The Naxos Blog on Sequenza21

NOTE:
The essay below was written by the award-winning filmmaker Tony Palmer, whose superb catalog is a legend (as is he). Naxos of America began distribution of his films in January; however, some of the films which he references in his essay are not–as yet–distributed by us (the Margot Fonteyn, Britten, Stravinsky, Richard Burton and Testimony–his film about Dmitri Shostakovich).

For those two people who may not know much about Tony Palmer, Palmer has made many iconic films including All You Need is Love (a 17-part series about the history of popular music), All My Loving, 200 Motels, the acclaimed Wagner film (with Burton/Redgrave, etc), Callas (portrait and tribute to the great singer), O Thou Transcendent: The Life of Ralph Vaughan Williams (his most recent film), several films about composer Benjamin Britten (including his production of Death in Venice), Puccini, The Salzburg Festival - A Brief History, Testimony (about composer Dmitri Shostakovich, starring Ben Kingsley), and Parsifal, which featured Placido Domingo. I’m including the link to his website here, as I’ve only listed a precious few of his cinematic accomplishments. His career spans over 40 years, during which time he has won 40 international prizes for his work, including 12 Gold Medals at the New York Film & Television Festival, as well as numerous BAFTA (British Academy of Film & Television) and EMMY nominations and awards. He is the only person to have won the Prix Italia twice.

As of this posting, Naxos of America distributes five of his classical titles: O Thou Transcendent: The Life of Ralph Vaughan Williams, Callas, Symphony of Sorrowful Songs: Symphony No. 3 (Gorecki), Puccini, and God Rot Tunbridge Wells (a film about Handel featuring renowned actor Trevor Howard ).

TONY PALMER
I am fascinated by artists whose lives display phenomenal courage – physical, psychological and moral – the kind of courage that most of us are incapable of. To stand naked upon a stage, whether as an actor or a singer or a dancer, and have nothing but your skill and self-belief to protect you, is an experience that no-one who has not done so can begin to understand. Nor the incredible sacrifices that every performer is forced to make in order to achieve that moment of perfection and magic that we all demand and worship.

Maria Callas, a broken woman, sings of her insecurities with a searing honesty that transcends mere singing. Shostakovich, who endured unimaginable horrors to tell us all, and for all time, what life was like under the monster Stalin. Richard Burton, the 12th of 13 children, determined to make it out of the coal mines to which his family seemed condemned, buying the biggest diamond in the world, an epileptic drinking himself and his talent to oblivion because the strain was so great. Puccini, whose life was torn apart by a scandal involving the suicide of his maid. Handel, blind, despairing, railing against all those who had stolen his copyrights. Margot Fonteyn, used and abused and betrayed from the age of 14 until almost the day she died, the greatest ballerina in the world, dying penniless in a tin shack and buried in a pauper’s grave. Scott Joplin, the son of slaves, struggling in a segregated and bigoted society, to write an opera! Bob Dylan, the greatest lyric poet of the second half of the 20th century, taking on almost single-handedly the mendacity of a militarised nation. Benjamin Britten, openly homosexual when it was illegal and punishable by imprisonment, driven by a terrible and haunting belief in his own worthlessness … the list is endless.

And these are the subjects of my films. And such subjects cannot be “encapsulated” in a television “slot.” I don’t care tuppence for the demands of cretinous and pompous “commissioning editors” of television companies whose attention spans are less than that of a flea. I refuse moreover to have any kind of commentary in my films. Unlike commissioning editors, the audience is not stupid. It resents being told what to think, especially by a whining (often female) voice uttering banalities. And as for the critics, many of them illiterate and ignorant, why should I care about such people?

The problem is, as Shostakovich memorably put it, “to reach the people. That is the question. But how is it done?” And without wishing to elevate the craft of making films beyond its ultimately menial level, it is perhaps worth pointing out that it is an essentially solitary occupation. As Orson Welles eloquently described it: it is “a collective endeavour, driven by a singular, blinding vision.” So to work occasionally in the theatre, especially the opera, is to be reminded of this collective endeavour and to hear, at first hand, an audience response. It can be exhilarating like no other sexual experience – I remember the first night of the Russian première of Parsifal, conducted by Gergiev. But it can also be humiliating – I remember a group of indolent, over-paid, English tubs of lard, thinking (it seemed to me) they were on holiday instead of performing, wrecking a production of Peter Grimes. Such experiences are necessary, however, because they are the closest one gets to the experiences that I have spent my life examining in my films.

Finally, I have never understood the difference between so-called “classical music” and “popular music.” Stravinsky once told me there were only three kinds of music, good music, bad music and non-music, and it doesn’t matter a damn if it’s a symphony, or jazz, or rock’n’roll. Later he refined this categorisation. “Only two musics,” he declared. And then he clenched his fist and said “That’s the first.” And then he opened the palm of his hand and stretched it towards me. “That’s the second,” he said.

I hope my films are the second.

