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Gracias a la vida – Anne-Lise Polchlopek

It seems not a month goes by without a new recital record from a young artist making an impression. Recently I’ve welcomed recital records from Benjamin Appl, Fatma Said, Harriet Burns, Rachel Fenton and Eva Zalenga , and July saw a recommendation for Julieth Lozano-Rolong’s new disc from Dominy Clements. To this list can now be added the name of French mezzo-soprano, Anne-Lise Polchlopek, a winner of several song competitions, and now an associate artist of the Queen Elizabeth Music Chapel, where this recording was made.

This recital may at first glance appear to be a hotchpotch of different styles, embracing classical Lied, folk and popular music, but Polchlopek somehow integrates these different musical styles into a satisfying whole, and the recital benefits from being listened to at one sitting. It doesn’t get off to the best of starts with her somewhat over-articulated and over-acted singing of Bernstein’s Old Lady Tango (I am easily assimilated) from Candide, but she then sings a beautiful version of Strauss’s Wiegenlied, with a lovely legato line, her mellifluous mezzo wrapping the child in its warm embrace.

From Germany we travel to Spain and France, where we stay for the remainder of the recital. Toldrá is followed by Chaminade, then we switch to guitar accompaniment for Hubert Giraud’s La tendresse, staying with the guitar for an extremely effective performance of Falla’s Nana, from his Siete canciones populares españolas.

We go back to the piano for Fauré’s Les berceaux, in which she builds nicely to the climax, and then we have Messiaen’s early Trois melodies, where she captures to perfection the ecstasy of the writing, especially in the final song, la fiancée perdue.

 These are followed by three songs in a lighter vein by Chaminade, Pauline Viardot and Gerónimo Giménez, all wonderfully characterised. Perhaps incongruously (but somehow it works) Voi che sapete from Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro acts as a bridge to Michel Polnareff’s Mes regrets, a beautiful song about lost love, which is followed by Fauré’s Toujours.

This in turn is followed by Gérard Jouannest’s La chanson des vieux aimants, with lyrics by Jacques Brel, a song I had previously only known in a version by Judy Collins. Suffice it to say that Polchlopek’s intensely moving performance put any thoughts of Collins out of my mind completely.

Throughout the piano accompaniments of Federico Tibone contribute wonderfully to the success of the disc, as do the guitar accompaniments of Pierre Laniau, who accompanies her on Tamás Méndez’s charming Cucurrucucu paloma, which I seem to remember was a favourite of Nana Mouskouri. He also accompanies her on the Habanera from Bizet’s Carmen and Satie’s La diva de l’empire, though I did feel the Bizet was slightly out of place here, coming, as it did, after the piano accompanied Poulenc Les métamorphoses and before the Satie.

We return to piano accompaniment for Montsalvatge’s Canto negro, which she sings with charm and spirit, relishing the yambambós, as Victoria De Los Angeles did before her.

All three participants come together for the final song, Violetta Parra’s Gracias a la vida, a fitting end to a journey on which Anne-Lise Polchlopek has proved to be a most musical guide. Throughout she clearly and meaningfully enunciates the text, and it is clear she has a rare gift for communication that makes her an ideal recitalist.

Unfortunately, though the notes accompanying the disc are in English, the online texts are only in the original language, French, Spanish, German, or in the case of the Bernstein, English, and translations would have helped for a total appreciation of Polchlopek’s art. However, I thoroughly enjoyed this disc, and I look forward to hearing more of Anne-Lise Polchlopek.

Anne-Lise Polchlopek (mezzo-soprano) Gracias a la vida (Fuga Libera)
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Opus Two celebrates Stephen Sondheim

I’ve loved the music of Stephen Sondheim ever since I was introduced to the LP of the Broadway recording of A Little Night Music by an old friend, my musical mentor, back when I was in my early twenties. Though Sondheim is known for his lyrics, it was the swirlingly Romantic score that I first responded to, and it is fitting that the first piece  on this disc is the Suite from that musical, in an arrangement, like the other pieces on this disc, by Eric Stern, who worked closely with Sondheim on the 1984 revival of Pacific Overtures. Since then, Stern has conducted the second year of Sunday in the Park with George, and also worked on Into the Woods, several productions of Follies, a revival of Merrily We Roll Along at the Kennedy Centre, and many more concerts and birthday celebrations around the world. His last conversation with Sondheim was about the Little Night Music suite, which Sondheim enthusiastically endorsed, though unfortunately the rest were written after his passing.

