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CDs & SACDs Againpeteraczel | 18 July, 2006 19:28 Back to CD/SACD Reviews As our regular readers know, I am neither a professional musician nor a tweako audio cultist. You won’t find either one of those perspectives here. I just listen to CDs (mostly classical), look at and listen to DVDs (mostly opera), and pick a few interesting ones for my brief and modestly offered reviews here. The assumption is that music-loving audiophiles and audio-savvy music lovers will find at least some of my stuff worth reading because I try to engage them on their level. CD from/by The Fry Street Quartet Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet in A Major, Op. 18, No. 5; String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 132. Igor Stravinsky: Three Pieces for String Quartet (1914). Ned Rorem: String Quartet No. 4 (1994). J. Mark Scearce: String Quartet 1o (Y2K). The Fry Street Quartet (Jessica Guideri, violin; Rebecca McFaul, violin; Russell Fallstad, viola; Anne Francis, cello). FSQCD3 (2 CD/SACDs, 2004). If this release had come from Sony BMG or Deutsche Grammophon or EMI, there would have been a lot of rave reviews by now. But since it was self-published by The Fry Street Quartet, it attracted no attention from music critics, at least the critics I keep track of. Too bad, because in my humble opinion (IMHO is the oh-so-hip Internet shorthand) these discs are both an artistic and an audio event. The Fry Street Quartet is right up there with the best, both technically and musically, and Ray Kimber’s IsoMike technique, used here for the first time in a full-length classical release, appears to be a significant step up from conventional miking approaches. I say that knowing full well that Ray Kimber’s main business is selling obscenely overpriced fantasy cables to gullible audio neurotics. His recording of a string quartet, on the other hand, is simply the best I’ve ever heard, surpassing even the best work of Max Wilcox and John Eargle. The sound has a lifelike presence, effortless fullness, and natural resonance unequaled in my experience. IsoMike (“Isolated Microphones”) is a system that separates the recording microphones by means of huge, oddly shaped baffles of complex mechanical design (see www.isomike.com). How and why this works need not be discussed here, but the resulting acoustic detail is uncanny. The DSD recording uses 4.0 channels, but I liked the plain stereo layer best through my Linkwitz Lab “Orion” speakers. The rear channels contribute relatively little. As for the music, the Beethoven Op. 132 is one of the pinnacles of Western art, a desert-island Top Twenty, completely dwarfing the quite wonderful but very much earlier Op. 18, No. 5; the Stravinsky piece is a short exercise in Sacre-like rhythms and sonorities, mighty stylish; the Rorem quartet is a highly listenable romantic/acerbic “Pictures at an Exhibition,” this time anent ten paintings by Picasso; the Scearce quartet is reminiscent of Bartók without the latter’s originality and loftiness of purpose. Throughout, the ensemble playing, phrasing, and tone of the Fry Street Quartet are on the highest professional level, in a league with the big-name quartets of the world. That the FSQ is three quarters female has an effect on their style (again, IMHO); their playing is simply beautiful rather than pointed. I am fully aware that this exposes me to the wrath of feminists who don’t believe in vive la différence! At any rate, this recording is a major sleeper. CD from Harmonia Mundi Frédéric Chopin: The Complete Waltzes. Alexandre Tharaud, piano. HMC 901927 (recorded 2005, released 2006). I knew it. If anyone was going to rival the Dinu Lipatti 1950 and Artur Rubinstein 1963 recordings of the Chopin waltzes, it would be Alexandre Tharaud. He is the young French pianist of impeccable taste and superior intellect whose Ravel recording I raved about a while ago and whose name ought to be a lot more famous than it is. (Not that great Ravel playing automatically implies great Chopin—it did not, for example, in the case of the fabulous Ravel interpreter Walter Gieseking—but what we have here is the French Connection!) On this CD Tharaud presents all 19 of the waltzes, including the 6 posthumous opuses, in a nonchronological sequence that constitutes a neatly balanced one-hour program. His technical fluency, his carefully judged rubato, his elegant yet often passionate phrasing, his dynamics are all on a level that, to my ear, threatens to set a new standard. The Grande valse brillante, Op. 34, No. 1, had me wildly applauding the CD player! I have a theory that the very best efforts of the present, in any field, inevitably surpass the best efforts of the past. Roger Bannister ran the mile faster than Paavo Nurmi, and Hicham El Guerrouj runs it a lot faster than Roger Bannister. Time marches on; techniques are refined; benchmarks are reevaluated; nothing is sacred. I think that Tharaud probably has a better intellectual grasp of what the Chopin waltzes are all about than previous generations of pianists. Sue me if I’m wrong. As for the audio, the sound of the piano is as good as it gets; the correct setting of the volume control brings the Steinway D right into your room. In every way, a triumph! CD from Naxos W. A. Mozart: Eine kleine Nachtmusik (Serenade in G Major), K. 525; Serenata notturna, K. 239; Divertimento in F Major (Lodron Night Music No. 1), K. 247. Swedish Chamber Orchestra, Petter Sundkvist, conductor. 