–Tony Palmer

I’ve often debated the value of performance DVDs over recordings. Obviously, in many areas, especially opera, video recordings are invaluable documents. Since production values are intrinsic to so many operas today, unless you are lucky enough to be there, a DVD performance may be the only way to experience the entire production—not just the singing. However, pure performance DVDs can be a mixed bag. Unlike commercial films or opera productions (which require a massive film crew), a “straight” performance film director has to find interesting visuals to enhance what can be a fairly static format. Close-ups of hands, facial expressions, etc., are just the beginning. What do you do with a film that simply documents a performer sitting at his or her instrument in recital? Sometimes, there isn’t much that can be done. For a DVD to surpass an audio or live performance, I am looking for details beyond the playing–a visual clue that reveals something new about the artist. While I don’t think performance DVDs will ever completely replace recordings, I think that, more and more, they offer a unique perspective on the artist. And, sometimes, they are the only way to experience an artist in performance.

The Medici Arts label has just launched Classic Archive. The first offerings from this promising series feature DVD performances of two iconic Russian pianists, Sviatoslav Richter and Tatiana Nikolayeva, as well as the Bulgarian-born French pianist Alexis Weissenberg. Each of the documents provides lovers of these great artists with much to applaud and ideas to ponder.

Sviatoslav Richter (1915-1997) was, unquestionably, one of the greatest pianists of the 20th century (and one of my absolute personal favorites). A complicated and temperamental man, Richter hated being filmed. The performance documented on this DVD was from a Barbican recital in 1989. Richter, as many know, was known to cancel concerts at a moment’s notice. He also was unaware that this concert was to be filmed until just shortly before the performance. After a considerable and heated discussion, he agreed to the filming, on the condition that no camera would be in his field of vision. This challenge was overcome at the expense of the film crew, who were accustomed to expending thousands of watts of lighting power when televising such an event. Richter insisted on restricting the lighting to a single 40-watt bulb, focused not on him, but on his music. This eccentric lightening was unconventional even without cameras present, but it was his standard practice at concerts, as he wanted to focus maximum attention on the music and de-emphasize the importance of the performer. It also served to mask his use of a score, a practice he implemented in 1979 after a serious memory lapse at a concert.

In the film, it is clear that Richter is uncomfortable knowing cameras are present. On a number of occasions, he looks at the ceiling, presumably where one of the cameras was perched. What is perhaps most interesting about this film is watching a great artist clearly struggling with his demons and aging as he negotiates a solo recital. The Chopin portions of the recital are particularly interesting, as the selections from the Études, Op. 10 and Op. 25 shed light on Richter’s incredible genius and magnetism, and, at the same time, document the difficulties he faced in his later career. That said, Richter closes his Barbican recital with a towering performance of Chopin’s Étude, Op. 25/11 in A minor, which brings the house down, highlighting his legendary artistry. Richter enthusiasts also will enjoy comparing the Barbican performance of Chopin’s Étude, Op. 10, No. 4 to the one included in the bonus material, which features Richter at his peak in 1969.

This DVD includes performances of Mozart’s Piano Sonatas, K 282, K 545, and K 310; Chopin’s Études, Op. 10, No. 1 to No. 6 and No. 10 to No. 12, and Études, Op. 25, Nos. 5, 6, 8, and 11. Bonus material includes a BBC broadcast from 1969 with Richter performing Chopin’s Étude, Op. 10, Nos. 4 and 12; and Rachmaninoff’s Étude-Tableau, Op. 39, No. 3.

The distinguished pianist, composer, and teacher Tatiana Nikolayeva (1924-1993) represents the another example of the wealth of piano talent to flood from the former Soviet Union during the 20th century. Shostakovich’s cycle of 24 Preludes and Fugues always held a special place in her heart: she inspired and premiered it in Leningrad in 1952, and it was the piece she performed when she died in concert in San Francisco in 1993. She also made three recordings of the work. The lifelong friendship between Shostakovich and Nikolayeva began when the 26-year-old pianist won first prize at the 1950 Bach Piano competition, organized in Leipzig for the bicentennial of the German composer’s death. As a member of the jury, Shostakovich (1906-1975) was so impressed and inspired by her playing that he returned to Moscow to compose his own set of Preludes and Fugues in 1950-51. This DVD features a BBC broadcast recording from December 1992 of the complete cycle and includes more of Shostakovich’s music played by Tatiana Nikolayeva in a documentary bonus film. This document was perhaps the most straightforward of the three releases. Nikolayeva even at the end of her life was in complete command at the piano. Her technique and musicianship were flawless, and what came across so clearly in the film was that Shostakovich’s music was as much a part of her as breathing. After all, she had lived with it since the beginning, and it was written for her.

