Andalusian Inspiration

I have been listening again to a CD of music by Joaquin Turin(1882-1949) who I wrote about early in these postings (13.07.2005). He and Manuel de Falla represent a generation of Spanish composers in the earlier part of the last century, each of them distinctly themselves but both influenced by their friends Debussy and Ravel whom they met in their Parisian years. Turin composed many works for small ensembles and soloists but was the only Spanish composer of his time to produce a symphony. The Sinfonia Sevillana is regarded as his orchestral masterpiece. I have it on disc in the Naxos ‘Spanish Classics’ series, the Castile and Leon Symphony Orchestra conducted by Max Bragado Darman.

The latest in this series consists of compositions by Lorenzo Palomo, who though based in Germany for many years, says of his work that he has been ‘faithful to the most authentic Andalusian music, introducing a number of Arabic and Hebraic melismas as well as cadences characteristic of flamenco’. The disc includes his Sinfonia a Granada, which I have yet to hear.

It is this national or regional loyalty which is so characteristic of much Spanish contemporary music, where the link with popular culture is always so strong. That is particularly true of Turina, whose work like Palomo’s, shows the influence of traditional Andalusian music, whereas his friend de Falla was perhaps more adventurous.

Turina was born in Seville although his family were originally from Northern Italy. He studied there as well as in Madrid. Living in Paris from 1905 to 1914, he took composition lessons from Vincent d'Indy and studied the piano under the legendry composer and virtuoso pianist Moszkowski. He and de Falla returned to Madrid in 1914, where he worked as a composer, teacher and critic, and in 1931 was appointed the professor of composition at the Madrid Royal Conservatory, where he carried out a thorough reform despite the restrictions which operated during the Franco years, and constrained so many artists. He remained there until he died in 1949.

His works include the operas ‘Margot’ (1914) and ‘Jardín de Oriente’ (1923), La oración del torero (written first for a lute quartet, then string quartet, then string orchestra), chamber music, piano works, guitar pieces and songs, the Danzas fantasticas, also on the Naxos disc mentioned aboveas well as La Procesion del Rocio. This is his first work for orchestra and represents the annual procession in the village of that name, with a lovely melody worthy of a Hollywood movie and the sound of a pipe and drum as the journey proceeds. It’s a delightful work.

B.R.

Three Orchestras

During this long tedious winter I have been privileged to attend three excellent concerts, two in nearby Bristol and one in Liverpool. I am no music critic and therefore can’t make an informed comparison of the performances, but derived much pleasure from each of them. The Philharmonia Orchestra makes an appearance in Bristol most seasons. This concert was conducted by Vladimir Ashkenazy, its Conductor Laureate - a musician for whom I have the greatest respect – his no-nonsense approach to the art of conducting very different from the celebrity style of some of his compatriots. He accompanied Steven Isserliss in Elgar’s Cello Concerto, orchestra and soloist in complete accord; a quite beautiful performance, tender and passionate as befits this work of the composer’s later years. Sadly because of not feeling well, I was unable to stay for the evening’s main work – Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony – but enjoyed my recording (Naxos 8.570568) as consolation!

It was Tchaikovsky again at Bristol’s Colston Hall earlier this month, the Fifth Symphony played by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra under the Ukrainian Kirill Karabits, now in his second year as their principal conductor. The collaboration is clearly working well. It was a full blooded and superbly rehearsed performance, the last movement a tour d’force which brought the house down. Earlier they accompanied the Polish pianist Peter Jabionski in Scriabin’s Piano Concerto, a work for which I have great affection but which I think is rarely played. It was well done, but I enjoyed the fabulous encore that followed – perhaps one of the composer’s many brief preludes, almost as much. (I play my recording of the concerto often, Nikolai Demidenko is the pianist on the Hyperion label.)

Liverpool’s Royal Philharmonic Orchestra has the advantage of being a local orchestra and performing in their own hall, which has an excellent acoustic. The Manfred disc mentioned above is one of their recent achievements, recorded in the same venue. It seems as if the orchestra can rely on an enthusiastic and loyal audience. It was an unusual programme – Hindemith, Bartok and Rachmaninoff, under the headline of ‘Brave New World’. (It also provided an excellent programme which is not true of Bristol, which has more advertisements than musical notes and no reference to future concerts!). The orchestra produce a wonderful sound and under their Russian conductor, Vasily Petrenko, can lay claim to performances of an international standard. It was a superb evening.

B.R.

Beethoven 2

A long time since this journey through the 32 piano sonatas began, but then I have been otherwise engaged as well! My reservations about this monarch of all composers has been seriously challenged, as I expected it to be. A virtuoso of the key board in his own day until deafness intervened, one can imagine him sitting at the piano and experimenting with all sorts of possibilities before committing his ideas to paper. Unlike Martinu who I believe rarely corrected his first thoughts, Beethoven’s manuscripts show constant crossings-out and revisions. But the sense of seamless invention remains. Simply, he is just amazing, rivalled only by Schubert in his confidence about what he wants to do.

A lot of pleasure from my recordings derives from the pianist, Paul Lewis who says that he tries to make Beethoven the centre of his performance rather than himself. "I think Beethoven, when he writes, has a certain idea in mind, and he doesn't care how he achieves that’ he said in an interview by the Los Angeles Times "He makes it your problem. He makes indications of what you're aiming at, but he doesn't make it easy." Whereas a composer like Chopin, Lewis said in the same interview, expresses himself through the notes on the score, with Beethoven there is much more. The famous ‘Hammerklavier’ sonata, for instance, he says, is about strain, and demands it from the performer. "The awkwardness, the extreme difficulty of it, is essential to its character," he says. "You have to feel that you're grinding, pushing yourself to the limit, and maybe a little bit beyond it."

I have really enjoyed this exercise, and listening to the sonatas in order of composition, moving from the classical traditions of Haydn and Mozart to the more extrovert and surely autobiographical compositions of the late sonatas, is an experience in itself. He travels beyond any received pattern, movements of an unequal length, just two of them sometimes, often (especially in the last three) with massive finales. In all this you meet the man.

I’ve just finished listening to those last three, all conceived at about the same time and in the last six or so years of his life. I was especially moved by the very last movement of the three, which is a sort of threnody on all his music for me, but also the third movement of No.30 (Opus 109) which consists of six variations on a choral theme, with an exquisite quiet ending.

So, despite what I see as his aggression, if it’s possible to be re-converted, that’s what I am. Indeed Beethoven is, the ‘monarch’ of his profession.

B.R.