Meet The Composer: Kaija Saariaho

"The very titles of the works of Kaija Saariaho (b. 1952) provoke strong associations. They blind the listener ('Verblendungen'), contemplate the light arcs of the Northern lights ('Lichtbogen') or one of the moons of Jupiter ('Io'), turn their gaze from the cosmic reaches of the starry sky to the microcosm of flower petals ('Petals'), or retreat to a hidden and secret garden ('Jardin secret'). Whatever the original inspiration for any of these works, Saariaho has managed to convert it with sensitivity and skill into sensual, colourful music. And even if there are some similarities or analogies identifiable between the original inspiration and the finished work, extra-musical phenomena have always been only a starting point for Saariaho, never the object of a simplistic programme.

"There is a natural explanation for why the visual dimension is often invoked in connection with Saariaho's works. Before deciding on music as a career, she studied fine aris at the University of Arts and Design in Helsinki. She studied composition with Paavo Heininen at the Sibelius Academy from 1976 to 1981. During this time, she was active in the Korvat auki! (Ears open!) society founded in 1977 to promote contemporary music. The close professional relationship established between core members of the society was at least as important as the official activities of the society—for instance, organizing public discussions and concerts. Kaija Saariaho recalls: '...there was a circle of us with Esa-Pekka Salonen, Magnus Lindberg, Eero Hämeenniemi, Jouni Kaipainen. We were all active and interested. If someone found an interesting record, all of us would listen to it. We held seminars amongst ourselves and things like that!' The other composers are keen to point out that these intensive meetings often took place at Saariaho's home in Helsinki.

"It was largely due to the central composers in the Korvat auki! society that the 1980s became a decade of Modernism in Finnish music, with much better exposure than before given to Modernists of earlier generations too. One of the main concepts of the Korvat auki! composers was to open up windows to Europe - in the time-honoured manner of Modernists and reformers in Finland. In the case of Saariaho, this dimension became more real than for many others. As early as in summer 1980, she visited the famous summer courses of Darmstadt, and when she had completed her studies, she went to study with Brian Ferneyhough and Klaus Huber at the Freiburg Musikhochschule in 1981-82, receiving her diploma in 1983.

"Since 1982, Saariaho has lived permanently in Paris, a stone's throw away from IRCAM, the well-known contemporary music research centre where she works regularly. Despite her emigration and internationalization, Saariaho has maintained close ties to Finnish musical circles: various Finnish institutions have commissioned works from her, she has had composition concerts in Finland, and in the academic year 1997-98 she was guest Professor of Composition at the Sibelius Academy.

"In her early period in the late 1970s, Saariaho wrote several lyrical, delicate and melodically expressive vocal works. Her focus soon moved from melody to rich tonal colour and harmony, two mutually complementary elements that are closely related to one another. From the early 1980s onwards, Saariaho's music has been characterized by sound surfaces rich in detail, often hovering between pure tones and noise; delicately lyrical, evocative moods; and processes of change unfolding in slow, organic growth and evolution. There is no traditional harmonic structure, counterpoint or pulsating rhythm in works from this period.

"Towards the end of the 1980s, Saariaho's works began to acquire a more definite profile as the dream-like slowness of the earlier works began to subside. In the 1990s, her trend towards a more powerful mode of expression and more abrupt shifts has strengthened, and even melody has reappeared as a significant element in certain works. However, rich tonal colour and meticulously planned details remain important.

"In painting her original and individual landscapes in sound, Saariaho has often used state-of-the-art technology, for instance tape music, live electronics or computer assistance. Modern technology is often seen as the antithesis of delicate lyricism, but Saariaho's works demonstrate that this need not be the case. Saariaho has also worked with many top musicians of our time; for instance, her string quartet 'Nymphea' (1987) was written for the Kronos Quartet, while the orchestral works 'Du cristal' (1990) and '...O la fumée' (1990) were written for Esa-Pekka Salonen, the violin concerto 'Graal thédtre' (1994) for Gidon Kremer and the song cycle 'Château de I'âme' (1996) for soprano Dawn Upshaw.

"Saariaho's output includes orchestral, chamber, solo and vocal music. Often there is a tape involved. Saariaho has also written several works that have a dramatic or cross-discipline element, including the radiophonic work 'Stilleben' (1988), the dance work 'Maa' (Earth, 1991) commissioned by the Finnish National Ballet and choreographed by Carolyn Carlson, and various multimedia and film music projects. Her most extensive project to date is an opera commissioned by the Salzburg Festival for 2001, based on the real-life history of a 12th-century troubadour, Jaugre Rudel.

"'Verblendungen' ('Dazzlements'), commissioned by the Finnish Broadcasting Company (1982-84), was Saariaho's first extensive work after finishing her studies, a sort of transition ritual in becoming a full-blown artist. Like many of Saariaho's works, it found its origin in a visual idea, a thick brush-stroke thinning out gradually. In the music, this is reflected in the overall form, an enormous diminuendo beginning in an opening Big Bang and continuing throughout the work. In this sense, Verblendungen is a fine example of the slow processes of change typical of Saariaho's music in the early 1980s.

"'Verblendungen' is written for a 35-member orchestra, smaller than a normal symphony orchestra, and a tape prepared by Saariaho herself at the GRM Studio in Paris. The tape is based on two sounds played on a violin, a bowed sforzato and a pizzicato. This was the first time that Saariaho used a pre-prepared tape with live instrumentalists. The relationship between the musicians and the tape is an important dimension in the work, and it changes during the course of the work. At first, the orchestra is bright in sound and the tape is rough and noisy, but at the end the orchestra sounds electronic and the tape is crystal clear. However, the orchestra and tape intertwine to produce a rich and nuanced image in sound.

"Whereas 'Verblendungen' was sparked by a brush-stroke, 'Lichtbogen' for nine musicians and live electronics ('Light arcs', 1985-86), commissioned by the French Ministry of Culture, was prompted by the Northern lights. It is an extremely sensitive, finely tuned and vibrant piece that is fundamentally static yet is constantly moving and alive. Various colours and noise-like sounds shimmer and undulate in a ghostly, nebulous musical space.

"There is also a more theoretical aspect to 'Lichtbogen'. Saariaho used a computer in writing this work; this was the first time she used a computer with a purely instrumental work. The basic material consisted of harmonics played on a cello; when bow pressure is increased, the notes break up into noise. A computer analysis of this phenomenon generated the harmony and sound models that Saariaho then translated into music for the musicians to perform, complementing the sound spectrum with live electronics, i.e. electronic processing of sound in real time in concert.

"Like 'Lichtbogen', 'Io' (1986-87) for chamber orchestra, tape and live electronics was also inspired by the cosmic dimension of the starry sky. The title refers to one of the moons of Jupiter, although it is tempting to interpret it as the Italian word for 'I'. 'Io' was commissioned by IRCAM for its 10th anniversary concert at the Centre Pompidou.

"In terms of musical material, Saariaho again started off small, with an analysis of individual sound phenomena, in this case noise-like sounds produced on a double bass and a flute. She then transposed the models she had worked out onto a new level, a larger scale. 'Io' is a synthesis of musical approaches in the sense that it has a tape like 'Verblendungen' but also live electronics like 'Lichtbogen'. The tape has quite an independent role in places, and it even has a three-minute 'solo' towards the end. In terms of expression, 'Io' heralded a shift towards a more many-sided and complex texture.

"Kaija Saariaho has said that one of the crucial insights underlying the radiophonic work 'Stilleben' ('Still life', 1987-88) came to her while sitting in a train. As darkness falls, the landscape outside fades from view and the passenger's face begins to show in the window. This poetic experience points two ways with regard to 'Stilleben': firstly, to the gradual processes of change so important to many of Saariaho's works; and secondly, to the fundamental themes of 'Stilleben'. According to Saariaho, 'Stilleben' is about travelling, distance and communication between people separated from one another or from their homeland. It is easy to imagine that there is something very autobiographical in this theme for Saariaho, a Finn living in Paris and doing a lot of travelling.

"'Stilleben' was commissioned by the Finnish Broadcasting Company. It received a prize in the radiophonic works category in the Prix Italia competition in 1988, and in the following year it received the Ars Electronica prize. A 'radiophonic' work is a special kind of taped work that, as the name says, is designed to be played on radio, not in concert. Its means vary, but usually it is something between a radio play and electronic music.

"True to the nature of radiophonic works, 'Stilleben' contains a variety of material: speech in three languages (Finnish, German, French), singing, instrumental music (including extracts from 'Lichtbogen'), various concrete sounds for example from metro stations, and various types of acoustics. The texts are from letters by Franz Kafka discussing the effect of separation on communication; Saariaho has also used the poetry of Paul Eluard and artist Wassily Kandinsky. Saariaho approaches this rich and varied material more as a composer than as a storyteller. In fact, the work does not come across as a clear plot structure; rather it involves associations awakened by various situations and moods, a sort of poetry in sound that has themes and content but not precisely defined meanings.

"'Jardin secret' ('Secret garden') is a curiosity-provoking title that seems to evoke the composer's innermost thoughts. Saariaho has given this title to three works in which she has explored various parameters of music through the same basic model, using a computer. The first work of these is purely for tape (1984-85). The next to be completed was 'Jardin secret II' for harpsichord and tape. The concluding work, written for string quartet and live electronics, is 'Nymphea' (1987), sub-titled 'Jardin Secret III'.

"'Jardin secret II' is different from Saariaho's earlier compositions. It is energetic and rhythmic to the point of being chopping, The harpsichord part is restricted to a few effective basic gestures: trills, tremolos, chord ostinatos and short sharp figures. Saariaho has edited the tape using harpsichord sounds and human heavy breathing. 'Jardin Secret II' is an important work in that it helped open up a newer, more serious approach in the composer's musical thinking.