The final release was, in some ways, the most interesting of the three. I will go on record now as saying I never loved Weissenberg’s playing. I own some of his early Chopin recordings, which I never liked. And, after watching this DVD, I confess I still don’t like his Chopin. However, this DVD, which is taken from several sources, is perhaps the most rich of the three releases. Alexis Weissenberg, who was born in 1929 in Sofia, Bulgaria, studied both in Bulgaria and Jerusalem before attending The Juilliard School, where he studied with famed pedagogue Olga Samaroff (conductor Leopold Stokowki’s first wife).

This archival DVD includes a 1965 film by Swedish filmmaker and former assistant to Ingmar Bergman, Åke Falck, which shows Mr. Weissenberg performing Stravinsky’s Petrushka Suite. The shooting took 10 days and required a special “silent” piano be built; Weissenberg performed in sync with a playback of his actual performance, while he listened through loudspeakers set at a distance from him (the viewer learns much more about the making of the film in the bonus material). The result is an amazing feat of both pianism and filmmaking, which brings the complexity of Stravinsky’s fiendishly difficult piano score into sharp focus (the composer transcribed the Petrushka Suite note-for-note from the orchestral version). It is, in some ways, very much a music video. There are wild shots of Weissenberg’s massively powerful hands as they negotiate the length and breadth of the instrument. From registral leaps to huge chords, nothing is too difficult for Mr. Weissenberg’s prodigious technique. He is perfect for this music, and Falck’s film really shows an artist who is one with his craft in a visually arresting way. Another highlight of this DVD is Weissenberg’s performance of Dame Myra Hess’ arrangement of Bach’s Jesus, Joy of Man’s Desiring (taken from a September 25, 1969 Broadcast). He delivers the Bach in a wonderfully Lisztian manner, giving an immense power and majesty to this often understated work.

In addition to Stravinsky’s Three Movements from Petrushka, the film includes other archival performances taken from various broadcast sources from the 1960s, featuring repertoire including Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 3; Scriabin’s Nocturne for the Left Hand, Op. 9, No. 2; Rachmaninoff’s Prelude, Op. 23, No. 6; Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 3 - Largo, Nocturne Op. Posth. in C minor, Étude, Op. 25, No. 7; J.S. Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy, BWV 903, Partita No. 6 – Courante; and the Brahms Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat, Op. 83, with the Orchestre National de l’ORTF, Georges Prêtre, conductor – 8/31/69.

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I recently wrote a blog entry about a new release on Arthaus Musik, The Opera Fanatic. It couldn’t be more timely. La Cieca reported today that one of the divas profiled in the film, Turkish soprano Leyla Gencer has died.

In The Opera Fanatic, Gencer commented, “When you sing, you have to feel what you are saying…I actually cried on stage. Once in a while [it was more than once in a while, but who cares], a note would issue forth which was not orthodox. That’s why the American critics don’t like me. But I don’t care. They want music with water and soap.” Yes, this was the woman who years after her career had ended could still demand she be interviewed at La Scala.

Born in 1928, Gencer premiered the role of Madame Lidoine in Poulenc’s Dialogues des Carmelites at La Scala in 1957. However, she was best known for her dramatic coloratura roles in operas of Donizetti and Verdi. Rest in peace—and with Callas, Madame Gencer.

This entry was written by our guest-blogger, composer Sean Hickey. Sean, who is Naxos’ Eastern Territory Manager, has a unique perspective on music and how to balance working a “day job” with the rigours of being a musician as well. A number of us at Naxos, myself included (although I compose popular music these days, having given up concert music years ago), play this balancing act. That said one of the great perks of working at Naxos is all the music you are exposed to.

I’ve been listening to a lot of new things lately, or music new to me. Huge reams of eye opening orchestral and chamber music. Lots of stuff I’ve never heard including great sets of symphonies of Tansman and Weinberg, two immensely talented composers that get scarcely a mention in the history books, if they’re mentioned at all. One of the greatest pleasures of working for Naxos is to sample an immense variety of music that’s largely been ignored, and to revisit some classics in some new recordings. To the former category I must include a new disc of works of Ernst Toch; a Greek composer new to me, Dmitris Dragatakis, and a mountain of a piece, Fred Rzewski’s The People United Will Never be Defeated!, performed by the amazing Dutch pianist Ralph van Raat. This is one of those seminal works that I was proud to know of, but embarrassed to admit I’ve never actually heard. All of the composition and pianistic virtuosity aside, I find the work immensely moving and it certainly seems to have a special resonance now.

To the latter category I would add a fine new recording of the Second and Third Symphonies of Karol Szymanowski, Antoni Wit leading the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra. This is perhaps the most vivid recording of his orchestral works since Simon Rattle’s landmark Third Symphony/Stabat Mater on EMI years ago.

Chamber and small ensemble music from the Baroque era is generally not something that interests me tremendously, but I’ve been bowled over the beauty of a new recording of the C.P.E Bach Viola de Gamba sonatas, recorded on the cello by cellist Dmitry Kouzov, accompanied on the piano and harpsichord by Peter Laul. Full disclosure: Dima is a great friend and has commissioned a concerto from me and I’ve had the immense benefit of working on the concerto with him directly. But perhaps what has most informed the recent pages of my work is the lyricism and subtle grace of his C.P.E. Bach recording. It has altered the very foundations of my new piece. Do check it out if you can.

