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Code-barres / Barcode : 4260036253238 |
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Reviewer: Scott
Noriega The first aspect of this recording that I noticed upon opening up the package and listening to the seven concertos all in a row was that the pianist, Yorck Kronenberg, in one concerto—the Sixth—chose to solo on the harpsichord instead of the piano. I thought that odd. Then I read the program notes. In them he related that his choice was based on the fact that, “the manner of writing for many sections of the piano part is more closely allied to thorough-bass writing.” That and, “among modern orchestral instruments there is no suitable counterpart for the recorder which would have blended well with the modern piano.” After reading this, I still think it odd. What does a type of notation, one which was still used for many decades past the death of Bach, have to do with the instrument chosen? And for the whole idea of a concert grand not suitably blending with the sound of the two recorders, I can only point out a number of recordings in which I think the two work quite well together—Murray Perahia’s reading, for example, in which the higher trills of the piano sound almost like a flute, works wonders. But, regardless of my opinion, Kronenberg has chosen the harpsichord. And that is not such a bad thing, perhaps just a bit distracting when one is listening to the other complete solo keyboard concertos performed on piano. But what of Kronenberg’s approach to the music, performed with the very fine Swiss ensemble, the Zürcher Kammerorchester? The pianist gives us a clue, also in the interview in the program notes, when he talks about some of the decisions he’s made, which differ from anyone else who has come to this music. In particular he relates his decision to conduct the third movement of the D-Minor Concerto in 6/8 instead of the written 3/4, a point which he finds obvious because of the way that Bach groups certain chords and melodic figures; this one small change “gives the whole movement rhythmic drive and an infectious forward momentum.” That is true, though in some instances, that very insistence on rhythmic interest sometimes leads to moments that are simply played too quickly, with little sense of playfulness, spontaneity, or charm. One of my favorite concertos—that in A Major—is one such example: The tempo in the first movement is simply too fast. The orchestra plays beautifully, shaping the lines well, adding interesting touches, yet the pianist seems to be more interested in getting to the movement’s end then in relishing its numerous musical details. Where is the sense of breadth? Of simple enjoyment of the music? Where is the fun? That is not to say that there are not numerous moments where everything seems to work beautifully, where both the pianist and the orchestra relish the music making. Though the opening of the D-Minor Concerto is played a bit too quickly for my taste, this is the type of movement that can take it: It is performed here brazenly, with a real sense of forward momentum. Yet there are also many subtle moments—the toccata-like repeated notes in the piano, for instance, are played with utmost delicacy, providing a wonderful sense of calm in a rather stormy movement. The E-Major Concerto is also beautifully handled, here especially in its faster moments: The opening movement is graceful, sounding quite prim and proper, especially following the more fiery D-Minor Concerto. There is a real lightness to the texture which I find lacking elsewhere. The third movement simply bustles with life. The slow movement is a bit too fussy for my taste and a bit too fast as well, a tendency in quite a few of the slower movements. The question is: Is it better to be a bit too fast or to drag? I would say the former, though I would not call it ideal either. So would I give this recording a hearty recommendation, then? No, not this time. This is infectious music played with real zeal by these artists, though sometimes that is not enough. There are simply too many fantastic recordings of this music out there to choose over this one, ones in which the sheer joy and playfulness of the music are more palpable than here—Murray Perahia’s, András Schiff’s, Angela Hewitt’s. Even the artist who introduced these works to me so many years ago, Glenn Gould, with his somewhat eccentric and orchestra-heavy readings, finds more magic in these deceptively simple works than I find here. As a side note, after having read the silly interviewer’s questions in the provided booklet, perhaps I expected too much. To me at least, questions which ask the artist about his misunderstood genius are always off-putting in their obvious attempt to sell not just the artist but his recordings as well. How could anyone do anything but scoff at questions which read, for example: “Despite your outstanding artistic qualities, which have been emphasized by reviewers for years, you live modestly in a small apartment in Prenzlauer Berg in Berlin, haven’t cut a high profile figure in the classical music business, nor do your novels ever achieve the sales they deserve. Is that because you make no concessions whatsoever to accommodate the needs of audiences as formulated by major record labels and concert agencies?” I can’t imagine what Herr Felix Schmidt was thinking when he asked such a ridiculous question. But for my many issues with the release, I look forward to hearing more from both the obviously talented Kronenberg—perhaps in different repertoire, such as his beloved Beethoven or Brahms, I might find his fire better placed than here—and the very fine Zürcher Kammerorchester, whose members are not only attentive to the music but also maintain tight ensemble work and have a very lovely sound throughout. If one wants these pieces in their collection, though, I would still go for one of the aforementioned sets. | |
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