On paper – Steven Isserlis – The Bach Cello Suites: A Companion (Faber)

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reviewed by Ben Hogwood

What’s the story?

Ask Steven Isserlis the music he would take to a desert island, and his answer would surely be the six Bach Cello Suites. The cellist has lived with their music all his adult life, and having released his award-winning recording of them for Hyperion in 2007, he now expresses his deep love and admiration for them in written form.

What’s the book like?

In a word, invigorating. Having lived with the suites myself for 35+ years as an amateur cellist, your reviewer is very much a convert – but reading this gave me enthusiasm anew, for Isserlis reveals new treasures about this wonderful music at every turn.

Crucially he does this in a way that will appeal to cellists and non-cellists alike, and even those who struggle with musical terms. A helpful glossary is on hand to help here, but so is an introduction that sets out this celebration of six works where mystery, expression and originality walk hand-in-hand.

The origins of the suites are shrouded in mystery, right down to their authorship. Isserlis tackles these questions head-on, in a wholly compelling way. He confronts the doubts, examines the existing performing editions, and looks at the role of Bach’s second wife Anna Magdalena in their publication, all without getting too bogged down in musicology. There is healthy but qualified assumption and speculation, made as a music lover but backed up with firm arguments from Bach scholars past and present.

Isserlis looks at the construction of each suite in great detail, marvelling at Bach’s consistent marriage of mathematical precision and emotional outpouring. He uses the scholarly texts but also leans heavily and most enjoyably on his perspective from the pure, musical instinct of a performer. This approach lifts the music from the page, frequently inspiring the reader to listen along.

This instinct leads to a central, compelling case for a subtext for the suites, describing the life of Christ in a way that can be keenly experienced by the listener but which also makes a great deal of musical sense, with the caveat that the cellist’s conclusions are largely speculative.

What is beyond doubt is the technical mastery shown by Bach in writing for the cello, and the inspiration that flowed so readily and so inevitably in writing the suites, lifting the instrument and its potential to a higher plain. The six suites are remarkable pieces both individually and collectively, as are the six movements of each – and Isserlis brings them to life as he writes. He celebrates their role in the life of any cellist while also, under his breath, lightly cursing some of the technical difficulties as the cycle progresses.

Readers can opt to take the book from start to finish, taking in each of the 36 movements, but the layout rewards repeat visits to dip in to individual parts and elements of their composition. This is ideal not just for serious, practicing cellists but also for individual listener preferences.

Does it all work?

Yes, in several ways. Isserlis is a fluent and passionate writer, putting the music first at all times, so that reading the book will almost always lead to a first hand encounter with the music. That is the surest guide to success for any book on music, surely!

Is it recommended?

Yes, on pretty much every level. For cellists – either full or part-time, like your reviewer – this book is essential and thought-provoking reading. It reveals afresh the many delights to be found in experiencing this wonderful music, and will also make you want to listen to more Bach, the choral works especially, to explore the fascinating parallels drawn between these and the suites.

Non-cellists should not hesitate to approach the book either, for there are many entertaining and thoughtful stories in the book that prove richly rewarding.

This is a fine achievement, celebrating a body of work that all cellists hold dear. The music lifts from the page and into our homes with an easy candour and compelling storytelling. It is a wonderful achievement.

On record – Lindberg: Aura, Marea & Related Rocks (Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra / Hannu Lintu) (Ondine)

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Lindberg
Aura (1993-4)
Related Rocks (1997)
Marea (Tide) (1989-90)

Emil Holmström, Joonas Ahonen (pianos/keyboards), Jani Niinimäki, Jerry Piipponen (percussion) (all in Related Rocks), Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra / Hannu Lintu

Ondine ODE1384-2 [66’59”]

Producer Laura Heikinheimo; Engineers Anna-Kaisa Kemppi, Antti Pohjola, Enno Mäemets October 2019 and bDecember 2020 at Music Centre, Helsinki

Recorded October 2019 and December 2020 (Marea) at Music Centre, Helsinki

Written by Richard Whitehouse

What’s the story?

Ondine continues its extensive coverage of Magnus Lindberg with this retrospective volume of works mainly written in the 1990s; at a time when the Finnish composer was moving away from his overtly avant-garde stance to an accommodation with the contemporary mainstream.

What’s the music like?