Lastly, clarinetist David Gould will record a disc of American works for clarinet and string quartet for Naxos. The disc will include my Clarinet Concerto, commissioned by the soloist in 2007. I hope to be able to report more on this soon.

To some, Frederic Rzewski might seem like a composer full of contradictions. His music, after all, includes minimalist and quasi-serialist works as well as collage-type pieces. For example, we all discovered during the pre-concert chat with series producer Ara Guzelimian that Elliott Carter has been a long time friend and mentor to Rzewski. I was surprised. But Kyle Gann, in his essay to the program “Never Second-Guessing Rzewski,” notes “It is typical of Rzewski that he has refused to be limited by even the humanist realist aesthetic that he created. Like Stravinsky, he has shown contrarian fearlessness about walking away from styles his music has made popular. ”

When asked about music and politics, Rzewski stated “Music really can’t be political … theater, perhaps, can be.” And in works like Attica (1972), Spots (1986), and the newer Natural Things (2007) you can see how he brings music and theater together–beautifully. Attica, the earliest work performed, consists of a repetitive tonal sequence set against the intoned narration “Attica is in front of me” (a quote, according to the liner notes, taken from the statement of Richard X. Clark, one of the prison uprising’s organizers). While an extremely moving and beautiful work, I’m afraid that unlike most of the audience–and Times reporter Allan Kozinn–I was not as impressed by Stephen ben Israel’s narration (he was the work’s original narrator). I would be curious to hear of other reactions to ben Israel’s performance, as it was abundantly clear to me that I was absolutely in the minority on this.

I was only acquainted with Rzewski’s piano works before this concert, and it was wonderful to see he treats other instruments. I absolutely loved how he uses the human body as an instrument. For example, in Natural Things (commissioned by Opus 21), Rzewski has the string players breathe and/or sigh as they play glissandi. He also has the performers clap and stamp, creating a choreography, which then becomes part of the music, and use their voices creatively–talking, whispering, layering dialogue contrapuntally. I found his use of non-musical objects refreshing and fun: cans, a megaphone, and even a basketball in Spots. (Does anyone know if both Spots and Natural Things were both orchestrated by Richard Adams, composer and founder of Opus 21? I know they mentioned he had arranged one of the pieces.)

For my taste, I did not care for the 2008 piano work War Songs. It seemed more like a work-in-progress to me, and one which didn’t yet have an emotional center.

Finally, I was somewhat baffled by the instrument set up for a work I dearly love, Winnsboro Cotton Mill Blues, which Rzewski and Stephen Drury performed in a two-piano arrangement from 1980. I asked Jed Distler about this in an e-mail, and he assured me that it was “arbitrary.” If that is the case, and the set-up was meant to cut down on the time moving other instruments out of the way, I think it didn’t serve this arrangement well. Usually with two-piano works, pianos are arranged closer together so that both artists can communicate in some fashion. Clearly, the sonorities called for in Winnsboro Cotton Mill Blues would make a very close arrangement of the instruments impractical. However, the pianos were so far apart, it seemed as if both players had to guess at each other’s breathing. I’m also not sure the arrangement gave them the sonic quality they sought. Any thoughts from others who attended the performance would be welcome here.

On a different, but related note: We’ve gotten a lot of wonderful comments about pianist Ralph van Raat’s recent Naxos recording of The People United Will Never Be Defeated! (Naxos 8559360). However, many people have requested the timings for all of the variations. Ralph sent them to me in an e-mail last week, and they are pasted below:

Timelist Rzewski’s People United…  
Theme (0.00-1′35″)
 
1 (1′35″-2′37″)
2 (2′37″-3′32″)
3 (3′32″-4′54″)
4 (4′54″-5′56″)
5 (5′56″-7′11″)
6 (7′11″-8′25″)
 
7 (8′25″-9′20″)
8 (9′20″-10′39″)
9 (10′39″-12′18″)
10 (12′18″-13′28″)
11 (13′28″-14′23″)
12 (14′23″-15′39″)
 
13 (15′39″-17′33″)
14 (17′33″-18′50″)
15 (18′50″-20′29″)
16 (20′29″-22′08″)
17 (22′08″-23′22″)
18 (23′22″-25′15″)
 
19 (25′15″-25′56″)
20 (25′56″-26′34″)
21 (26′34″-27′36″)
22 (27′36″-28′24″)
23 (28′24″-28′53″)
24 (28′53″-31′55″)
 
25 (31′55″-34′31″)
26 (34′31″-35′44″)
27 (35′44″-41′08″)
28 (41′08″-42′31″)
29 (42′31″-43′00″)
30 (43′00″-45′35″)
 