"'Petals' (1988) for cello and live electronics is a sort of associate member in the 'Jardin secret' series. The material in the work derives largely from the string quartet 'Nymphea' ('Jardin secret III'). The titles also allude to the same sort of sphere, Nymphea meaning 'waterlily'. In discussing 'Petals', we must also mention the contribution of cellist Anssi Karttunen, one of Saariaho's favourite musicians who provided the inspiration for the work and to whom it is dedicated. Saariaho has described the musical concept of 'Petals' thus: 'Petals is about contrasting elements, which here consist of pale colour on one hand and events whose kinetic energy is clearly based on rhythmic and melodic gestures on the other. These more precisely sketched shapes go through a number of changes and finally blend into the less dynamic yet intensive colour tapestry of the opening.'" (Kimmo Korhonen, tr. Jaakko Mäntyjärvi. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: Avanti! Chamber Orchestra, Jukka-Pekka Saraste, Kaija Saariaho, Jukka Tiensuu, Anssi Karttunen, Endymion Ensemble, John Witfield

1.1. Verblendungen

1.2. Lichtbogen

1.3. Io

1.4. Stilleben

2.1. Jardin Secret II

2.2. Petals

2.3. Lichtbogen

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Giacinto Scelsi - The Orchestral Works 2

"Giacinto Scelsi is known to have some untiring propagandists: he dissipates our angst, plunges us into an exquisite life, leads us into God's arms. He is also known to have some violent disparagers: he is less a 'messenger' than a joker behind apocryphal scores. But since his death in 1988, and the discovery of some new scores (some 120 works are published today, leaving around 30 yet to be fully explored), plus musicological and historical developments, the mystical spasms, the foolish garbled syncretism and the contemptuous treatment of a shrewdly revivified past have all been muffled. Now remains only Scelsi's music, which nearly everyone has avoided even mentioning. As his friend Henri Michaux wrote: 'Against noise, my noise. This noise then wards off all others—present, from before, from all day long—assembling them through a prodigious unheardofness into a perfect nothingness, a full relief.'

"Scelsi's music appears quite remarkable, although retrospection is still not distancing us enough to know just how much it has transformed new music. We know of his analogies with Varése's premonitions, with Frederich Cerha's or Per Nørgard's intuitions, and the minimalists' rudimentary developments. We know of the influence he had on Ligeti—who acknowledged this—or on Horatiu Radulescu, on the composers from the ineptly named 'spectral' school (Tristan Murail, Gérard Grisey, Michaél Levinas...), then on the architects of musical informatics, or even on his innumerable sextons, who, in their pursuit of examining the inner workings of sound—'the first movement of the immobile' (Scelsi)—attempt to perceive its 'depth', to analyze its transitions, its variations. Henceforth, according to Murail, 'we shall no longer compose (juxtapose, superpose), but de-compose, or at least, quite simply, position sound.' This corresponds to a radical change of perspective in our musical tradition.

"All of Scelsi's works, gigantic liquid monuments, are 'absolute' in the sense that they are totally refractory to the outside world (and thus answer the question of what is music for me); sometimes they even oppose it. Immersing ourselves in the sound, his sound, we perceive not only pitch or timbre, for example— according to Scelsi, we hear the beating of its pulse. He envelopes this tremulous fleshy being known as sound, inhabits us with little mind to our thoughts, observations, or our 'sauve-qui-peut-(la-vie)'—every-one-for-himself—attitudes, to the point that his resounding obviousness overpowers us. We are contained in the energy he incites within ourselves. One of Scelsi's premier performers and personal friend, the double bassist Joélle Léandre, has declared that when one plays his music, perception becomes so intense that one actually becomes sound itself. This rendering the world to nothingness, this flagrant bursting of the self into sound itself (not only does one feel different from others, but different from oneself), and, the strangulation of time; this liquefying of phenomena, all these paradoxically constitute the universality of Scelsi's music. Again, Léandre: 'You can play his music in Tibet, in Africa, in front of a jazz or rock audience, or before ordinary folks who don’t have any real relation to art—all of them will be profoundly roused.'

"'La nascita del Verbo' ('The birth of the Word'), a grand 'cantata' in four parts for chorus and large orchestra, was written in Rome between 1946 and 1948—therefore heralding his spiritual, mystic (influenced by the Orient), and musical (sound dissection, timbral quest) transformation. The work was premiered on November 28, 1949 in Paris at the Théatre des Champs-Elysées, by the French National Orchestra, conducted by Roger Desormiére and the French Radio Chorus, conducted by Yvonne Gouverné. (Scelsi: 'Désormiere was the ideal conductor for any contemporary composer. He was implacably lucid and had an exceptional musical acuity.')

"This majestic cantata's style contains hints and traces of chromatic languages, like in Scriabin; some neoclassic tendencies, like Malipiero; and a dodecaphonic impression, although there is never a trace of actual serialism in Scelsi. Certainly, serialism was the most intransigent phase of western music—its force indispensable, but one that would incite a new poetics plus a new, active way of listening and hearing. It left behind a long-standing aesthetic wound that many judged not easily tamed.

"The first section of 'La nascita del Verbo' begins with an orchestral prelude leading up to the Word. In an 'atmosphere of chords', says the composer—indeed the chorus sings only syllables—we are witnessing the 'formation of sonorities polarized on all the vowels spoken by the chorus, which is divided into up to eight arts. A sea of percussion supports this peroration and precedes a vibraphone pedal, held in he higher registers, and which acts like a bridge between the opening and second sections.' There, the Word is 'born' and is manifest in the 'sonorous explosions on the syllables of the words Deus, Amor, Lux.' The third section, Scelsi specifies, is a 'vast double fugue one of the most imposing in the history of music', exposed and frequently re-exposed by the brass whose motifs are the same as the words Deus, Amor, Lux of the second section.' In the fourth and final section (also the longest), 'the choir, in a meditative atmosphere murmurs parlando a Latin invocation to fraternity. Several voices distinguish themselves one by one and sing a very simple three-note melody that gradually builds into a vast tutti. A dodecaphonic series in the strings announces the return to complexity. The three-note melody reappears and gives way to a lofty polyphony which culminates in a forty-seven voice canon in twelve keys. Finally, a second invocation—'Domine in te speravi'—reintroduces a new formation of chords of vowels and syllables, in the same spirit as in the first section, but this time in relation to the three notes on which the work concludes: 'Amor Lux-Domine'.

"This work, 'truly written in blood', left Scelsi 'in a deplorable state'. Afterwards, he stopped composing for several years. Meanwhile, in phantasmagorical public houses whose doors slam with the same resonance as a Viennese snuffbox, he gets involved with Heraldic science and Ninevehian art. Several moorings dock his ship, but enable him to become aware of—ah, prodigious unheardofness—materiality, of the depth of sounds' shadows, of what is incalculable in sound. He first explores this at the piano, only to desert the instrument — all while constituting an essential share of his ceuvre—since micro-intervals are not possible with the piano, by definition and in all practicality. Hence, whether through provocation or necessity — it really doesn’t matter — because in any case, a radical product of his evolution and of his pioneering labors emerges with his famous 'Quattro Pezzi (su una nota sola)' (1959) ('Four pieces on only one note') for chamber orchestra of 25 musicians. Each piece is limited to one pitch (f, b, a flat and a), but with micro-fluctuations of sound (vibratos, slurs, spectral changes, tremolos...), sometimes with octave transpositions. Because of the nearly total abandonment of the harmonic dimension, the listener may concentrate on new sonorous subtleties, on the orchestra's timbre as a whole. Timbre, formerly considered a negligible aspect of writing in relation to the notes themselves, is actually one of the main characteristics of musical perception — of aural perception. Thanks to these excavations, the music seems to crackle, to fissure, to be but scattered illuminations springing from its own depths.

"In 1966 came the ferocious, tormented, complex and variegated five-movement work for ondes Martenot, seven percussionists, timpanist, chorus and twenty-three musicians—'Uaxuctum', 'The Legend of the Mayan City' which they themselves destroyed for religious reasons. 'Uaxuctum' indeed once existed (the exact spelling of this famous 'city' in the Petén province of Guatemala is Uaxactuin, meaning 'Eight stones'). Among its rich and numerous vestiges is the oldest stone monument, a low pyramid covered with stucco. The Golden Age of this city began in the IXth century, and came to an abrupt end (climatic changes, wars, epidemics?) in the middle of the IXth century. Then it was said: 'The solitude and silence was heard in the Mayan cities'. And it's is better like that: no real Orient, no sitar accompanying a violin, no crossbreeding of shoddy goods. More than that, this 'elsewhere' is the same as Michaux's 'distant interior,' his 'Voyage to Great Garabagne'.

"Numerous 'interior elsewheres' are studded in this Scelsi work. But after the Far East, pre-Columbian civilizations of Central America, the richness of the Mayan pantheon, his supposed myths and mysteries are but reflected in Scelsi's compositional process: new instrumental and vocal techniques (breathing noises, nasal sounds, muted or inhaled gutturals...), rhythmic incantations, rhythms 'rising from vital dynamism' (Scelsi), a petrified flow of time. Few woodwinds, a string section consisting of six double basses, lots of brass, as is often the case with this composer, and, in addition to a timpanist, no less than seven percussionists: in part with quite unique 'tools' such as the 'grande fusto da 200 litri per olio lubrificante, senza saldature (sic)' whose ribbed sides are to be stroked and rubbed, or a large aluminum dome, vertically suspended, whose diameter must be no less than 1.50 meters.