Opus Two are violin and piano duo, William Terwilliger on the violin and Andrew Cooperstock on the piano. They are joined by soprano Elena Shaddow for I remember, from the TV musical Evening Primrose, and by baritone Andrew Garland for Finishing the Hat, from Sunday in the Park with George, though, truth to tell, neither performance eclipsed memories of other performances of these songs, and I wondered at their inclusion. On the other hand, the addition of Beth Vandeborgh’s cello to the arrangement of Every Day a Little Death from A Little Night Music adds a certain expressive depth to the song. I found it one of the most successful pieces on the disc.

For those who know and love Sondheim’s scores, I would suggest that this disc is self-recommending. The arrangements are brilliantly done, though there is just the whiff of Palm Court about them. I could imagine them being played at the Waldorf Hotel, whilst enjoying tea, not that there is anything wrong with that, of course, and I found the disc hugely enjoyable. In some cases, I know the lyrics so well I could sing along in my mind’s ear, which no doubt added to my enjoyment of them.

It has often been said that Sondheim’s lyrics take precedence over the music, but here, I think, we get the chance to concentrate on Sondheim the composer, and we find how lyrical, in the musical sense, his music is. The only piece I didn’t know was the main title from Alain Resnais’s 1974 film, Stavisky, a short evocative piece, but it too has a tune which lingers in the memory for some time afterwards.

Terwilliger shines in Sorry/Grateful from Company, which is here arranged for solo violin, whilst Cooperstock is given the jazzy Now You Know from Merrily We Roll Along as a piano solo. Then they come together again for the final work, the Fleet Street Suite, which combines themes from Sweeney Todd and closes the recital with the beautifully poetic Johanna, which, in the show, is a moment of calm and pure beauty amidst the turbulence of the rest.

Contents:

Suite from A little Night Music

Not while I’m around (from Sweeney Todd)

Broadway Baby (from Follies)

I remember (from Evening Primrose)

Main Title from Stavisky

Every Day a Little Death (from A little Night Music)

Sorry/Grateful (from Company)

Finishing the Hat (from Sunday in the Park with George)

Now You Know (from Merrily We Roll Along)

Fleet Street Suite (from Sweeney Todd)

Sondheim: Chamber Music Arrangements (Bridge)
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Lines of Life – Schubert and Kurtág

 

“I believe that Benjamin is currently the most authentic interpreter of my Hölderin Gesänge.” So writes György Kurtág in the notes accompanying this disc and, as he is also credited as recording producer, I think we can lay claim to their authenticity. Kurtág attended all the sessions, which took place in Budapest, apparently producing over 1,300 recording takes and countless repetitions.

The majority of the Kurtág songs on this disc are a capella. Their range, both vocal and emotional, is wide and they are brilliantly performed by Appl, whose range of expression and ability to meld the wide-ranging melismas in the vocal writing are superb. Indeed the very first song, Circumdederunt, which is in Latin and reminiscent of plainchant, homes in directly on the voice, a peculiarly expressive instrument, capable of harshness when required, as in the words et in trubulatione mea, returning to a beautiful, consoling richness for the remainder of the song. All but one of the Hölderin Gesänge are also unaccompanied and the one that isn’t, unusually has a sort of obligato accompaniment for trombone and tuba. The four Ulrike Schuster songs have an atonal piano accompaniment, which is played here by Pierre-Lauent Aimard.

As an interpreter of contemporary song, then, Appl proves himself to have few equals, but he is also a fine interpreter of Schubert and Brahms, as witness the beautiful versions of the Schubert and Brahms songs included on the disc. As befits a student of Fischer-Dieskau, expression is paramount, but never at the expense of a fine legato line and the beauty of the voce is well caught.

James Baillieu is the fine accompanist for most of the Schubert songs, but in the final two songs, Schubert’s Der Jüngling an der Quelle and Brahms’s Sonntag, Appl is touchingly accompanied by György Kurtág himself, though, it must be admitted, with rather too much pedal.