31 (45′35″-46′34″)
32 (46′34″-47′42″)
33 (47′42″-48′57″)
34 (48′57″-50′09″)
35 (50′09″-51′18″)
36 (51′18″-53′06″)
 
Improvised cadenza (53′06″-59′16″)
 

Little did I know that I had the makings of an Opera Fanatic — well, I’ve discovered that I do. I found myself watching the DVD version of The Opera Fanatic (the VHS version of this film has been available on Zucker’s Bel Canto Society website for some time; the DVD version is being released on Arthaus Musik at the end of May) with absolute fascination (twice now, probably a third time by the time I’ve finished this blog entry), despite the fact that Stefan Zucker (purportedly the highest tenor according to the Guinness World Book of Records and generally an annoying enfant terrible) is thoroughly outrageous and, in some cases, shockingly rude to an absolutely extraordinary grouping of true Divas. The chutzpah (not to mention bad taste) of asking legendary mezzo-soprano Fedora Barbieri about the sexual proclivities of mezzos boggles the mind, but then again, she offered—or threatened—to spank him for his naughty question. (Maybe there IS some truth to this rumor she so passionately denied?)

The Opera Fanatic is partly about Zucker’s quest for the answers to a question which cannot really be answered or quantified: what makes a singer thrilling and a performance moving? But it also is, in part, a memorial of his late mother, a soprano named Rosina Wolf, whose memory he evokes several times during the film. Most of all, however, it is about a group of great singers, many of whom have been forgotten (a few probably don’t even hit the radar for some younger opera-goers), and some whose careers were eclipsed by La Callas and Renata Tebaldi. However, one thing these larger-than-life women have in common can be put very simply: Star Power.

And that Star Power is wonderfully present in this film. Years after her career had ended, soprano Leyla Gencer still could demand that she be interviewed at La Scala (they acquiesced); Marcella Pobbe, a wonderful soprano from the 1950s, was suspiciously difficult to pin down for an interview time; yet another Diva was concerned that her maid would need to come twice (before and after the interview).

And some of the meetings went less than swimmingly. Poor Madame Pobbe, when the interview finally took place, fumed at Zucker’s questions (she called him “stupid”). He prodded her with queries like “What was the highest note you ever sang?” Her disdain was palpable, but not for reasons one might think. She wanted Zucker to properly introduce her and to explain her place in opera history first (DIVA). She did, eventually, answer the question about the note (in case anyone cares, it was a high “D” in Carmina Burana, with Zubin Mehta conducting). She was equally ticked off when questioned about canceling her 1959 MET engagement to sing Elisabetta. The cancellation was due to a quarrel with her then lover the great tenor Nicolai Gedda. She blamed Rudolf Bing for the incident. Heard that story before…

But despite occasional fits of pique due to scheduling mishaps and other issues, many of these singers offered fascinating insights into opera, character, and the art of singing. The luminous mezzo-soprano Guilietta Simionato, known for her riveting vocal portrayals of characters like Carmen, Azucena, and Eboli, among many others, spoke almost poetically about proper breath control: “… the cavity [mask] projects upwards or sound doesn’t rise. With the breath you have to make a circle. It’s not that the high note is a point of arrival. The breath has to raise it up and then bring it down again, that way the notes come down like pearls.” A clip from a 1961 Cavalleria Rusticana showed her in absolutely gorgeous voice. But perhaps the most telling moment from her interview was her confession when asked what she would have done differently with her career: she said, almost without hesitation, that she would not have become a singer. She suffered greatly, and it took almost two decades for her to get her due as an artist. I, for one, am glad she was not given that opportunity.

Another legendary soprano Magda Olivero commented that “you must find the character inside. Every word, every note has to rise from the inside and go forward to the audience.” She clearly understood what that meant, as evidenced by a superb 1960 Tosca excerpt. She also talked about the difficulties for sopranos in Act II of Tosca, which she described as a soprano-killer.

Anita Cerquetti (a personal favorite) — who is a longtime cult figure among vocal folks for her astonishing voice, very short career, and yes, the funniest record covers in just about all opera history (except for the late British Wagnerian Rita Hunter) — had some interesting comments about opera performance: ” A singer cannot be compared to an actor. The singer has to sing. He has to stay motionless. When he sings a romance, he cannot walk up and down the stage, otherwise the voice shifts. A singer has to be an actor through his gestures, through his face, through his arms and hands, through his voice.” Now, I won’t mince words here, Anita is and was a very large lady (NO comments here, she was) and probably didn’t or couldn’t take a lot of stage direction (just a guess). Motionless is a bit, well, odd even for me. And, let’s face it, much has changed in opera productions since these women graced the stage. There is far more emphasis on physical acting now for example. But some of what she says makes sense: a singer is not an actor in the traditional sense. If anyone watched the MET broadcast of Il Trittico last season, the most moving aspect of Barbara Frittoli’s performance was her portrayal of the character of Suor Angelica, which she achieved almost entirely through her facial expressions and simple physical gestures. In my opinion, her singing was nothing special. And had I been in the opera house instead of at the movies, where I could really see what she was doing with the role, I’m not so sure I would have been so moved.