"'Uaxuctum', a work of a rare difficulty, only received its premiere on October 23, 1987 in Cologne by the Cologne Symphony Orchestra and Radio Choir conducted respectively by Hans Zender and Herbert Schernus. Scelsi was able to attend the performance, and died less than a year later." (Jean-Noël van der Vied. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: ORF Radio-Symphonieorchester Wien, Concentus Vocalis, Wiener Kammerchor, Peter Rundel, Johannes Kalitzke

1. Quattro Pezzi: 1

2. Quattro Pezzi: 2

3. Quattro Pezzi: 3

4. Quattro Pezzi: 4

5. Uaxuctum: 1

6. Uaxuctum: 2

7. Uaxuctum: 3

8. Uaxuctum: 4

9. Uaxuctum: 5

10. La Nascita Del Verbo: 1

11. La Nascita Del Verbo: 2

12. La Nascita Del Verbo: 3

13. La Nascita Del Verbo: 4

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Giacinto Scelsi - The Orchestral Works 1

"Italian composer Giacinto Scelsi (1905-1988) was one of the creative geniuses of our time—one whose legacy and artistry will continue to inspire, impress and mystify appreciative listeners and critics well into the 21st century. Amazingly, for a composer who died so recently (scarcely more than a decade ago), little is known about his life. He forbade anyone to photograph him, and he purposely and routinely changed or concealed details of his personal and public life even from those with whom he had daily contact. Born in La Spezia (Liguria) to an ancient aristocratic family, Count Giacinto Scelsi d’Ayala Valva was courtly and engaging, with a presence—and piercing blue eyes—that could overwhelm; less fortunately, neurotic episodes darkened long periods of his life.

"Scelsi never attended a regular school, but instead was tutored privately at home. Nor did he have any regular academic training in music. He studied composition privately in Rome (no one knows for how long) with Giacinto Sallustio, a pupil of Respighi. Later he took sporadic lessons in Vienna with Walter Klein, a Schönberg student, and with Egon Kohler, in Geneva, a disciple of Scriabin. Scelsi spoke fluent English and French in addition to his mother tongue, and wrote many articles and two volumes of poetry in French.

"Scelsi was not a composer who fit any previous historical model of the profession. He was independently wealthy, and thus able to create without the need to satisfy any segment of the public, no matter how common or esoteric. His social milieu was a strange assembly of wealthy friends in high society, Tibetan monks with whom he meditated and chanted, and the most famous musicians, poets, and painters of his day. Although a description of 'avant-garde' would not be inaccurate, he had little to do with and did not seek entry into any other current of music or art that was exploding in every direction from the intellectual and social chaos of the 1960s. Above all, he was a visionary who knew that his message would at first be comprehended by very few and that many years would pass before even the connoisseur could assimilate his intent. But his time has come: the history of contemporary music will have to be rewritten, for the second half of the twentieth century is now unthinkable without Scelsi.

"Scelsi's primary concern in music was with the basic elements of sound itself. He was obsessed, for example, with the sound of a single note — its natural components both above and below the fundamental pitch, its microtonal variations, and physical interactions that occur when elemental sound components are combined. The micro-intervals color and shape the sound, revolve it around a pulsating sphere whose center, in Scelsi's own words, was always his destination. In aural and spiritual dimensions, there are clear parallels between Scelsi's music and South Indian classical music and Tibetan chant.

"Some writers have claimed that Scelsi was the first Italian to write in the twelve-tone system, but there is no evidence to support this conjecture. After a few lessons with Klein, Scelsi lost interest —to him it was even more structured than the tonal system — and never pursued it. The inexorable pull toward Zen Buddhism and other oriental influences following a catastrophic nervous breakdown soon led him to a path that has few if any precedents in Western music.

"Nevertheless, despite his obsession with a single note and his search for new structures (or eliminating them completely), some of Scelsi's pieces use traditional compositional techniques of Western music. These include polyphony and counterpoint, which emerge as both ancient and modern musical artifacts—a juxtaposition of time created by looking to the unknown abyss of the future while at the same time recalling a known or imagined reconstruction of the past.

"In the 1960s, Scelsi engaged the string quartet 'Quartetto di Nuova Musica' (Massimo Coen and Franco Sciannameo, violins; Giovanni Antonioni, viola; Donna Magendanz, cello) to study and play his music, experiment with sound and notation, and record and publicly perform his music in Italy and abroad. On one memorable occasion (he rarely left home during this period) Scelsi traveled with the quartet to Athens for the Hellenic Festival of Contemporary Music 1966, and the world premiére of his fourth string quartet. An ecstatic audience demanded a complete repetition of the piece as an encore.

"A constant presence, in addition to Scelsi, was the noted Italian composer Vieri Tosatti (1920-2000) — Scelsi's amanuensis and collab- orator for nearly three decades, from the mid 1940s to the early 1970s. Tosatti's exact role in the actual creation and writing down of Scelsi's music is unknown. Scelsi often referred to himself as a 'messenger' rather than a composer, and the extent to which this was true in the literal sense was known following Scelsi's death only to Tosatti himself. In the final years of his life, blind and living near Rome, Tosatti preferred to remain silent on the matter.

"Despite a few live performances and a trickle of recordings from the 1960s on, most of Scelsi’s music, especially the large orchestra pieces, remained unknown until October 1987. The occasion then was a series of performances at the International Society of Contemporary Music Festival in Cologne. At the festival, Scelsi's music created an unprecedented enthusiasm —a thrill of discovery —for sold-out crowds. Since then performances of his works have continued to reach a wider public and a cross-over audience of symphony, chamber music, and new-music aficionados, as well as fans of new-age and psychedelic music.

"'Canti del Capricorno' is a collection of twenty songs written between 1962 and 1972, mostly for and in collaboration with soprano Michiko Hirayama. Some of the Canti are written specifically for soprano voice, while for others the exact voice is not specified. Improvisation and 'personal inspiration' play a large part in the interpretation of the songs.

"There is no word-text. Rather, the sounds are phonemes — speech-like cells, often jarring — that predate or transcend language as a means of expression.

"'Canti del Capricorno No. 1' (percussion and soprano) is a dark piece whose colors are emphasized by a difficult vocal technique that requires two simultaneous pitches to be produced.

"'No. 2' (tenor) begins in the lowest register and morphs into a pointed middle register with the notes becoming smooth, fluctuating within their space. The characteristic rhythm is anapestic (short-short-long).

"'No. 18' (soprano and percussion) evokes a primitive ritual. The percussion supports and propels the voice, engaging the singer in a fiery and urgent battle.

"'No. 14' (tenor and percussion) is a companion to Canto No. 18. Primitive ritual is again suggested as the voice and percussion engage in a dramatic duel.

"'No. 15' (soprano) is an alternating earthly battle and celestial tranquility between the birds and the beasts—the five strophes of the bird alternating with the four of the beast.

"'No. 19' (voices and instruments) suggests the union of nature and mankind through the sounds of the breath as well as the plaintive sounds of the instruments.

"'Hymnos' (1963), about eleven minutes, is Scelsi's longest continuous single movement. It demands a large orchestra divided antiphonally into two almost identical groups, symmetrically placed on each side of the central axis made up of the organ, timpani, and percussion.

"The note of obsession, so typical of Scelsi, is the unison D (re) with which the piece opens. There are microtonal variations around the note, which struggles for survival as the tonal center moves first to F and then to B-flat. In aural and spiritual dimensions, there are clear parallels with oriental music.

"About halfway through the piece, as a result of accumulated pedal tones and their harmonics, the aura of a phantom choir miraculously appears — or so it seems— in a spine-tingling revelation. The chant-like sounds that emerge (but are nowhere evident in the score) are a nod to the title, Hymnos, a Greek word and the origin of the English word 'hymn'.

"'Hurqualia' (1960) was the first of the Scelsi pieces for orchestra written at the height of the composer's maturity. As with 'Hymnos', Scelsi obsesses on a single note—in this case a different note for each of the four movements. The overall impression of the piece corresponds somewhat to the traditional notion of symphonic construction in four movements. Scelsi's subtitle, which no one who ventures within listening distance of the work is likely to contradict, is 'A Different Realm'. 'Hurqualia' (the h is silent) reveals a shocking Scelsi: the music is violent, impulsive, loud, fast.

"The first movement, a kind of introduction or overture, begins serenely with sounds reminiscent of the mantra-like syllable 'Om', It builds gradually to a massive and destructive explosion of brass and percussion. The percussion takes an active part, and the drums are struck con la mano—by hand—instead of with sticks, much in the manner of Indian tabla. The end is sudden, on a single drum stroke.

"The second movement introduces tension of another sort, within a self-contained structure and under a surface of quiet expression. The central focus is on B-natural, with branches up to a minor third (D-natural) and shrinking to a conflicting and unresolved C-sharp.

"A melodic element, with violent rhythmic accents, is stressed in the third movement. The fourth movement begins (like the first) on E-flat, but the true pole emerges as B-flat. This movement is the richest and most complex of the work. The drums are again used as tabla, and enormous groups of clusters bring the piece to a violent climax.

"'Hurqualia' is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, two trombones, timpani, four percussionists, strings (but no violins) and three sets of amplified instruments.

"Scelsi gives instructions for the independent dynamics of three amplified groups (oboe, english horn, E-flat clarinet in the first group; horn, tenor saxophone, musical saw, viola, and double bass in the second; and two trumpets and trombone in the third). The origin of the title is unknown.

"'Konx-Om-Pax', a twenty minute work for choir and orchestra, is Scelsi's crowning achievement. The orchestra is the largest ever assembled by Scelsi. The piece is in three sections, and uses relatively simple material but projected onto an enormous landscape of sound.

"The order, structure, and detail of this piece surpasses any of Scelsi's previous works. Even the organ stops are meticulously specified, and the joining of 'all' in the third movement, combining the massive forces of orchestra and choir, makes an inevitable allusion to a previous 'ode to joy'. The title is the word 'peace' in three languages: ancient Assyrian, Sanskrit, and Latin. In a subtitle, Scelsi describes Konx-Om-Pax: Three aspects of Sound: as the first motion of the immovable, as creative force, as the sacred syllable 'Om'.