I found this disc an absorbing and challenging experience and would recommend it to anyone with an adventurous appetite.

The disc finishes with a fascinating eighteen-minute interview in German between Appl and Kurtág, for which an English translation is provided in the accompanying booklet.

.

Benjamin Appl (baritone): Lines of Life (Alpha Classics)
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Rachel Fenlon sings and plays Schubert’s Winterreise

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Now here is an extraordinary recording debut. Recordings by female singers of Schubert’s most haunting cycle have been few and far between, those by Lotte Lehmann, Christa Ludwig and Brigitte Fassbaender being the most noteworthy. However, what sets this performance apart from all others is that Rachel Fenlon accompanies herself on the piano in what is surely the first self-accompanied version ever to be recorded.  

According to the notes accompanying this disc, Fenlon bought her first score of Winterreise in the Winter of 2020, when she was living alone in a house at the foot of a large forest outside of Berlin. This was during the dark days of lockdown. She  would often go days and weeks without seeing anyone and over the next two years she learned the work methodically, but also allowing its loneliness, solitude, passionate love and grief to permeate her very soul; and indeed what emerges is a very personal journey, a single-minded vision of the work, if you like, which is not strictly comparable to any other I’ve heard.

Initially, I felt the tempo of the opening Gute Nacht was a little fast (though at 5.38 it clocks in at exactly the same tempo as Fischer-Dieskau’s with Jörg Demus), but thereafter her tempi seemed just right to me. At 74’ Fenman’s is one of the slower recordings out there, though certainly not the slowest. In any case, I was little concerned with questions of tempo, as I became involved in her singular vision of the piece.

It is hard to pin down what makes it so different from any of the many two-handed performances available, but different it undoubtedly is. It is a young person’s interpretation, reminding me that the protagonist is indeed young, and that the pain and disillusionment at the heart of the cycle are those of a young man. Certainly, Fenlon piles on the intensity as the cycle progresses with a performance that is entirely compelling.

I can hear you asking, “Yes, but how does she sing? How does she play?” Well, the answer to that is very well indeed. The voice is naturally a light, bright soprano, but she is not afraid to darken the colour, with occasional plunges into a rasping chest voice and her playing is well up to the task, though it is difficult to separate the playing from the singing, the two being so intrinsically intertwined. I am not saying this is how I would always like to hear the cycle, but this is an impressive recording debut and much more than a gimmick.

What a great work this is and how fascinating it is that it can take such a wealth of different interpretations. In February last year I reviewed a very interesting version in an arrangement for baritone, choir and two accordions, and I recently reacquainted myself with Jonas Kaufmann’s harrowing version with Helmut Deutsch. Rachel Fenlon’s equally harrowing version is quite a different experience, but she is clearly someone to watch.

Schubert: Winterreise (Orchid Classics)
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Welcome Joy – The Corvus Consort

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The subtitle of this disc is A Celebration of Women’s Voices and a celebration it undoubtedly is, not just of the women’s voices who sing on the record, but of the voices of the women composers who make up the lion’s share of the music. Room is found for Gustav Holst, who was a champion of women’s voices and taught at several girls’ schools, most famously at St Paul’s Girls School, where he taught for almost thirty years.

Its centrepiece, and the longest work on the disc, is Elizabeth Poston’s An English Day-Book, which here receives its première recording of this edition. If it is reminiscent of Britten’s A Ceremony of Carols, then that is because it was conceived to complement it by providing a work suitable for use throughout the year. The Day-Book was unpublished at he time of Poston’s death in 1987, but has since been published by the Arts and Education charity, Multitude of Voyces, which specialises in publishing and promoting works by communities historically or currently underrepresented or marginalised. The charity also published the works here by Hilary Campbell, Olivia Sparkhall, Judith Weir and Gemma McGregor. I was particularly taken by Sparkhall’s Lux Aeterna, which is for two choruses, solo soprano and harp and McGregor’s Love was his meaning with its lovely falling harp introduction.