For me, there is something special about this entire era of singing which quite frankly, harkens back to a time when the voice reigned supreme and when singing conveyed such emotion that even on a bad day, it had, well, “soul.” (Just to clarify: there are many, many current singers I absolutely adore and couldn’t do without. But I must confess to a certain love of singers from the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s and 1960s.)

In addition to the great singers of the 1950s and 1960s, the film also goes a further back into opera history and devotes some time to the great Gina Cigna, who actually was French and born in Paris in 1900 (she died in 2001). Cigna came from a much earlier era than the other singers portrayed in the film and was 96 when Zucker went to visit her. She said, “If you don’t know how to breathe, you don’t know how to sing….Opera has lost spontaneity, beauty and freedom.” Her interview was very short as she was so very frail, but just her presence and the excerpts of her glorious voice were enough for me

I’ve left off quite a few singers profiled in the film, for which I apologize. But if my word count is correct, I’m over 1000 words. Watch the film instead. It is really a film about soul, something which these Divas all have in abundance. (The Opera Fanatic, a film by Jan Schmidt-Garre, Arthaus Musik, 101813.)

For the next few weeks, I’ve invited some Naxos artists to contribute to our blog on Sequenza21.

Cellist Dmitry Kouzov has performed throughout the United States, Europe and Russia with orchestras, in solo and duo recitals, and in chamber music performances. He also teaches cello at The Juilliard School, where he serves as an assistant to renowned cellist Joel Krosnick. Naxos recently released his first recording, which was devoted to gamba sonatas of C.P.E. Bach.

A few days ago I was pleased to see my recording of C.P.E. Bach gamba sonatas released on Naxos (8570740). This, I think, is one of the first recordings of these wonderful masterpieces on a cello. Since this wonderful music is generally unknown, I thought I would say a few introductory words about it.

It is very likely that these three sonatas were written for one of the most prominent virtuoso gambists of his time, Ludwig Christian Hesse (1716-1772), during the time when Carl Philipp was serving at the court of Frederick the Great in Berlin. These works are excellent representations of the composer’s style, which was considered somewhat revolutionary for his time. It is particularly interesting for me that these sonatas—which already showed important features of the classical sonata form (which C.P.E. really helped to develop)— are written for gamba, which was slowly falling into disuse as a concert instrument. The matter of choosing a somehow “old-fashioned” instrument for a rather progressive composing style likely had occurred because of a certain conservatism in musical tastes at the court of Frederick the Great. Prussia was a place where the genre of gamba and keyboard sonata remained alive longer than anywhere else.

I think that these sonatas sound as good on a cello as on a gamba (that’s one of the reasons why I wanted to play and record them), but what is most important for me is that these beautiful, expressive, and inventive works should find a place in cellists’ regular concert repertoire.

To hear more of Dmitry, click here for a YouTube video of him playing Humoresque, a rarely-performed work by the late Mstislav Rostopovich.

Raymond Bisha, Naxos’ Radio Promotions Manager (North America) and also the creator of Naxos’ podcasts, forwarded this email to all of us at Naxos of America from Alain Trundel, the conductor of the CBC Radio Orchestra. I thought, in light of what we’ve seen happening in the United States, that it was a letter worth posting. I’ve been reading the online newspapers for the past several months, so the fact that there is trouble with the arts in Canada is no great surprise. A little over a month ago, the CBC announced they would cease producing classical recordings, a terribly tragedy in my view. After all, like the BBC, the CBC has a treasure-trove in their archives as well as a roster of superb living Canadian performers and composers.

God knows we’ve been through this here in the States (and continue to go through it). But for the past couple of decades I’ve looked up to Canada and the U.K. for what seemed like their unshakable commitment to the arts. And while music is continuing to flow over the internet and in different ways than some of us older listeners are accustomed to, there still is nothing quite like a live performance. I know there will be some debate as to whether the demise of this particular orchestra ultimately matters. Let’s face it, priorities change with the times. That said, as much as I love my CD and LP collection (and the convenience of my iPOD), there is still something magical about hearing music in a public space, warts and all, with throngs of other listeners around you—and that sense of collective ecstasy when the power of a single performance transports an entire audience. After all, you were there too, and you have the story to tell.

Dear members of my orchestra, colleagues, and music lovers across the country,

Over the past few days I have received your many communications concerning the untimely demise of the CBC Radio Orchestra (CRO). I want to thank you so much for your concern and love for the Orchestra. I am very moved to see how many people understand the importance of the CRO (celebrating its 70th anniversary this season) for Canadians of all musical backgrounds.