"Such wildly different music demands a new approach in learning and playing for both the conductor and the musicians. There is no precedent for learning or teaching Scelsi's music; experimentation guides progress; perfection is elusive. At the very least, every technical and musical skill in terms of color and intonation that the musicians have achieved in their conservatory training is demanded in full measure; at the same time the listening mechanisms and parameters which musicians rely on innately to play accurately and musically are stretched to new limits. In the end the musicians have to use and simultaneously abandon the very skills that are needed to play any music—and to make that leap into the soundscape that is Scelsi's mind and music.

"As an artist and as a human being Scelsi's sole purpose was centered on a desire to listen to cosmic forces. This desire emanated from transcendental thought as he searched for the divine essence of religion outside of geographic and temporal borders. He used elements from known traditions to reach moments of transcendence, reaching out, through his music, for entry into the profound realities of the universe, with undaunted spirit and a fervent hope for universal peace." (Riccardo Schulz. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: Carnegie Mellon Philharmonic, Carnegie Mellon Choir, Juan Pablo Izquierdo, Pauline Vaillancourt, Douglas Ahlstedt

1. Canti Del Capricorno No. 1

2. Hymnos

3. Canti Del Capricorno No. 2

4. Canti Del Capricorno No. 18

5. Hurqualia: 1

6. Hurqualia: 2

7. Hurqualia: 3

8. Hurqualia: 4

9. Canti Del Capricorno No. 14

10. Canti Del Capricorno No. 15

11. Konx-Om-Pax: 1

12. Konx-Om-Pax: 2

13. Konx-Om-Pax: 3

14. Canti Del Capricorno No. 19

 

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Milton Babbitt - Piano Concerto; The Head of the Bed

"Milton Babbitt, born in 1916, has spent most of his career as composer, theorist, and teacher at Princeton University, where he followed his teacher, Roger Sessions, as William Shubael Conant Professor of Music. He has also been for several years a member of the composition faculty at the Juilliard School. His influence has been wide-ranging; his students include both Donald Martino and Stephen Sondheim. The recipient of many awards during his career, Babbitt has most recently been named a MacArthur Fellow: in 1986 he was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters. 

 

"The two works heard on this recording bring together a number of strands in the complex web of Milton Babbitt’s compositional concerns. 'The Head of the Bed' (1981), commissioned by the Chamber Music Society of Baltimore and composed for Phyllis Bryn-Julson, embodies both Babbitt's interest in chamber music and his long-standing affinity for the female voice, previously exemplified by 'Du' (1951), 'Vision and Prayer' (1961), 'Philomel' (1963-64), 'Phonemena' (1969-70; 1974), and 'A Solo Requiem' (1976-77). The 'Concerto for Piano and Orchestra', written in 1985 for Alan Feinberg and the American Composers Orchestra, conjoins his massive, intricate vision of the orchestra with the pianistic virtuosity of 'Tableaux' (1972), 'Reflections' (1974), 'Time Cycle' (1978, 1982), and 'Canonical Form' (1983). Both compositions manifest the juxtaposition of brilliant virtuosity against a voluptuous setting characteristic of so many of his works for solo protagonist. 

 

"Although both works are structurally complex—among Babbitt's most elaborate extensions of Arnold Schoenberg's breakthrough—each in its own way dramatizes the expressive flexibility and power provided by twelve-tone musical syntax. 

 

"While Babbitt is perhaps best known for his chamber and vocal music, these loom over his oeuvre a series of vast monuments for orchestra, alas but dimly perceived due to their infrequent performance and the absence of professional recordings. (ed. note: This is the first of Babbitt’s orchestral works ever to be recorded.) The Piano Concerto is the most recent of Babbitt’s orchestral works, which include 'Relata I' and 'II' (1965, 1968), 'Correspondences' (1967) for string orchestra and electronic tape, the as yet unperformed 'Concerti' (1974-76) for solo violin, orchestra, and electronic tape, and 'Ars Combinatoria' (1981). In all of these works Babbitt treats a orchestra as a resource for a wide variety of timbres through a full range of dynamics and registers; the interaction of these factors with the solo piano is the crux of the Concerto. Throughout the composition the orchestra is divided ito four distinct registers, each of which projects varying versions of a multiply interpreted underlying structure, The various sections of the work are demarcated by the change of ensembles of registers in the orcheste: running through fifteen combinations of soles, duos, trios, and tutti. The piano, in contrast, remains constantly active throughout its range, and responds to the orchestra’s changes by changing the nature of its own material, now complementing the orchestra’s music, now reflecting it in a distorted manner. Although the surface of the music is mercurial, a gradual overall dramatic progression unfolds through the shifting orchestral registers. The Concerto opens with the piano pitted against the lowest register of the orchestra, followed shortly by the highest register; for the first third of the plece no more than two registers are present in the orchestra, and the lowest register is withheld after its initial appearance until the midpoint of the work. From then on, the lowest register is nearly always present, and more registers are active simultaneously. The gradual accretion of orchestral presence eventually forces the soloist into silence before its full majesty in the penulumate section. The piano reenters, however, casting the orchestra into its highest and lowest ranges to open its own ae ar passage to the close. 

 

"'The Head of the Bed' is both synthesis and synopsis of Babbitt's vocal and chamber music. The work is a setting of a poem in fifteen stanzas by the American poet John Hollander, who also wrote the text for 'Philomel' (NW 307). The composition evokes a number of Babbitt's earlier works both in large-scale design and in detail, While the vocal writing and text echo several previous vocal compositions, the nature and treatment of the ensemble have their reots in his 'Composition for Four Instruments' (1947-48). The present work and the earlier piece employ the same ensemble of instruments, and both contain fifteen sections, each distinguished by a different grouping of instruments (analogous to the play of orchestral registers in the Concerto). In 'The Head of the Bed' the fifteen sections correspond to the fifteen stanzas of the poem. The further subdivision of each stanza into fifteen lines allows Babbitt to create a subtle echo between the composition of the vocal part for each section and the overall deployment of the instrumental groupings. The disposition of motive and register in the vocal line also invokes a fundamental compositional strategy of the 'Composition for Four Instruments', reflecting the encompassing compositional vision that has informed Babbitt’s music throughout his career." (Andrew Mead. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: American Composers Orchestra, Charles Wuorinen, Alan Feinberg, Parnassus Ensemble, Anthony Korf, Judith Bettina

1. Piano Concerto

2. The Head Of The Bed

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Annette Krebs & Taku Unami - Motubachii

Collaboration between German and Japanese sound artists Annette Krebbs and Taku Unami, released on Erstwhile Records in 2010. Available to purchase physically or digitally here. Subtle blend of electroacoustic improvised work, vocal samples, field recordings and some drones giving an overall impression of hidden mystery, never quite resolving.

1. Untitled

2. Untitled

3. Untitled

4. Untitled

5. Untitled

6. Untitled

7. Untitled

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Government Alpha - The Garden of Eternity

Classic, masterful noise from Japanese powerhouse Yasutoshi Yoshida. Hits with an intense, psychedelic variety that is at once communicative and even musical. There is a world to be found here that perhaps approaches the promise of the title. Released as an edition of one hundred cassettes on Italian noise label Less than Zero in 1997.

A1. Comatose Lily

A2. Angel Kills A Gardener

A3. Unsanitary Mud

A4. Shrinking Pistil

A5. The Crematory Of Eden

B1. Anoxia At 5:34 AM

B2. Nap

B3. Eternal Memory

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Richard Wagner - Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg

"Lovers of Wagnerian opera have long admired the singing of Friedrich Schorr as Hans Sachs, the central role in 'Die Meistersinger', as heard in his famed 78rpm recordings and wondered what he would do with the complete role. Fortunately, a recording of a complete performance on stage at the Metropolitan Opera survived from the broadcast of 1936. And while it has less than good sound, it is sufficient to communicate why Schorr was world famous for his portrayal. What makes Schorr's singing of Hans Sachs so memorable? Other singers have conveyed a rich, warm intelligence in this role. Hans Hotter in the 1949 Munich performance, and one or another famous baritone such as Bocklemann, Nissen and Janssen, have suggested something of the humanity of this memorable character; yet only Schorr communicates the essential nobility of Hans Sachs that makes this personage equal to the sublime eloquence of the music and the elevation of Wagner's conception. As a result, what Wagner's genius really gave us in this score shines through, bringing this huge opera to glowing life around a person fit to live in the memory of the human race for all these centuries. 

 

"Nobility in a person is rare enough in human existence to make a profound impression on the lives and spirit of those fortunate enough to recognize it. Nobility, it seems to me, means that state of being or color of character which results from a constant association and service to high principles. No meanness of spirit, no hidden self-concerns or crafty motives for status or comfort, wealth or pleasure, shadow this radiant benevolence. The character of such a person has an unmistakable and unforgettable tone of elevation, resulting from a loftiness of relationship to circumstances which most others warp to personal uses, disguise the action in claims of principle as they may. This state of being, when encountered, puts events into a different focus, and we see that it is possible to live an epic and poetical life even amidst ordinary circumstances. We see, too, that a certain innate grandeur of tone begins to color the attitude and actions of such a person, setting them apart from most others. Indeed, this is the only true royalty, one not composed of titles or crowns or kingdoms. Tone reveals all.

"All this is exactly what distinguishes Schorr’s expression of Hans Sachs. His tone radiates a rich, warm, wise humanity that glows from every note. Such a quality can never be assumed or copied; it results from the integrity of the person. Schorr’s voice, expressed in song, composed of a lyrical, buoyant, poetical colour, seems to endow Hans Sachs with a plenitude of innate powers, confirming in every moment how he came to occupy the position he does in Nuremberg, and in our hearts.