“Welcome Joy”, sing the Corvus Consort at the beginning of this recital and indeed what a joy it is. Imogen Holst’s commission for the 1951 Aldeburgh Festival is a setting of six poems by John Keats, described by Britten as ‘six little treasures’ when he first received them, and, in this joyful performance, it is easy to see why.

This piece, like most of the music on this CD was completely new to me, but I did know Gustav Holst’s Choral Hymns from the Rig Veda (Third Group) from Imogen Holst’s 1968 recording with the Purcell Singers and Ossian Ellis. I am bound to say that I found that recording a mite more atmospheric, especially in the opening Hymn to the Dawn, which has a mystery and magic that is not quite captured in the clearer, more analytical Chandos digital recording.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed this disc of choral music for women’s voices. The work of the Corvus Consort under their conductor, Freddie Crowley can hardly be faulted, with a superb contribution from harpist, Louise Thomson.

Full texts are provided, and the exemplary notes are extensive. A thoroughly enjoyable disc.

Contents

Imogen Holst (1907 – 1984)  Welcome Joy and Welcome Sorrow (1950)

Gustav Holst (1874 – 1934) Two Eastern Pictures (1911)

Choral Hymns from the Rig Veda (Third Group) (1910)

Dirge and Hymneal (1915)

Judith Weir (b.1954) We sekyn here rest (2019)

Hilary Campbell (b. 1983) Our Endless Day (2017)

Elizabeth Poston (1905 – 1987) An English Day-Book  (1966 – 67)

Olivia M. Sparkhall (b. 1976) Lux Aeterna (2018)

Gemma McGregor (b. 1965) Love was his meaning (2018)

Shruti Rajasekar (b. 1996) Ushãs – Goddess of Dawn (2024)

Priestess (2024)

 

Corvus Consort: Welcome Joy (Chandos)
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Elisabeth Schumann’s Swan Song

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Born in 1888, Elisabeth Schumann’s first recordings were acoustics, made in 1915, although it is probably for her later, electrical recordings that she is better known. She had an illustrious operatic career, famous for such roles as Sophie in Der Rosenkavalier and Eva in Die Meisteringer, also excelling in Mozart with roles such as Pamina, Susanna, Zerlina and Blonde. She was a favourite of Richard Strauss, who even tried to persuade her to sing the role of Salome, creating an edition in which he reduced the size of the orchestra to accommodate her light, lyrical soprano, though she never took up the offer.

She was also highly regarded as a singer of Lieder and Lotte Lehmann, who was perhaps her greatest rival in the field, once said she represented the purest singing style of German Lieder. She has a large discography and many of her recordings, both acoustic and electrical were once issued in a six disc EMI box set, which now appears to be available as a Warner download.

The present recordings were made somewhat later in her home in Manhattan in 1950, when she would have been in her early sixties, and this appears to be the first time the sessions have been issued in their entirety. The accompanying notes are sketchy and inadequate. Included are brief biographies of Schumann herself and of George Schick and George Reeves, who I assume are the accompanists, but there is no indication as to which songs they play, nor which items are completely new to the catalogue.

Being late recordings, this is not a disc to which I would direct anyone interested in hearing “the purest singing style of German Lieder”. Though the bell-like purity of Schumann’s top notes remains more or less intact, quite frankly, in the middle and lower register, she sounds all of her sixty odd years. Certainly, the voice has aged less well than some other sopranos, who also made recordings into their sixties, such as her contemporary Maggie Teyte or, of more recent singers, Renée Fleming. Some of the Wolf songs now clearly stretch her to the limit and I find myself wondering if this is the reason they were not issued before. One should probably make allowances for the way these songs were recorded (probably on a 7.5ips home recorder, according to the notes) but to my ears  she sounds effortful and unsteady for much of the time.

She redeems herself in the final three bonus tracks, first in two acoustic Odeons of her singing Wolf’s Frage und Antwort and Straus’s Morgen (date and accompaniment unknown), followed by a later recording of her delivering in English a master class on Morgen, this time with Ernest Lush on the piano. No date is given, and I wonder if this was from one of her lecture tours of 1950 and 1951. If it was, then she sounds in much better voice here than she does on the home recordings.  and she gives invaluable advice on singing the song, recollecting working on it with Strauss himself.