The musicians, and myself are, of course, devastated by the loss of our mandate from the CBC, which first gave us life. In this time of shock and obvious distress, I think it is important to articulate, as clearly as possible, the value that our Orchestra brings to music lovers from everywhere in our country and to the CBC itself. In order to move forward, we need to grasp what it stands for and its place in our cultural life.

At this moment the CRO is one of the top orchestras in the country; an orchestra, which we as Canadians have spent seven decades building. This Orchestra is a musical jewel and a cultural landmark.

Being the only Radio Orchestra in the Americas, the CRO is the ONE music ensemble that sets the Canadian music scene apart. By its existence, its mission and its work, it helps define Canada’s uniqueness.

Throughout it history the CRO has called upon composers and performers of all cultural backgrounds from across our country, proving that music is alive in our country, even when other matters may cause despair or discouragement.
Through live performance and national broadcast exposure the CRO gives exposure to Canadian soloists and composers, sending a message of hope to all young Canadian creators and to musicians of all musical backgrounds. It shows that their voices will be heard and celebrated.

Throughout my tenure, I have insisted that we develop projects from all musical genres, including jazz, world, pop and Canadian native music. In 2007, we started the Great Canadian Song Book, which commissioned a diverse roster of composers to create “art song” settings of works from Joni Mitchell to Neil Young, from Buffy Ste-Marie to Serge Fiori and Michel Rivard.
The CRO has developed creative projects around music from Asia and the Middle-East; around jazz improvisers as well as traditional orchestral repertoire as well as collaborating with the rapper K-os.

During the last season, we commissioned 18 works over seven concerts. Through the CBC Radio Orchestra, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is not only seen as a programmer but also as an active partner in Canadian art-making.

The CRO, through the elegance of a national broadcasting network, has reached people across our country. In September 2007, we performed a specially developed program, live, in Iqaluit on Frobisher Bay. Months later, we went to White Rock, B.C. We have received invitations from large and small communities across Canada and even from major concert halls in Europe. All of this, alas, we are now unable to entertain.

I have been fortunate in my career to work extensively in both English and French Canada, having thereby, a truly national perspective. To my great joy, in recent months the French services of the Corporation have not only become more aware of the fine work of the CRO, but have expressed a desire to embrace it. This also is a path that we cannot now pursue. However, the role of the Orchestra in building bridges across our country is something we must never forget.

Many things have been made clear in the work of the Orchestra and in your response to its closing: the importance of music in our lives, the importance of nurturing, supporting and broadcasting the diversified and astonishing talent we have in our country, the role of a national broadcaster in bringing us together, and much more. We will each have our personal reflection on the meaning of all of this, but one thing is certain: the CRO reminds us of what it is we cherish most in music and in our country.

Respectfully yours,
Alain Trudel
Principal Conductor, CBC radio Orchestra

You have to wonder about an article in which critics bare their less-than-highfalutin music choices, particularly if they include such recordings as Otto Klemperer conducting Bach or a recording of the works of American composer Leroy Anderson. Are these really “guilty pleasures?” How about just wonderful music, without the tag of is it highbrow enough or is the performance authentic? And frankly, those selections seemed kind of tame to me. I really wanted to hear a Times critic confess an addiction to Linda Eder or Elton John—or better still Brittney Spears (no, not really, even I have my limits). I think it would have been fun to raid the shelves of these folks to see what commercial pop music they might have hiding between the Stockhausen and the Elliott Carter.

When I think of guilty pleasures, I think of music that might have questionable artistic merit, but still has something that gets to you—even if it is cheesy. Everyone has something in their collection that fits that bill. Sometimes for me it is a song that has a wonderful melody, but the arrangement is so canned and synthesized that to many listeners it would be considered just plain awful. I don’t know who is responsible for some of these awful arrangements of otherwise beautiful songs, but I hear beyond the gauzy and overly-orchestrated background and just find pleasure in listening to the schmaltz. And have I mentioned yet that I really like Michael Jackson’s classic albums Thriller and Off the Wall? Or Julian Clerc (without Carla Bruni, please)? And yes, talking of overly-sweet, I like Twinkies too.

My collection boasts probably thousands of CDs and LPs, mostly classical and new music. But in all honesty, the music I listen to as much “serious music” would really fall under the category of “guilty pleasures.” I’m not ashamed of my taste or listening to music, which many would consider far from “highfalutin.” Excuse me, but I love salsa and yes, Mark Anthony’s rendition of Juan Gabriel’s Hasta que te conoci just floats my boat. And, yes, I’m a sucker for Luis Miguel and Caetano Veloso’s versions of old Latin classic tunes. I also really like Elton John’s debut album (the one with Your Song and Take Me to the Pilot). So I’ve made my confession. I feel better now, at least until someone responds to this post and banishes me permanently from Sequenza21.