"It is this essential nobility, coupled with indomitable strength, which made Schorr the Wotan of all time, but worked against him as Gunther or Faninal. This same quality also set up fascinating conflicts when he sang the villainous Pizarro in Fidelio to Flagstad’s Leonore. No such conflict exists in Schort’s evocation of Hans Sachs, for here his eloquence of utterance, musicality of spirit, tenderness of expression and grandeur of vision, joined to Wagner's text and music, yield a profound character study of unforgettable stature; here is a representative man in the best sense.

"One of the most memorable aspects of Schorr’s singing was his ravishing mezza-voce. This brought to his powerful and rich tone intimations of a tenderness which lent dimension to the innate strength of his voice. The one single fault in his singing, which became progressively evident, was a certain growing weakness in the upper register. This caused him to break on certain notes, as can be heard in the 1936 and 1940 Walküre and in various moments of Meistersinger.

"Something like this difficulty likely caused one of the great losses in recording history, for Toscanini had engaged Schorr to sing Hans Sachs under his direction at the 1937 Salzburg Festivals after conducting Schorr (and Elisabeth Rethberg) in the Brahms Requiem in a New York Philharmonic concert. Apparently, Schorr’s voice did not sustain him in some way at rehearsals. He was obviously going through a bad patch. Toscanini stated 'I’m worried about Schorr [...] he’s hoarse and breathless on the high notes [...] when I called on him to sing full voice like the others, he said he had a cold. Of course, the management has begun to search around for the few available replacements. Let's hope for the best.” Eventually Schorr was replaced with Nissen. Schorr agreed to withdraw under claim of illness. This was a tremendous loss and I think, perhaps, a great mistake was made. It may be that Nissen’s singing was stronger in certain notes but what a world of wit and wisdom, warmth and nobility Schorr could have given us as complete compensation for these difficulties. Many other singers have negotiated all the notes of this role with no problem whatsoever, but their performances were routine, lacking in those essential qualities of elevated spirit that Schorr, above all others, embodied.

"To hear Schorr sing 'Wahn! Wahn!' or, indeed, every line of Act III, is to hear expression that is immortal in every element. His singing of this particular music, both in his well-known 78s, and in this broadcast performance, brings us the consummate perfection of Schorr’s art, for here Schorr is the very embodiment of benevolent wisdom, as he muses upon the insanity of misrelationships which disfigure the potential beauty of mankind. Sachs endeavors to make sense of why men 'strive and fight, in fruitless rage and spite. What do they gain?' Sachs' contemplation touches us deeply because his grave, sorrowing concerns, the underlying resignation which colors his thoughts with sadness, reflect something that is inestimable in human nature — the large-spirited, warm-hearted nobility of a man concerned not with himself, nor with this or that personal event, but with the pandemonious inclination of human beings everywhere to war with each other. These considerations are floated in a tender reverie in Sachs' Act III Monologue, 'Wahn! Wahn!', as he recollects the absolute absurdity and folly at the heart of the previous night's riot.

"Such considerations as we hear in this passage pale in the expression of an ordinary singer, as they would in the statements of a man whose life, as lived, does not support his philosophy, thus the tone he takes reflects a self-inflated pose that is embarrassing. For this reason, singers with ordinary voices who sing Sachs' role, diminish or obscure the true poetry and profundity of meaning that make the 'Wahn' monologue into an elegiac life-song in which we see and hear, with eager recognition and relief, a truly representative man. Singers like Edelmann, Wiener, Schöffler and others may have good voices, but they lack the special color, timbre and tone which mark the truly great, thus the ordinariness of their expression reduces true eloquence to rhetoric. Even a great singer like Hans Herman Nissen, deeply identified with the role of Hans Sachs, lacked the dignity, warmth, intimacy of tone, humor and poetry we hear from Schorr; Nissen’s wisdom is fit for municipal celebrations and friends but doesn’t speak out over the ages to all of us.

"Only a few truly great voices are, by virtue of certain unique qualities, capable of being instrumental to all that is profound and noble in our highest arts. Clearly, Hans Sachs, in medieval Nuremberg, contemplating the universal insanity of humanity pitting one aspect against the other, could as well offer his warmly toned concerns today as in any other era, but we would suffer few among us to tell us so. In 'Wahn! Wahn!' listen to Schorr change the tone of his indictment of the previous night's strife to ironical humor, without a trace of bitterness or self-righteousness, as he sings 'Gott weiss, das geschah' ('God knows how this befell'), floating his contemplation in a tone of warm-hearted amusement, while the marvelous strains of Midsummer's Eve engulf one with the tender beauty of life. Here Sachs perceives that no world evil was at the base of it all, only some 'glow worm that could not find his mate.' He sees that it is for inconsequentials that we bait and fight each other, some scrap of importance, some bauble or glittering image which yields nothing to the spirit or the communal life into which we are all set. Would it were that we could hold the view of our idiocies like a bubble of laughter in our mouths, as Schorr's Hans Sachs teaches us to do, and turn all this madness 'to serve for noble works.'

"It is because Schorr, in his voice, tone and temperament, so personifies Sachs, that his lyricism can clasp wings on these considerations and lift us to the same philosophical elevation, above the despair of human enmity, to feel, as Wagner's inspiration means us to feel, the human capacity to become superior to circumstances. Wagner, speaking through such a Sachs as Friedrich Schorr, teaches us the sweetness, not of tolerance but of an innate compassion which is strength and tenderness combined, a poetic sweetness-of-being which reminds one of the magic of Midsummer's Eve’s melody at the end of Act II and its reprise in 'Wahn, Wahn'.

"These same qualities pervade much of Schorr's singing in this opera. Consider the delicate poetry of tone with which Schorr commences his Fliedermonolog, so utterly in keeping with the charm which the Elder tree's fragrance throws upon him. Schorr mixes this tone into his contemplations of the poetry he heard from Walther in the previous Act, so that the enspelling creativity of Spring is mixed with the innate musicality and involuntary originality that he sensed in the young man's expression, surrounding Sachs with fragrant reminiscences. The tone that Schorr gives Hans Sachs is truly poetical, yet this is not the ardent rapture of a young man buta restrained, musing, grave, subtle sound in which one can feel the profundity of Sachs' character, just as one would experience depth in certain persons in ordinary life — not by some accrual of facts, nor the conceptual claims they make, nor by the books they've read, but by the tone they take. This, alone, communicates whether we have before us intellectual pose, or the image of deep content rather than the reality itself. This truth is communicated instantaneously, and though we might be unable to explain the grounds for our trust, we are ready to rely on this rare reality at once. Schorr exudes this depth in the very timbre of his voice — it is hued innately with ennobled character — so that the Fliedermonolog focuses us upon Sachs in a depth we are never thenceforth to lose. He is the person whom all eyes follow, one of those rare personages given us through the miracle of great art who stands for a real human being amidst countless thousands of half-asleep, half-alive persons.

"Schorr’s singing in the Fliedermonolog finds him savoring the poetical ideal which is at the secret heart of Walther's words and music. This subtle rapture puts a special magic on Sachs' tender and evocative 'Nun sang er, wie er musst' ('He sang because he must'), which reflects, in the way Schorr sings it, not only his admiration for the freedom and inevitability of Walther’s song-filled expression, but a profound savoring of the beautiful necessity which underlies all the true poetry that issues from the human heart. Sachs’ sense of a higher law governing all the music, one which is deeply related to living, is the source of his germinal awareness that the rules of the Meistersingers are atrophying the true spirit of songfulness; this is what he recognized in their rejection of Walther, and this is what will flower eventually into his whole-hearted support of the young man's inspiring and poetical vision.

"Through Schorr's profound art, all that is ennobling in Wagner's sublime music and text comes through and takes its true stature. And while we would have preferred to hear Schorr within the context of Toscanini's triumphant recreation of the score, there is much in power and poetry here to provide a fitting musical context for Schorr’s incomparable portrayal.

"The joy we take in this preservation is doubled by the fact that we are finally enabled to hear Elisabeth Rethberg's Eva. Her lovely tone in this music, particularly in her ecstatic phrasing in Act II before and during the 'Schusterlied' Scene, or in the scenes she has with Sachs, is something to cherish. Her phrasing in the Act III Quintet does not surpass that of Elisabeth Schumann, who remains the finest on record, nor does she imbue this music with her special personality, as does Lotte Lehmann. Nevertheless, Rethberg's intonation, her special intensity, refinement of expression and emotional warmth makes for a portrayal of Eva that will linger in your memory. So many of the passages she sings are ravishing in their beauty of phrase and ecstatic tone. For instance, when she discovers Walther after she leaves Sachs in Act II, the enthrallment in her tone, the soaring range of her singing of 'Ja ihr seid es' and all the following lines, have no parallel in any of the other performances I've ever heard. I refer in particular to the lines 'Nicht eh'r, bis ich sah den theuersten Mann!' or everything she sings in this stanza, or her sustained tone, so ineffably touching in her parting words, 'Dem Meistergericht'.

"For these two, Schorr and Rethberg, I prefer this Elisabeth Rethberg as Eva performance, though it's in far lesser sonics than the marvelous reproduction of the 1939 Meistersinger with Schorr and Jessner. Both Schorr and Rethberg are in the voice we associate with them in these roles from the 78rpm disc they made together of the 'Footstool duet Sieh' Ev'chen! Dacht'ich doch'. Ever since hearing that record in the 1940s, I've yearned to hear a complete performance with these two artists. Now, here it is.