It was when Lindberg was writing Aura that Lutosławski died, hence the memorial dedication of a piece which represents a conscious summation of what the younger composer had striven for to that time. Its almost 40-minute duration and its division into four movements led some commentators to attribute a symphonic conception; something that the predicating of gestural over motivic continuity effectively refutes. That said, the initial section does have a feeling of exposition in its respective dynamism and stasis; ultimately arriving at a seismic unison chord from which its successor unfolds along the lines of ‘slow movement’ with an initial emphasis on the rhetorical interplay of brass and strings, followed by an evocative episode with tuned percussion and woodwind to the fore. Another unison leads to the third section, its animated motion nominally akin to a scherzo though with only a halting momentum on the way to the final section; a finale inasmuch as it takes the piece through to a threnodic conclusion, albeit with only a tangential bringing of the overall structure formally and expressively full circle.

Although the trajectory of Lindberg’s output thereafter was toward greater harmonic clarity and tonal directness, there have been numerous ‘curve balls’ – not least Related Rocks with its electronic gloss on the favourite modernist line-up of two pianos and two percussionists. Nor is there anything remotely proscriptive about one of this composer’s most effervescent and playful works (not least via a doubtless coincidental allusion at one point to the theme-tune of the 1970s snooker programme Pot Black), as retains its appeal a quarter-century on.

Finally, to Marea – central piece in an informal trilogy of works for chamber orchestra that exemplify Lindberg’s music towards the end of his first decade of creative maturity. At just 12 minutes, it might also be considered a template for those curtain-raisers often found in the composer’s recent output; though the level of incident and intricacy of texture, underpinned by an upward-striving trajectory, evinces a simplification too often replaced by superficiality once the composer arrived at an idiom lending itself gratefully to international commissions.

Does it all work?

Mainly, given Lindberg was seeking to extend his musical language onto a wider expressive canvas without veering towards the diluted idiom often informing his idiom thenceforth. No doubt that, whatever its formal issues, Aura stands among of the crucial orchestral works of its period and Hannu Lintu’s take is a worthy successor to the pioneering account from Oliver Knussen (DG). Marea summons a feisty response by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, while those keyboardists and percussionists render Related Rocks with scintillating virtuosity.

Is it recommended?

Indeed. Those who dislike the rebarbative feel of Lindberg’s early music or are unpersuaded by his latter-day output ought to find something worth engaging with in these pieces. Neither the high-impact sound nor booklet notes by Kimmo Korhonen leaves anything to be desired.

Listen

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You can discover more about this release at the Ondine website. You can read more about Lindberg here. The Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra are here, and their conductor Hannu Lintu’s website can be accessed by clicking here.

In concert – CBSO Centre Stage: Schubert String Quintet

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Schubert String Quintet in C major D956 (1828)

CBSO Soloists [Kate Suthers and Bryony Morrison (violins), Amy Thomas (viola), Miguel Fernandes and Helen Edgar (cellos)]

CBSO Centre, Birmingham
Thursday 10 February 2022 2pm

Written by Richard Whitehouse

Just one work in this afternoon’s Centre Stage but, given this was Schubert’s String Quintet, no-one could complain of being short-changed. Music, moreover, that has featured regularly in recitals given by members of the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra over the years (not least the first live performance for this reviewer, given at the Birmingham and Midland Institute in the early 1980s as the second half of an imposing programme which opened with Brahms’s First Sextet) and that remains an emotionally involving experience like few others.

Pacing this work so its textural richness is allowed full rein without any loss of momentum is at least half the story, not least an opening movement whose contrasting themes need to find expressive accord from the outset. The present account succeeded handsomely in this respect, not least by varying the balance between these themes in the repeat of the exposition, and if the development marginally lost focus in its earlier stages, the heightened lead-back into the reprise brought an emotional frisson almost matched by the stark conclusiveness of the coda.

Whether or not the finest movement as to actual content, the Adagio is often the highlight of a performance – those outer sections shot through with a yearning regret which was tangibly in evidence. While the central episode could have been even more agitated, the spellbinding transition into the initial music was unerringly judged. Nor was anything amiss in the contrast between the Scherzo and its trio; the former bracingly impetuous, the latter inwardly fatalistic (and making the most of those rapturous two-cello sonorities) without ever becoming turgid.