In the meantime, I’m going to hear soprano Isabel Bayrakdarian on Saturday night and I’m hoping at the end of her beautiful program she will sing a tango from her new CBC CD Tango Notturno. Maybe she’ll grace us with one by the great tango master and matinee idol, Carlos Gardel (Por Una Cabeza or Volver). Or, maybe one of Astor Piazzolla’s classic tangos: Oblivion, Invierno Porteño, Verano Porteño, Che Tango Che….I’d be happy with Kurt Weill’s Youkali (although I don’t think I will ever get Teresa Stratas’ version out of my head).

When you work for a company like Naxos, life can be difficult. Unlike many of the other labels who only release a handful of titles each month, we have a whole catalog full of new releases each month. And as most of you know, in addition to the Naxos label, we distribute 24 labels (yes with Chandos coming on board on April 1, it is 24). The sheer volume of material is overwhelming and the choice of what to listen to and/or watch, grows more daunting–and delicious—with each passing month.

Additionally, I’m lucky enough to have access to Naxos Music Library, which allows me to stream even more labels than those for which Naxos has physical distribution. And, the best part—I can preview upcoming Naxos discs. This is a real treat for someone like me, who always wants to hear what is coming out in three months.

But rather than continue this train of thought, I’ll stick to some highlights of what’s coming out soon and what to look out for in the coming months:

At the end of this month, we are releasing a new disc on the LPO label of music by the British composer Mark-Anthony Turnage (LPO-0031). This recording features the LPO led by Marin Alsop in three superlative works by Turnage: Twice Through the Heart, a deeply-felt and disturbing ‘dramatic scena’ with poetry by Jackie Kay; Hidden Love Song, for soprano saxophone and orchestra; and finally, The Torn Fields, a song cycle with texts by five World War I poets. The music is classic Turnage (Twice Through the Heart from 1997; Hidden Love Songs, 2006; and The Torn Fields, 2002) and the performances are absolutely stellar.

Soprano Sarah Connolly (Grammy-nominated for her performance of Elgar’s Sea Pictures) gives an achingly beautiful performance of Twice Through the Heart, a cycle which tells the story of a woman who has been imprisoned for stabbing her abusive husband with a kitchen knife. The work was originally conceived as an opera, but Kay and Turnage realized that the strength lay in the poetry, so it became a ‘dramatic scena’ told from a woman’s point of view. Turnage composed Hidden Love Song for soprano saxophone (2005) when he became the London Philharmonic Orchestra’s Composer-in-Residence. It is a brief ‘song’ for soprano saxophone and chamber orchestra with harpsichord. It was the first collaboration of his residency, commissioned by the Orchestra with Norwegian and German partners. The work was written for both the soloist on this recording, Martin Robertson, and Turnage’s wife (then fiancée), Gabriella Swallow. The disc’s final offering, The Torn Fields, features superb Canadian baritone Gerald Finley (whose Barber songs recording on the Hyperion label was selected for a January “Editor’s Choice” from Gramophone). The cycle consists of five First World War poems written by Rudyard Kipling, Isaac Rosenberg, Wilfred Owen, Charles Sorley, and Siegfried Sassoon “that savagely attack the sweeping loss of war, often spiked with acerbic, critical humor.”

Another highlight, albeit a bit further down the road, is a new disc of music by the Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara (one of my personal favorites, I admit). This recording (which is scheduled to be released in the US in late March/Naxos 8570069), features his shimmering Apotheosis (1996), which is a revision of the final movement of his Sixth Symphony; Manhattan Trilogy (2004/commissioned and performed for Juilliard’s centennial in October of 2005); and his Symphony No. 8 (1999/premiered by Wolfgang Sawallisch and The Philadelphia Orchestra in 2000). The music is performed by the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra led by its very dynamic young conductor, Pietari Inkinen (a name to watch closely). Last month, Naxos released the first in a series of discs of Sibelius’ orchestral music featuring Inkinen and the New Zealand Symphony, so I’m hoping to hear a lot more from this very exciting young conductor.

Also, on American Classics in March (Naxos 8559360), Dutch pianist Ralph van Raat (whose February 2007 recording of John Adams’ piano music for Naxos won many accolades/Naxos 8559285) tackles Frederic Rzewski’s fiendishly difficult 60+ minute set of variations from 1975–The People United Will Never Be Defeated. This performance by van Raat crackles with excitement and virtuosity and I can’t recommend it highly enough. If you love this work as I do, have a comparative listening with the already available versions. I’m sorry to say I’ve never heard the version with Rzewski playing (only available on a fairly pricey Nonesuch set; was on my Christmas list…), but I do own the Hamelin performance on Hyperion (670677), which I’ve always liked and there is another interpretation by pianist Stephen Drury on New Albion (#63), which I haven’t heard.

I continue to hope that The People United Will Never Be Defeated will one day find its way into the standard piano literature. In my opinion, it is one of the most significant piano works written in the past, dare I go out on a limb, and say 40 years? (Please fellow piano junkies, let me know what piano works you would like to see regularly programmed by pianists.) Considering its relative accessibility, I’m truly surprised more concert pianists haven’t programmed it on their recitals.

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