I hate to be negative about a much-loved artist, but this disc, I would suggest, is for completists only. Anyone wanting to discover the voice and art of this great soprano, will be much better served by the six-disc set detailed above.

Elisabeth Schumann (soprano): Elisabeth Schumann’s Swan Song (Parnassus)
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Pristine’s Re-master of Björling’s Cav and Pag.

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A photo of Jussi Björling graces the cover of this Pristine issue, and he is without doubt the main reason to hear these recordings. It is always a pleasure to hear his beautiful voice, musical phrasing and ringing top notes, though I’m not sure he would ever have been perfectly cast in either role. But before coming to Björling himself, it might be instructive to consider other elements of the recordings.

Both operas were recorded in 1953 in New York with the RCA Victor Orchestra and the Robert Shaw Chorale under Renato Cellini and sound remarkably good in these Pristine transfers, so good, I almost thought they were in stereo. I hadn’t heard either performance before, so I have nothing to compare the Pristine transfers to, but they are admirably clear and spacious and a good deal better than the contemporaneous Serafin recordings with Di Stefano and Callas. The Serafin Pagliacci is in reasonable mono sound, but unfortunately the Cavalleria Rusticana suffers from overload and distortion, which no amount of re-mastering would seem to be able to overcome. Still, I wish that these Cellini performances were half as exciting.

Cellini’s conducting is at least idiomatic, his tempi well chosen, but neither opera really catches fire and they both remain somewhat studio bound. The professional Robert Shaw Chorale sing in both operas. They are faultless in execution, but I couldn’t help picturing them all in prim white shirts and blouses, standing, score in hand, in choir banks. They don’t for one second conjure up the sound of lusty Sicilian peasants or excited Italian village folk. The La Scala Chorus on the Serafin set, may not be so polished, but they have this music in their blood and are much more convincing.

I suppose I should preface my discussion of the solo singers with a confession that I have never much liked Zinka Milanov, or at least not on any of the recordings I have heard, which were all made quite late in her career. From the outset she sounds far too mature, almost indistinguishable from Mamma Lucia in her initial exchanges and completely uninvolved in poor Santuzza’s plight. Björling, who could sometimes be accused of being a little cool, is at his most impassioned in their duet, but she remains phlegmatic and stolid. She is no better in the duet with Robert Merrill’s Alfio, who, in any case, is a bit too jovial and avuncular. Björling’s Turiddu is beautifully sung and, as I mentioned, he does try to inject some passion into his exchanges with Santuzza, but there is something about the inherent nobility in his tone that makes him not quite right for the caddish Turiddu. As always, his singing gives great pleasure, but I can’t quite believe in him.

That said, I find his Turiddu more convincing than his Canio. Yet again, the role is beautifully sung, Vesti la giubba heart-breaking and deeply felt, but can anyone really believe that this is a man who would be driven to double murder? I certainly can’t. I have much the same problem with the Nedda of Victoria De Los Angeles. She is in her best voice, warm and feminine and, like Björling, has the virtue of always being supremely musical. She sings quite beautifully, especially in her Ballatella, but, as with her Carmen, she sounds altogether too ladylike. I don’t necessarily want Nedda to be portrayed as a heartless minx, as was often the case in days gone by, but I need to believe that she has the mettle to defy a bully of a husband and have an affair behind his back.

Nor is there any menace in the Tonio of Leonard Warren, who, in the prologue, could be singing about anything at all really. Gobbi, on the Serafin set, does not have such a beautiful voice, nor such easy top notes, but he makes every word tell. Merrill has here been given the secondary role of Silvio, but his Silvio doesn’t sound much different from his Alfio. Compare Panerai, who sings both roles on the Serafin recordings, utterly menacing as Alfio and ardently seductive as Silvio.

Jussi Björling was, without doubt, one of the greatest tenors of the last century and I always take pleasure in the sheer beauty of his voice, his musical phrasing and his wonderfully free and ringing top notes, so it was a pleasure to hear him here, even if these two roles are not ones to which I think he was really suited. For the rest I derived the most pleasure from De Los Angeles’s beautiful and musical singing as Nedda, even if she too is caught in a role that was not particularly suited to her gifts.