"Lawrence Gilman, music critic of the New York Herald Tribune, celebrated 'the limpid and solacing beauty of Madame Rethberg's voice in Meistersinger,' writing of Rethberg's 'sense of the shape and balance of phrases' as well as 'her delicate instinct for line and cadence and proportion.' Out of these elements emerges an Eva who is not simply a lovely maiden, touched with an affection for Sachs she even imagines to be love, but one capable of a much different passion for Walther. Hers is a spirit which soars with such feminine intensity that many of Eva's lines shine with a glowing beauty.

Rene Maison as Walther is better, perhaps, in this role than in anything else preserved from his seasons at the Met, with the capital exception of Loge in Das Rheingold in which he is unsurpassable. This Belgian tenor, born in 1895, made his Metropolitan Opera debut just a few weeks previously in this same role with a nearly identical cast. The timbre of his voice has a certain bleating quality to it which deducts from one’s esteem of his singing but he certainly manages to convey a lyricism and poetry not untouched with virility, which makes for a convincing and quite musical portrayal.

"Eduard Habich, world famed for his portrayal of Alberich, is heard here as Beckmesser, making of this narrow-minded character a believable figure whose outlook and nature avoid caricature. Habich gives us a Beckmesser who is unaware of the comical aspects of his expression (especially in his endeavor to sing his serenade to Eva in the second act) and who is even touching in his earnestness. Interestingly, Habich never reminds one of his memorable Alberich in Rheingold despite his unmistakable voice, and the fact that Alberich and Beckmesser share a tone of cramped injury and rage, thus the two portrayals could easily have struck similarities. Instead, he has reshaped his tonal approach so as to fit it naturally into the utterly different world of medieval Nuremberg. His is a portrayal fit to be heard amidst such vocal luminaries as Schorr and Rethberg, remaining in the memory and enlarging in stature with each hearing.

"Emanuel List is heard as Pogner, and while his recognizable voice is welcome, he is in rather poor vocal condition; indeed, his singing in Act I is the worst ever heard from him in Met broadcasts. Fortunately, he recovers sufficiently to not make a trial of Acts II & III. Of course, every singer, no matter how great, can have a bad night, though not too often does he or she have it broadcast nationally and preserved on transcription discs.

"Karin Branzell is an attractive Magdalene, sprightly and rich-toned. Hans Clemens is less ingratiating, given that his tone often takes on an unattractive nasal bleat, but he is lively and convincing. These last words particularly apply to the Met chorus, which is vitally involved in all that transpires. It is enormously effective in responding to Beckmesser's endeavor to sing the lyrics of Walther's lied in Act II. The confusion and consternation heard from the crowd, which finally gives way to gradations of laughter culminating in a crescendo of hilarity is marvelously authentic and convincing. This, then, is yet another of the many virtues of this performance. Also to be relished is much of Bodanzky’s leadership of the orchestra, though not his confused, lopsided essayal of the complex ensemble that ends Act I, nor the infamous cuts for which he was so notorious.

"Opera lovers came to learn of the existence of a recording of a complete performance of 'Die Meistersinger' with Schorr in Paul Jackson's fascinating book 'Saturday Afternoons at the Old Met'. Professor Jackson was auditioning a private preservation issued by Edward J. Smith that is extremely miniscule, poor-sounding, tinny, and swamped in surface noise. Nevertheless, these problems did not prevent him from hearing the glories of the performance:

"'In company with Chaliapin's Boris, Richard Mayr's Baron Ochs and Pinza's Don Giovanni, Schort's a Sachs is one of the unmatched pontcayals of the century [...] sublime is the word.'

"The better-sounding recording presented here further verifies Paul Jackson's estimate. There are occasions when Schorr's voice turns hollow or he negotiates one or another note with difficulty, but this is no more than a few minor blemishes on a magnificent painting.

"Given this greatness of characterization and voice, 'Die Meistersinger' seems to be irradiated throughout with a warm sunlight and, in the finale to Act II, a magical moonlight, still reflecting the now-hidden sun, casting its spell over the darkened houses of medieval Nuremberg. Wagner has brought this world to poetical life with its guilds and Summer Song Festival. Lawrence Gilman considered 'Die Meistersinger' to possess many dimensions:

"'[...] profound and blithe, tranquil and poignant, homespun and magical. For in this huge and bountiful piece, tragedy is masked by a deep and comprehending humanity that fills up one’s sense with the greatness of the human spirit.'

"For Gilman, as for myself, Friedrich Schorr, above all others, communicated this inspiring quality, suffusing great knowledge with tenderness; a figure touched with a quiet humor and characterized by a love of the old, enlarged by an openness of heart to the new. Gilman’s evocative writing has its chief focus on the music-drama's central personage, Hans Sachs:

"'What a character Wagner has given us here! — this poet, dreamer, man of sorrows: this tragedian who has mastered his grief and does not take too seriously his resignation; who is mellow without softness, noble without offensiveness [...] a man of infinite charm — magnetic, lovable, fine-fibred, yet homespun; a being of fathomless tenderness.'

"Gilman continues:

"'For some, this is the most endearing of all scores, and deep is the happiness of those who are so fortunate as to hear 'Die Meistersinger' revealingly performed as, at the Metropolitan, with the sage, mellowed and glowing Sachs of Friederich Schorr; probably the finest embodiment of the character that is now to be seen in any lyric theater.'

"Harold Schonberg, New York Times music critic, recalled, in his article 'Backward Times' (1994):

"'For 'Meistersinger' there was a Sachs of Schorr and Eva of Rethberg. They set standards for all time in those roles. Schorr had a noble bearing and a kind of wisdom and humanity in his singing that nobody else in my time has been able to duplicate. Rethberg’s silvery voice, so perfectly placed, so easily produced, imbued with an older tradition, so intense and, at the same time, vocally relaxed, was unique.

"Schorr's recordings in the studio, and broadcast from the stage, corroborate this estimate, making unimportant the very few occasions when Schorr cannot adequately manage a particular note. What matter, when this great artist provides the vocal equivalent of the Hans Sachs we imagine? The few 78rpm commercial recordings illuminate much that was unforgettable in Schorr's portrayal but the fullest corroboration comes from hearing this broadcast in 1936. And while Schorr gives us the stature, tenderness and nobility of this human character, his portrayal draws dimension from its setting, not only in Wagner's music, but in the voices of Rethberg and Maison and the milieu that Wagner's music brings to life.

"Even in those performances in which the vocal forces convey mundane conceptions, still the greatness of the music enfolds them with its magic. And while music lovers especially esteem one or another part of the score, everyone I've ever known agrees that the conclusion of Act II is the most sublime. Of this Gilman writes:

"'At the close of the second act, as the rioters disperse and the tumult dies down, and the doors are closed and the lights put out, leaving the stage quite empty and dark, the Night Watchman arrives on the scene with his lantern and his ox-horn, rubbing his eyes, singing his quavery call. Then we see the moon rise above all Nuremberg, sleeping in the heart of a forgotten but recovered century, while the murmuring orchestra reminds us of the brooding enchantment of the summer night. Once again, we realize that there is nothing in music to set beside this lovable masterwork, with its beauty and serene philosophy, its delicate, exact recapturing of the hue and fragrance of a vanished day, its perfect veracity and transcendent art.'

"There have been many savourable performances of this masterwork, many of which offer sonics that do justice to Wagner's enchanting music. These belong on the music lover's shelf even in those instances where the portrayal of its central character lacks those memorable qualities which recall the singer's voice whenever we think back upon the music. Yet space must be made on the shelf of any significant collection for this sonically cramped, sometimes noisy preservation, one that may predominate over many hi-fi recordings with a different kind of fidelity. This performance, narrowed in its aural scope, stems from a time when technology was just beginning to assemble its capacities and prospects, delivering to us, 67 years later, these glowing and unforgettable portrayals, taking its place as one of the chief treasures of its era, and even, perhaps, of any age." (Richard Caniell. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Orchestra and Chorus of the Metropolitan Opera, Artur Bodanzky, Friedrich Schorr, Elisabeth Rethberg, Rene Maison, Karin Branzell, Emanuel List

1.1. Vorspiel
1.2. Aufzug I, Szene I: 'Dazu Dir Der Heiland Kam'
1.3. Aufzug I, Szene I: 'Verweilt! Ein Wort'
1.4. Aufzug I, Szene I: 'Da Wär Der Ritter Ja Am Rechten Ort'
1.5. Aufzug I, Szene II: 'David, Was Stehst?'
1.6. Aufzug I, Szene II: 'Mein Herr! Der Singer Meister-Schlag'
1.7. Aufzug I, Szene II: 'Der Meister Tön' Und Weisen'
1.8. Aufzug I, Szene II: 'Aller End' Ist Doch David Der Allergescheit 'st'
1.9. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Seid Meiner Treue Wohl Versehen'
1.10. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Gott Grüß' Euch, Meister!'
1.11. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Beliebt's, Wir Schreiten Zur Merkerwahl?'
1.12. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Das Nenn' Ich Ein Wort'
1.13. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Verzeiht! Vielleicht Schon Ginget Ihr Zu Weit'
1.14. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Wohl, Meister! Zur Tagesordnung Kehrt'
1.15. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Am Stillen Herd In Winterzeit'
1.16. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Nun, Meister, Wenn's Gefällt'
1.17. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Was Euch Zum Liede Richt' Und Schnur'
1.18. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Fanget An!'
1.19. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Seid Ihr Nun Fertig?'
1.20. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Halt Meister! Nicht So Geeilt!'
1.21. Aufzug I, Szene III: 'Doch Wird's Wohl Jetzt Mir Kund''
1.22. Broadcast Commentary

