the Russian spelling of Moisei Vainberg.

Yet that is a relatively small point alongside his upbringing – for to say the composer and his family led a troubled existence would be a huge understatement. As the Second World War began, Weinberg, who had studied at the Conservatory in Warsaw, fled from Poland to the Soviet Union. Tragically his family, who remained behind, were condemned to the concentration camp at Trawniki.

As the only surviving member of the family, Weinberg settled in Minsk, and then Tashkent, where he befriended Dmitri Shostakovich – whose friendship was to become a lasting one. Like Shostakovich, Weinberg was under Stalin's directive aimed at all Soviet composers, whereby they were forced to write music that pleased the ruling dictator. Yet while Shostakovich and Prokofiev were under close scrutiny, Weinberg was not subjected to such close examination after Stalin died – but the guidelines did of course continue to affect his musical flexibility. While he lived in Russia for the rest of his life, the vast majority of his music was unheard until very recently.

When the vastness of his output is revealed it is remarkable to think it was kept from public view, particularly the striking and powerful opera The Passenger, one of seven stage works that has only recently come to light in the UK in a production by David Pountney and English National Opera in 2006.

The music on this new ECM disc provides an introduction to a number of different disciplines in which Weinberg excelled. The Symphony no.10, for string orchestra, is one of twenty-two. The Solo Violin Sonata no.3 is one of many works he wrote for his first instrument, while the Sonatina for violin and piano - part of a substantial canon of chamber works centred on the 1940s – is followed closely by the String Trio of 1950. The Concertino for violin and string orchestra also dates from the late 1940s.

In a valuable booklet note for the ECM release appraised here, Wolfgang Sander warns that 'caution is advised when applying labels such as conservative, neo-classical, folklike or conformist to music that allegedly toed the official party line of life-affirming folklorism'. This is a timely reminder that Weinberg and his contemporaries, particularly Shostakovich, frequently worked double meaning into their musical statements. What they really wanted to say could be found beneath the surface of the music.


Thoughts

This is a fine Weinberg anthology, a good place to start for those new to the composer, and in Gidon Kremer it has the best possible exponent of his music.

Kremer approaches this music having already made recordings of Weinberg's contemporaries – Shostakovich, Prokofiev and Schnittke in particular – and his affinity with the composer is clear and immediate.

Weinberg was a violinist, so knew the instrument well – and Kremer instinctively grasps the phrases and figurations of the Solo Violin Sonata no.3. Kremer has a lofty valuation of this piece, though I'm not sure I would agree with his observation that it is as great as Bartók's peerless work in the form. It does however carry a powerful impact, particularly in a performance such as this. The repeated notes of the opening are agitated, as if trying to break out of confines imposed on the instrument, but the slower melody at around six minutes in is tender and reflective. Kremer himself suggests a program behind the work, one that speaks of the composer's parents, and what he says certainly tallies with the music. He is the best possible performer for this work, putting his heart and soul into it, particularly the closing pages, which are plaintive and introverted, lost in thought.

The Sonatina for violin and piano is by definition a slighter piece, and coming on the heels of the solo work it is a musical thirst quencher to hear the sound of the piano added to the violin. This work is noticeably warmer than its solo counterpart, especially in the dreamy second theme of the first movement. The relative simplicity of its language is a little disconcerting, however, and perhaps its composer is aware of this too, for the second movement is more abrasive and piercing, before the violin soars towards the end of the third. Though not as emotionally charged as the solo work, it offers a nice complement – and ends with a rather exotic harmony that certainly does not sound Russian.

The String Trio is an uncompromising piece with quite a bruising first movement, sharp in timbre and unremitting in its musical phrases. It is quite rustic at times, but there is a good deal of strong feeling here, some of it painful, though it resolves calmly. The Concertino for violin and string orchestra has a similar countenance to the Sonatina - a little more tonally direct than some of his music, but with the violin part beautifully written. Gidon Kremer brings to it an intensely lyrical tone that works beautifully.

Saving the best for last, the Symphony no.10 is a remarkable piece that manages to incorporate experimental workings with genuine expression, for Weinberg appears to have found a formula that allows him to compose in a 'serial' manner but not at the expense of melody or emotional insight. The second movement brings this into a dreamy realisation that recalls the music of Berg but is also strangely elusive, cold and distant.

By contrast the sweeping statements of the outer movements carry a majestic power that spills over into a rush of energy from each the solo strings, their combined force truly a power to be reckoned with in this performance from Kremerata Baltica. There are profound solo outbursts, too – none more penetrating than the viola at the emotional heart of the third movement, a diatribe of raw feeling that brings all the strings together, uniting in a single chord. This is music every bit as intimate and powerful as a Shostakovich string quartet.

Verdict

The parallels with Shostakovich are inevitable and flattering, but Weinberg's music is a lot more than mere parody or imitation of his friend.

Each of the works here show off his musical flexibility, and also reveal the direct and piercing emotional insights that can be found when listening to his music. That someone should suffer so greatly yet produce music of this quality is uplifting indeed, and great credit should go to Kremer and ECM for their thorough understanding of these corners of a vast musical output.

Let's hope a lot more of it is made available in the coming years!

Further listening

There is not a great deal of Weinberg on Spotify, but this playlist offers the Violin Concerto and the Trumpet Concerto, bookending works for cello and chamber orchestra.