Not a top choice for either of these two operas then. For all that they are in better sound than Serafin’s recordings of the two operas, I would still place the Serafin performances ahead of them. Di Stefano can be a bit wayward, but he is better at expressing the caddish side to Turiddu and the unhinged side of Canio that turns him into a killer. Callas is, as usual, hors concours, both as a wonderfully impassioned Santuzza and a free-spirited and mettlesome Nedda, and she is in fine voice on both recordings. Gobbi is equally brilliant as Tonio and their confrontation bristles with drama. There are also better choices amongst more recent recordings, such as Karajan’s sumptuously recorded La Scala set for DG, which no doubt remains a first choice for many.

As always, Pristine should be commended for including with the CDs a package of downloadable items, which includes a copy of the same recording as an MP3 download, together with full scores, both piano and orchestral, and a full libretto in PDF format. Most major companies these days don’t even include an online link to a libretto.

Pietro Mascagni (1863-1945)
Cavalleria Rusticana (1890)
Turiddu: Jussi Björling (tenor)
Santuzza: Zinka Milanov (soprano)
Alfio: Robert Merrill
Mamma Lucia: Margaret Roggero (mezzo)
Lola: Carol Smith (mezzo)

Ruggero Leoncavallo (1857-1919)
Pagliacci (1892)
Canio: Jussi Björling (tenor)
Nedda: Victoria De Los Angeles (soprano)
Tonio: Leonard Warren (baritone)
Silvio: Robert Merrill (baritone)
Beppe: Paul Franke (tenor

Robert Shaw Chorale
RCA Victor Orchestra/Renato Cellini
Rec. 1953, Manhattan Centre, New York
Full scores and libretto included as downloads
Pristine Audio PACO209 (2 CDs 141)

 

Mascagni: Cavalleria rusticana & Leoncavallo: I Pagliacci (Pristine Audio)
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Callas’s 1959 Lucia di Lammermoor gets the Pristine treatment

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Callas’s second stereo recording of Lucia di Lammermoor, which I reviewed when it was reissued by Warner , has always been considered one of her best from a sonic point of view, so, as someone who has not always been totally convinced by some of Andrew Rose’s re-mastering methods, I wondered how, if at all, the sound could be improved upon. Let me say straight away that I found this latest addition to Pristine’s Callas catalogue totally convincing. Using the Warner remaster of 2014 for comparison, I found the sound altogether warmer and much more comfortable to listen to, closer in fact to how I remember the LPs that I used to own (a German EMI Electrola issue, bought as an import). The Warner is perhaps slightly clearer, but the digitalisation tends to add glare to Callas’s top register. Often one is prepared to flinch before the topmost notes, but I had no such problems when listening to this Pristine pressing. I couldn’t say which is the more truthful, but I can say that the Pristine is much more comfortable to listen to and this, in turn, affected my impressions of the set, a recording I have known since my youth and was in fact my introduction to the opera.

Lucia was one of the cornerstones of her repertoire, and she first sang it in 1952 in Mexico. The following year she sang the role again in Florence, where she made her first recording of the role under Serafin. It was also the first recording she made for EMI. Back in those days, the opera wasn’t taken very seriously and was most likely considered a silly Italian opera in which a doll-like coloratura soprano ran around the stage showing off her high notes and flexibility. Callas returned a proper tragic dimension to the role, that most hadn’t even suspected was there. There is a touching story of Toti Dal Monti, an erstwhile famous Lucia herself, visiting Callas in her dressing room after a performance of the opera with tears running down her face and confessing she had sung the role for years with no idea of its dramatic potential.

When Callas first sang  Lucia in Mexico and recorded it in Florence, she was at the peak of her vocal plenitude, as she was when she first sang it under Karajan at La Scala in 1954, but by the time she sang the role in Berlin in 1955 post weight loss, when Karajan took the La Scala company there, her voice had started to lighten and her conception of the role had become more inward. We can hear this in the famous live recording of one of the Berlin performances, but, for this 1959 recording, she appears to have taken this approach one step further. This may have had something to do with her by now fading vocal resources, but it results in a particularly touching portrayal of the innocent, young, impressionable girl. She has also trimmed away some of the showier variations in the cadenza in the Mad Scene, and the decorations are in consequence somewhat more modest. Am I alone in preferring it sung this way? Personally, I’d prefer to do without all that duetting with the flute altogether, as happens in the complete recording of the opera with Caballé and when Sylvia Sass sings it on one of her recital records. In any case, apart from a few of Callas’s topmost notes, she is in remarkably good voice and the filigree of the role is brilliantly executed with fluid and elegant ease. All in all, I prefer her performance in this set to the one on the 1953 Florence studio recording, not least because of the improved Pristine sound picture.