8.557023 (recorded 2004, released 2006). “Eenie kleenie” used to be everybody’s introduction to classical music, including mine. It is hackneyed, yes, but still a gem, full of unforgettable melodies and possessing great formal structure. Amazingly, I’ve never had the opportunity to write about it; this is the first time. This version is exactly right, played by a double or at most a triple string quartet plus one contrabass; the piece sounds bloated and unnatural when the whole string section of a huge symphony orchestra plays it. Basic Mozart doesn’t require great virtuosity to be played elegantly, just some taste, musicality, and an understanding of style. The Swedish Chamber Orchestra has all those qualities in abundance. You don’t need a better performance, even if better ones exist (after all, the competition is huge). The gorgeous stereo recording reinforces that conclusion, presenting a thoroughly palpable soundstage and superb string sonorities. The other two serenades fall short of immortality, being much earlier Mozart, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t utterly delightful. The man was, from day one, genetically incapable of composing mediocre music. K. 239 has some startlingly colorful instrumentation in the last movement, with flashy timpani rolls. K. 247 has some lovely passages for two horns. When he was not being original, Mozart was merely beautiful. His music is sometimes transcendently great, sometimes just routinely wonderful, never negligible. SACDs from Ondine Bohuslav Martinu: Memorial to Lidice, H. 296. Gideon Klein: Partita for Strings (arr. Saudek). Béla Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra, Sz. 116. The Philadelphia Orchestra, Christoph Eschenbach, conductor. ODE 1072-5 (2005). The great Philadelphia Orchestra, my special favorite, had to go to a Finnish label to have its new recordings published and marketed—a sign of the times. No special recording sessions, either; all releases are edited from live recordings of scheduled concerts in Verizon Hall. The centerpiece of this CD is the Bartók, which at 63 years old is—believe it or not—the youngest composition to become a regular repertory item of every major orchestra in the world. Nothing composed even 50 years ago is played as regularly, over and over again. Amazing. The Bartók, Martinu, and Klein pieces were all composed within a few months of each other, in 1943-44, which appears to be the “album concept” here (as if we needed one). The latter two did not become repertory items—I give you three guesses why. They’re moderately interesting and beautifully performed by Eschenbach, and that’s that. The Concerto is of course a masterpiece, fully deserving its fame, with superior performances under every major conductor of the 20th century in the catalog. Reiner/Chicago 1955 is still considered a benchmark; it combines authenticity, intensity, elegance, virtuosity, and great sound by Lew Layton—all in all, hard to beat. Eschenbach presents a 21st-century performance, in which all the traditionally emphasized Bartókian savagery has been subsumed under a more comprehensive scheme of balance, structure, transparency, and sheer beauty. It becomes clear that the music is no longer “modern.” The exquisite Philadelphia woodwinds, the golden brass, the plush strings seem to imply that a gut-wrenching approach would be downright vulgar. I find this level of orchestral playing utterly disarming—“do anything you want” is my emotional reaction. Eschenbach totally sells me gorgeous Bartók over exciting Bartók. Such is the power of a stupendous orchestra under a strong-willed conductor. Not that certain passages are lacking in excitement; the last-movement presto, for example, is taken at breakneck speed, almost flirting with danger. The recorded sound is also magnificent; the tunable hall’s resonance chambers are in finer adjustment than in the Sawallisch/Schumann recordings I reviewed some time ago, and everything is in superb balance. That goes for the stereo layer as well as the SACD 5.1-channel layer, which for once provides excellent localization and envelopment. You should own more than one recording of this piece, and this should be one of them. Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky: Symphony No.5 in E Minor, Op. 64; The Seasons, Op. 37b (January-June). The Philadelphia Orchestra, Christoph Eschenbach, conductor & piano (in The Seasons). ODE 1076-5 (recorded 2005, released 2006). I looked forward to this release because in March 2006 I heard a very beautiful performance of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony at the Kimmel Center by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eschenbach. Their recording of the Fifth is a disappointment. The orchestral playing is magnificent, as usual, but Eschenbach’s concept of the symphony departs radically from my musical expectations. A tight, sinewy, fairly swift performance, as in Mravinsky’s unforgettable 1960 recording on Deutsche Grammophon, still preserves all the romanticism of the music because it’s built into the score; indeed, the romantic phrases remain more coherent if you don’t slow them down but get on with it. Eschenbach lingers meltingly over every lovely phrase, producing an almost whiny effect. His performance is 50½ minutes long as against Mravinsky’s 43! Admittedly, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, especially when it comes to Tchaikovsky, but Eschenbach’s way is too much for me. (I’m reminded of the great—and notorious—Willem Mengelberg’s precept: “In Tchaikovsky, everysing a leettle exagéré.”) The relatively lightweight Seasons, for piano solo, is tossed off prettily and unpretentiously by Eschenbach, but why play only the first 6 of the 12 pieces? Because that’s all that fits on the CD after the symphony? Come on! As for the recorded sound, the stereo layer is not quite as precisely delineated and transparent as in the Bartók recording above, with somewhat attenuated highs and slightly congealed climaxes. The balance engineer was not the same on an otherwise identical recording team, which could be the reason. In this case I actually prefer the SACD multichannel layer through my Waveform home-theater system because the climaxes are cleaner, and both the localization and envelopment are excellent. (Can’t each layer be totally optimized?) I would rate this whole effort on the low end of the scale for the three Phidelphia/Verizon Hall recordings released so far.
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