2.1. Aufzug II: 'Johanistag! Johanistag!'
2.2. Aufzug II: 'Was Gibt's? Treff Ich Dich Wieder Am Schlag?'
2.3. Aufzug II: 'Nicht Doch, 's Ist Mild Und Labend'
2.4. Aufzug II: 'Was Duftet Doch Der Flieder'
2.5. Aufzug II: 'Gut'n Abend Meister!'
2.6. Aufzug II: 'Könnt's Einem Wittwer Nich Gelingen?'
2.7. Aufzug II: 'Das Dacht' Ich Wohl'
2.8. Aufzug II: 'Da Ist Er!'
2.9. Aufzug II: 'Hört, Ihr Leut', Und Lasst Euch Sagen'
2.10. Aufzug II: 'Jerum! Jerum!'
2.11. Aufzug II: 'Mich Schmertzt Das Lied'
2.12. Aufzug II: 'Den Tag Seh' Ich Erscheinen'
2.13. Aufzug II: 'Zum Teufel Mit Dir Verdammte Gesell'!'
2.14. Broadcast Commentary

3.1. Aufzug III: Vorspiel
3.2. Aufzug III, Szene I: 'Gleich! Meister! Hier!'
3.3. Aufzug III, Szene I: 'Blumen Und Bänder Seh' Ich Dort!'
3.4. Aufzug III, Szene I: 'Wahn! Wahn! Überall Wahn!'
3.5. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Grüß Gott, Mein Junker'
3.6. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Mein Freund! In Holder Jugendzeit'
3.7. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Morgenlich Leuchtend In Rosigen Schein'
3.8. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Das Nenn' Ich Mir Einen Abgesang!'
3.9. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Ein Werbelied! Von Sachs? - Ist's Wahr'
3.10. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Sieh Da! Herr Schreiber? Auch Am Morgen'
3.11. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Das Gedicht? Hier Liess Ich's'
3.12. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'So Ganz Boshaft Doch Keinen Ich Fand'
3.13. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Säng' Mir Nur Wenigstens Einer Dazu!'
3.14. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'O Sachs! Mein Freund! Du Theurer Mann!'
3.15. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Mein Kind: Von Tristan Und Isolde'
3.16. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Die Selige Morgentraumdeut-Weise'
3.17. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Sankt Crispin, Lobet Ihn'
3.18. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Als Nürnberg Belagert War'
3.19. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Hungersnoth! Hungersnoth!'

4.1. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Ihr Tanzt?'
4.2. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Die Meistersinger! Die Meistersinger!'
4.3. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Wach' Auf, Es Nahet Gen Den Tag'
4.4. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Euch Macht Ihr's Leichet'
4.5. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'O Sachs! Mein Freund!'
4.6. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Morgen Ich Leuchte In Rosigen Schein'
4.7. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Heimlich Mir Graut'
4.8. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Morgenlich Leuchtend In Rosigen Schein'
4.9. Aufzug III, Szene II: 'Der Zeugen, Denk' Es, Wählt Ich Gut'
4.10. Broadcast Commentary
4.11. Aufzug II: 'Was Duftet Doch Der Flieder'
4.12. Aufzug III: 'Wahn! Wahn!'
4.13. 'Abendlich Glühend'
4.14. 'Sieh' Evchen!'
4.15. 'Aha! Streicht Die Lene'
4.16. 'Selig, Wie Die Sonne Meine Glückes Lacht'

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Ajilvsga / Mass Ornament / The North Sea / Alms

Four-way double cassette split from these Ajilvsga-related projects. Ajilvsga is the duo of Brad Rose and Nathan Young, who present their trademark psych drone work. Mass Ornament is the wife of Brad Rose and co-founder of Digitalis Recordings (whose sub-label Digitalis Limited released this tape), and her style is psychedelic free folk with a blend of electronics, acoustic instrumental and vocal work. The North Sea and Alms are solo projects of Brad Rose and Nathan Young respectively. Released in 2008 as an edition of eighty-five copies.

A. Ajilvsga - White Star On Forehead

B1. Mass Ornament - Fluid In The Lungs

B2. Mass Ornament - Akkad

B3. Mass Ornament - Symphony For Lightning

B4. Mass Ornament - Spitting Image

C1. Alms - Floating World

C2. Alms - Drunken Universe

D. The North Sea - Incidental Contact (Above The Waist)

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Ajilvsga - Blood Flowers

Rare Ajilvsga CDr that came as a bonus with ten copies of the special 'art edition' LP of the duo's 'Red Crow' release. Another six copies were produced, but were circulated among personal friends of the artists. The sleeve is hand painted. Features the duo's distinctive organic, droning psych noise work; recorded between 2007 and 2008 and released the following year. 

 

1. Young Mother Corn

2. Burnt Offering

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Down in the Basement: Joe Bussards Treasure Trove of Vintage 78s, 1926-1937

Excellent collection of vintage 78rpm singles from the nineteen twenties and thirties. There are many recognisable names here such as Gary Davis, Blind Blake, Uncle Dave Macon and Big Bill Broonzy, however it is an excellently curated collection. The Stripling Brothers' 'The Lost Child' and Cajun duo Soileau & Robin's 'Easy Rider Blues' are, personally, new found favourites.

1. The Stripling Brothers - The Lost Child

2. Big Bill Broonzy - How You Want It Done?

3. Luis Russell & His Orchestra -The (New) Call Of The Freaks

4. The Dixon Brothers - The School House Fire

5. Weems String Band - Greenback Dollar

6. Rev. Gary Davis - You Got To Go Down

7. A.A. Gray & Seven-Foot Dilly - The Old Ark's A-Moving

8. James Coles Washboard Four - Runnin' Wild

9. Charley Jordan - Keep It Clean

10. Bill Johnson's Louisiana Jug Band - Get The "L" On Down The Road

11. Sweet Brothers & Ernest Stoneman - I Got A Bulldog

12. Coleman & Harper - Old Hen Cackle

13. Bessie Brown - Song From A Cotton Field

14. Gene Autry - Atlanta Bound

15. Soileau & Robin - Easy Rider Blues

16. Bill Brown & His Brownies - Hot Lips

17. Uncle Dave Macon - Uncle Dave's Beloved Solo

18. Blind Blake - Hastings Street

19. Field Ward & The Grayson County Railsplitters - Ain't That Trouble In Mind

20. Corley Family - Give The World A Smile

21. Long "Cleve" Reed - Original Stack O'Lee Blues

22. Fess Williams & His Royal Flush Orchestra - Hot Town

23. Gitfiddle Jim - Paddlin' Blues

24. Grinnell Giggers - Plow Boy Hop

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Hong Chulki & Ryu Hankil - Objets Infernaux

Collaboration between South Korean sound artists Hong Chulki and Ryu Hankil, released on Erstwhile Records in 2014. Beginning with sharp, sparse intrusions of high pitched noise we slowly see take shape these 'infernal objects' the title suggests as the album progresses. An exercising in slowly building sound that rewards patience. Available to buy physically (as a CD) or digitally here.

 

1. Objets Infernaux 1

2. Objets Infernaux 2

3. Objets Infernaux 3

4. Objets Infernaux 4

5. Objets Infernaux 5

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Lera Auerbach / Dmitri Shostakovich - Arcanum

"Lera Auerbach’s involvement with Shostakovich's piano 'Preludes op. 34' began at the turn of the present century, when she transcribed five of them that the composer’s friend Dmitri Tsyganov (leader of the Beethoven Quartet) had left out of his own arrangement for violin and piano. A few years later she redid the lot for cello and piano, and in 2010 she completed a viola arrangement for the present soloist. It should be noted that these versions are not adjustments of each other: each is a freshly thought out and highly idiomatic transcription.

"As opposed to Shostakovich’s violist friend Evgeny Strakhov, whose arrangement of seven preludes is transposed to keys that allow for maximum instrumental effect, Auerbach keeps to the original keys throughout, with no loss of brilliance either. While Strakhov spotlit the viola unashamedly, Auerbach integrates it into the texture in an inconspicuous, perfectly natural way. Kashkashian’s playing is characterised by a bel canto quality that suits Shostakovich’s tongue-in-cheek trifles to a T. If once or twice (or thrice) an exaggerated glissando seems to go way over the top, one can well imagine the composer laughing approvingly!

"Following their Shostakovich collaboration, Auerbach wrote 'Arcanum', a piece of a completely different hue, for Kashkashian. The four movements’ Latin titles suggest a valedictory atmosphere that is reinforced by funeral march rhythms, tolling sounds and an ending similar to Shostakovich’s valedictory Viola Sonata in its otherworldliness. Kashkashian and the composer achieve a definitive reading that is captured in ECM’s eminently listenable house sound." (Carlos María Solare. From The Strad website. See here.)

 

Performers: Kim Kashkashian, Lera Auerbach

1. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 1 In C Major. Moderato

2. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 2 In A Minor. Allegretto

3. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 3 In G Major. Andante

4. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 4 In E Minor. Moderato

5. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 5 In D Major. Allegro Vivace

6. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 6 In B Minor. Allegretto

7. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 7 In A Major. Andante

8. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 8 In F-Sharp Minor. Allegretto

9. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 9 In E Major. Presto

10. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 10 In C-Sharp Minor. Moderato Non Troppo

11. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 11 In B Major. Allegretto

12. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 12 In G-Sharp Minor. Allegro Non Troppo

13. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 13 In F-Sharp Major. Moderato

14. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 14 In E-Flat Minor. Adagio

15. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 15 In D-Flat Major. Allegretto

16. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 16 In B-Flat Minor. Andantino

17. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 17 In A-Flat Major. Largo

18. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 18 In F Minor. Allegretto

19. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 19 In E-Flat Major. Andantino

20. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 20 In C Minor. Allegretto Furioso

21. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 21 In F-Flat Major. Allegretto Poco Moderato

22. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 22 In G Minor. Adagio

23. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 23 In F Major. Moderato

24. Dmitri Shostakovich - 24 Preludes, Op. 34: No. 24 In D Minor. Allegretto

25. Lera Auerbach - Arcanum: I. Advenio

26. Lera Auerbach - Arcanum: II. Cinis

27. Lera Auerbach - Arcanum: III. Postremo

28. Lera Auerbach - Arcanum: IV. Adempte

 

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Giovanni Battista Costanzi - Sinfonie per Violoncello

"Both the life span and the professional career of Giovanni Battista Costanzi ran their courses entirely within Rome; and indeed, he was born in the city, on September 3, 1704. He began to study the cello at an early age and clearly his talents must have been considerable, since at the age of only 17 he entered into the service of Cardinal Ottoboni, who had previously been the patron of figures such as Corelli and Handel. The combination of that youth and his ability on the instrument earned Costanzi the nickname of 'Giovannino del violoncello'. He was to enjoy a meteoric rise within Roman musical life. In 1722 he was appointed as one of Ottoboni’s 'auitanti di camera' and joined, as a cellist, the orchestra of the church of San Luigi dei Francesi. In 1727 the première of his first opera took place with 'L'amor generoso'. 