However, when it comes to her colleagues on this set, I am a little less well disposed towards them than Göran Forsling in his review of the digital download. Ferrucio Tagliavini was 45 at the time of this recording, but he sounds much older, more like an elderly roué than the Byronic Romantic figure of Scott’s and Donizetti’s imaginings. No amount of elegant phrasing can make up for his lack of sheer physical passion and I find myself longing for Di Stefano’s youthful ardour. As for Cappuccilli, he was at the very beginning of his considerable career, and he has yet to find a way of creating character in pure sound. He is just rather dull and no match for Gobbi on the earlier recording or for Panerai in Berlin. Bernard Ladysz makes very little impression at all and both Rafaele Arie and Nicola Zaccaria are preferable.

Serafin, as always, though he may not make any startling revelations, shapes the score with a perfect sense of its dramatic shape, albeit with the cuts that were traditional at the time. Karajan opened up some of those in his performances, and I would still place the 1955 Berlin performance at the top of all Callas’s recorded Lucias, especially in Divina Records latest remastering, but I enjoyed re-visiting this set and I have a feeling I’ll be reaching for this one more regularly than the earlier 1953 recording, not least because of the superior quality of Pristine’s remastering.

My only criticism is of the cover art, which has a photograph of Callas as Lucia in Florence in 1953, when she was still a rather large lady. One could be forgiven for thinking, at first glance, that this was the earlier recording. Surely a photo of the svelte Callas as Lucia would have been more appropriate. There are plenty of them, after all.

Donizetti: Lucia di Lammermoor (Pristine Audio)
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A fascinating arrangement of Schubert’s Winterreise for soloist, chorus and two accordions.

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Now here’s something a little different. Rearrangements and re-imaginings of Schubert’s Song Cycles are not exactly unusual, but I think Meyer might be the only person to use a chorus and this is actually Gregor Meyer’s second arrangement of Schubert’s popular song cycle. The first was for baritone, chorus and piano and was recorded in 2017 by baritone Daniel Ochoa with Gregor Meyer conducting the Leipzig Vocalconsort and with Christian Peix on the piano. This one unusually substitutes two accordions for the piano. Given that the accordion wasn’t invented until around 1822 in Berlin, it is unlikely that Schubert ever got to see or hear one. However, it does not sound anachronistic and indeed captures the sound of the hurdy-gurdy in the final song even more atmospherically than the piano. The accordions can also add a jaunty, folk-like colour to songs like Frülingstraum. Interestingly, Meyer is not the only person to rearrange the cycle for an accordion. Oboist Normand Forget made a chamber version for accordion and wind quintet (including bass clarinet, oboe d’amore and baroque horn) and this has been recorded by tenor Christoph Prégardien, accordionist Joseph Petric and the Montréal ensemble Pentaèdre.

Meyer’s chorus first appears in the second stanza of the first song, Gute Nacht, almost imperceptibly creeping in on a wordless vocalise, which wonderfully conjures up a bleak, wintry scene. Thereafter they are a constant presence, sometimes joining in with the soloist, sometimes taking over the vocal lead or responding to him, sometimes still in wordless commentary, and sometimes, as in Der stürmische Morgen, taking over the whole song whilst the soloist remains silent. You might think the effect would be to distance us from the solitary traveller’s loneliness, but in fact it reinforces his utter desolation, the voices seeming part of an interior dialogue as the soloist struggles with his own inner demons.

In an arrangement such as this, the soloist’s function is perhaps somewhat different from normal, and Tobias Berndt fulfils his task admirably, knowing when the focus is on him, but realising when he needs to pull back and blend with the choir. He has a light, pleasing baritone which blends beautifully in the total sound picture. He may not make any startling revelations (those tend to come from the chorus and accordions) but nor is he bland or inexpressive.

The GewandhausChor under Gregor Meyer are absolutely splendid, and the two accordion players, Heidi and Uwe Steger, are superb accompanists.

Of course, this arrangement cannot replace the original version for voice and piano, and most people will have their favourites (mine are Fischer-Dieskau and Demus and Kaufmann and Deutsch) but this is a fascinating and rewarding re-thinking of Schubert’s great song cycle. I really enjoyed it and one listening quickly became two and then three. I know it’s only January, but this is very likely to be one of my discs of the year. Highly recommended.

Schubert: Winterreise (Genuin)
Posted on by tsaraslondon

Bellini – Composizione da Camera

An enterprising collection of Bellini songs is unfortunately let down by less than ideal performances.

BelliniSongs

Bellini’s songs are not performed that often and indeed this is only the second recording of his Composizioni da Camera I’ve come across. Veronica Kincses recorded the complete set for Hungaroton back in 1982, though a few of the songs have appeared on various recital discs over the years.

They were probably written some time in the 1820s and it is unlikely that Bellini intended them all to be performed together; in fact, they were not published as a set until 1935, by the Milan publisher Ricordi. The Kincses disc includes all the songs in the Ricordi edition, in the order in which they appear in the score, whereas the present issue substitutes one or two other songs from a different source, such as La ricordanza, which turns out to be the tune of Qui la voce from I Puritani. Texts and translations are provided, some being by Metastasio, but the majority are anonymous.

Most of the songs are quite short, though the longest Torna, vezzosa Fillide,runs to almost eight minutes and is in the style of a mini operatic scena. It is the most complex of the songs and closer in style to the music of Bellini’s operas. However , for the most part, the songs are tuneful and undemanding, and it is not surprising that a few of them have made it into recital programmes of more famous singers, like Pavarotti, Bartoli, Tebaldi and even David Daniels, all of whom have made recordings of the most famous song, Vaga luna, che inargenti, the tune of which kept reminding me of the English folk song, The foggy, foggy dew. 

Any of the above singers would be preferable to the Polish soprano, Joanna Tylkowska-Drożdż, who has a rather hard, bright voice and tends to sing at an unrelenting mezzo-forte throughout, any refinement or tonal nuance only being offered by the pianist Ohla Bila. Nor is she particularly imaginative in her phrasing or her response to the poetry. Listening to the disc in one sitting proved something of a trial. The somewhat reverberant acoustic also tends to exaggerate the hardness of Tylkowska-Drożdż’s timbre.

As it happens, Veronica Kinkses’ Hungaroton recording of the fifteen songs in the 1935 Ricordi edition is still available to stream or as a download and is infinitely preferable if you are looking for a single disc of Bellini’s songs. However, I have a feeling most of us would be content to find the odd song on a mixed recital by a favourite artist. It should be noted that five of the songs appear on a 1997 disc by Cecilia Bartoli, called An Italian Songbook, on which she sings songs by Donizetti, Bellini and Rossini.

Contents

Vincenzo Bellini (1801-1835)

  • La farfaletta (anonymous)
  • 2. Quando verrà quell di (anonymous)
  • Sogno d’infanzia (anonymous)
  • L’abbandono (anonymous)
  • A palpitar d’affanno (anonymous)
  • Torna, vezzosa Fillide (anonymous)
  • La ricordanza (Carlo Pepoli, Conte)
  • Dolente imagine di Fille mia (anonymous)
  • Vaga luna, che inargenti (anonymous)
  • Malinconia, Ninfa gentile (Ippolito Pindemonte)
  • Vanne, o rosa fortunate (Pietro Antonio Domenico Bonaventura Trapassi as Metastasio)
  • Bella nice, che d’amore (anonymous)
  • Alme se non poss’io (Pietro Antonio Domenico Bonaventura Trapassi as Metastasio)
  • Per pietà, bell’ idol mio (Pietro Antonio Domenico Bonaventura Trapassi as Metastasio)
  • Ma rendi pur content (Pietro Antonio Domenico Bonaventura Trapassi as Metastasio)
Bellini: Composizioni da Camera (Acte Préalable)