 

"Following Ottoboni’s death in 1740, Costanzi took up employment with another cardinal, Troiano Acquaviva d’Aragona. With the passing of the years, his commitment to sacred music became steadily greater, in a way which coincided with his successive appointments as maestro di cappella in the churches of Santa Maria di Loreto (1742), San Marco and Santa Maria in Vallicella (1743) and Sant'Apollinare alle Terme (1747). In 1754, he became the assistant to the director Pietro Paolo Bencini at the Cappella Giulia, the full position becoming his from the start of the following year; he would continue in that position until his death, which took place on March 5, 1778.

 

"Whilst vocal music occupies a predominant place in Costanzi’s output (divided between operas, oratorios and cantatas), it is his works for the violoncello which nowadays are regarded more highly: in them the composer developed and enriched the technical and expressive resources of an instrument for which he was a recognized virtuoso. Costanzi composed one concerto for the cello, as well as sonatas with basso continuo (which Giovanni Sollima has recorded on a previous Glossa disc), sinfonias with basso continuo and sonatas for two cellos, amongst which is one subtitled, 'ad uso
di corni da caccia'. 

 

"If there are no great formal differences to be found between Costanzi’s sinfonias and his sonatas, the former do reveal a somewhat more advanced stylistic orientation. Where the sonatas show clear evidence of a thorough reading of Corelli's music, the sinfonias are infused with a spirit which is more open to the proposals offered by the stile galante, a greater receptiveness to the ideas coming from elsewhere in Europe and the rest of Italy. The organizational model of the four movement 'sonata da chiesa' is followed in the sinfonias in D major and B flat major, except for one difference: the placing of a minuetto at the end. The other sinfonias are provided with a three-movement structure – as found in the sonata da camera – but are also almost completely freed from dance rhythms, except as found in their closing minuets (Sinfonias in G and E flat), serving as a further nod in the direction of the emerging style.

 

"The new consciousness is also pointed to by the 'amoroso' marking which appears above several movements: that of eavesdropping on an emotional display of warmth far from the guarded lyricism of Corelli. A pronounced interest for the 'popular' also crops up at various points alongside the galant accents. Nor, in this context, should the instrumental writing and the broadening of the cello’s technical and expressive potential be forgotten. Two examples are worth noting here. The direction 'amoroso' which opens the Sinfonia in C major sees the instrument’s double melodic and harmonic character being explored, by means of a wealth of accents probing (like in Bach) the polyphonic possibilities of the cello and the inter-register dialogue. Another 'amoroso' movement – that which comes third in the Sinfonia in D major – projects the cello into its high register; the technique employed here is one of Costanzi’s most personal discoveries, in which he impels the instrument into creating stratospheric harmonic sounds. 

 

"Something of interest is to be found in each of the sinfonias. The Sinfonia in G major is still flecked with a Corellian gravitas both in the balanced lyricism of the 'Grave' as in the controlled ardour of its virtuosic 'Allegro', while the final movement probes the more attractive, French aspect of the minuet. In the Sinfonia in E flat, Costanzi demonstrates what a consummate man of the theatre he had become. The 'Adagio' sets off with an elegant and noble carriage, but then undergoes a form of 'cultural memory loss' during the course of its development, until – as if by surprise – it assumes the habits of a popular tone in the final bars. The 'Allegro' is a dishevelled corrente supplied with unreserved and temperamental rhythms; there is an almost spiritual mien to the Minuet, which ends up with a type of vanishing gesture. In addition to what has already been mentioned about the opening 'Amoroso' movement of the Sinfonia in C major, it can be said that its internalized tone contrasts with the outgoing nature of the ensuing 'Allegro', a virtuosic explosion of arpeggios and double-stoppings communicating an optimistic exuberance – features which extend into the concluding 'Allegro'. 

 

"The Sinfonia in D major gets going with a broad and lyrical 'Adagio staccato', although it ends with an unexpectedly ecstatic finale. The same sense of unpredictability characterizes the 'Allegro' with its popular moods and sudden suspensions, and in the 'Amoroso' also, in which plaintive inflections appear occasionally in its cantabile. The 'Minuetto amoroso' is also marked by mood swings, with its restless and abrupt demeanour – some distance from the galant lightness typical of the minuet.

 

"A Neapolitan expressiveness hovers over the Sinfonia in B flat, starting with an 'Adagio' which would appear to be fashioned along the lines of music by Leo or Porpora, stopping off for the street sounds of the 'Spirituoso', which lead up to a frenetic culmination, and for the chromaticisms and ornamentations of the 'Sarabanda amoroso', with its wistful and Eastern touches. In this Sinfonia, once again, the 'Minuet' veers away from its aristocratic character in order to take on a popular and vigorous character. 

 

"If Costanzi’s sonatas for cello are swept by a Roman air, his sinfonias catch a glimpse of broader horizons. Despite not moving from his city, Costanzi established and maintained contacts with travellers, diplomats, members of the nobility and musicians coming from the furthest reaches of Italy and Europe. Such was the case with his friendship with James Francis Edward Stuart known as' the Old Pretender', or with Paul- Hippolyte de Beauvilliers, Duke of Saint-Aignan, France's ambassador at the Holy See who, in 1737, was to commission from Costanzi a 'componimento drammatico' in order to celebrate the diplomat’s admission into the Ordre du Saint-Esprit. These and other connections provided Costanzi with information and clues as to what was happening elsewhere. The Neapolitan, Northern European and French echoes which run across his sinfonias for cello can thus be seen as stages along an imaginary journey, the manifestation of a cosmopolitan and yet wider feeling: this is the world’s diversity as contemplated from the perspective of one who is seated in the place towards which all roads converge. In this sense, Costanzi acts as the ideal embodiment of a city, Rome, which regarded itself as the 'caput mundi'.

 

"The sinfonias of Costanzi are supplemented on this recording with a sonata da camera for two cellos without basso continuo 'ad uso di corni da caccia'. This piece is structured in three short movements, in which – and as is made clear from the outset – the instruments imitate the sounds and the appropriate melodic gestures of horns. The central 'Adagio' is, however, a delicate siciliana interrupted by vigorous flourishes of repeated notes. The 'Presto' which ends the work is the movement which evokes in the clearest manner the atmosphere of the hunt, the pursuit of the animals, the shots being fired… The performers here have opted for heightening the programmatic and spectacular dimension of this sonata by the inclusion of percussion instruments. 

 

"Within Giovanni Sollima’s interest for the figure and creative activity of Giovanni Battista Costanzi lies an attraction which perhaps transcends the purely musical. In more than a single aspect Costanzi represents an alter ego for Sollima: both are performer-composers who place their curiosity and imagination at the service of the cello, from which they explore the most detailed resources and the most varied voices in a constant broadening of the instrument’s possibilities. In his 'The Hunting Sonata', Sollima pays homage to the cosmopolitan vision of a composer who did not need to move
from home in order to savour the world’s variety. The rhythms and the sound materials of the 'Sonata ad uso di corni da caccia' provide a departure point for this, transfigured and moulded in order to shape visions of sound landscapes, distant from each other to a greater or lesser degree, but all related to an imaginary South. Thus, the initial pizzicati sketch the outline of a Neapolitan tarantella to which, little by little, are added all kinds of Mediterranean flavourings (Spanish, Eastern, Maghrebi…). The 'Siciliana' which opens the second movement broadens out Costanzi’s original conception, and the succeeding 'Giga' drives this journey towards a dazzling and tremendous culmination. (Stefano Russomano. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: Giovanni Sollima, Arianna Art Ensemble, Monika Leskovar

1. Sinfonia In D Major: I. Adagio Staccato

2. Sinfonia In D Major: II. Allegro

3. Sinfonia In D Major: III. Amoroso

4. Sinfonia In D Major: IV. Minuetto Amoroso

5. Sinfonia In B-Flat Major: I. Adagio

6. Sinfonia In B-Flat Major: II. Spiritoso

7. Sinfonia In B-Flat Major: III. Sarabanda

8. Sinfonia In B-Flat Major: IV. Minuet

9. Sonata Da Camera In F Major: I. Amoroso

10. Sonata Da Camera In F Major: II. Adagio

11. Sonata Da Camera In F Major: III. Presto

12. Sinfonia In G Major: I. Grave

13. Sinfonia In G Major: II. Allegro

14. Sinfonia In G Major: III. Minuè

15. Sinfonia In E-Flat Major: I. Adagio

16. Sinfonia In E-Flat Major: II. Allegro

17. Sinfonia In E-Flat Major: III. Minuet

18. The Hunting Sonata: I. Adagio-Allegro

19. The Hunting Sonata: II. Siciliana

20. The Hunting Sonata: III. Giga

21. Sinfonia In C Major: I. Grave

22. Sinfonia In C Major: II. Allegro

23. Sinfonia In C Major: III. Variazioni

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