If the finale often feels anti-climactic, this is not because of its relative concision but through an inherently Viennese ingratiation as was rightly played down in preference for a rhythmic forthrightness maintained through to a close that conveyed defiance as much as decisiveness. It duly set the seal on an impressive reading as drew an enthusiastic response from the near-capacity house. Hopefully an equally sizable attendance will be in evidence for next Friday evening’s recital, featuring Bach and Piazzolla, which comes courtesy of El Ultimo Tango.

You can read more about that next Centre Stage recital, and book tickets, on the CBSO website

On record – Vasks: Oboe Concerto, Message & Lauda (Albrecht Mayer, Latvian National Symphony Orchestra / Andris Poga) (Ondine)

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Vasks
Oboe Concerto (2018)
Message (Vēstijums) (1982)
Lauda (1985)

Albrecht Mayer (oboe), Latvian National Symphony Orchestra / Andris Poga

Ondine ODE1355-2 [68’37”]

Producer / Engineer Normunds Šnē

Recorded 16-17 and 20-21 July 2020 at Great Guild Hall, Riga

Written by Richard Whitehouse

What’s the story?

Ondine continues its coverage of Pēteris Vasks (b1946) with this release featuring his recent Oboe Concerto, alongside pieces from the 1980s, in what is a viable overview of the music of his maturity and reminder of his status as the leading Latvian composer of his generation.

What’s the music like?

Premiered in October 2018 with the performers on this recording, the Oboe Concerto is the seventh concertante work Vasks has written (his third for woodwind) and, at over 33 minutes, is on a sizable scale. Of its three movements, Morning pastorale has a preludial function in the way that the soloist emerges gently and wistfully against a discreet orchestral backdrop. This gradually builds to a climax, at whose apex the Scherzando begins with its lively interplay between soloist and orchestra – at length subsiding into a secondary ‘trio’ theme of piquant elegance. There follows an animated development, culminating (just before mid-point) in a plaintive cadenza then return to the opening music, prior to a coda of some fervency which   is held over at the start of Evening pastorale. The soloist duly comes to the fore for a calm soliloquy, building towards a forceful climax before a return to the mood of the opening and a whimsical leave-taking. A limited range of expression might leave this work seeming over-long but, with Albrecht Mayer pacing it superbly, the larger design more than sustains itself.

Of the two earlier pieces, Message – scored for two pianos, strings and percussion – reflects the impact of minimalist traits in its relatively static harmonies and rhythmic repetition, while Lutosławski (then completing his influential Third Symphony) and Górecki (then in his most overtly minimalist phase) can be detected in passages of textural freedom that afford contrast with those of expressive directness. Vasks himself comes through during the climactic stages, the music’s restrained fervour heightened on the way to a culmination of scintillating impact.

Although only his second major work for full orchestra, Lauda is typical for the way Vasks builds its cumulative structure through a dovetailing of instrumental groupings over a steady rhythmic undertow such that an inexorable momentum comes gradually, even unexpectedly to the fore. The journey is a stealthy and eventful one that draws both modal and plainchant elements into its emotional orbit; with the brass assuming dominance as the title is evoked in a resounding climax which leaves woodwind then strings musing plaintively in its wake.

Does it all work?

Yes, in the main. Whatever the stylistic variety across his output of several decades, Vasks remains a relatively self-effacing composer who never seeks to gain listeners’ attention by overly demonstrative means. His is rather an incremental and slow-burning approach which yields its musical rewards often in retrospect, as is true of the Oboe Concerto and – albeit to   a lesser degree – of those other works here. It helps that the playing of the Latvian National Symphony Orchestra, under the assured direction of Andris Poga, is so attuned to his music.

Is it recommended?

Yes, and not only to those who have already acquired previous releases from this source. The sound is up to Ondine’s usual standards in its clarity and realism, along with detailed booklet notes from Orests Silabriedis. Hopefully Vasks’s recent Sixth Quartet will be recorded soon.

Listen

Buy

You can discover more about this release at the Ondine website. You can read more about Vasks here, and click here to read more on soloist Albrecht Mayer. The Latvian National Symphony Orchestra are here, while conductor Andris Poga’s website can be accessed by clicking here.

In concert – Mao Fujita, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra / Vasily Petrenko – Dani Howard, Rachmaninov & Holst’s ‘The Planets’

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Howard Ellipsis (2021) [RPO Commission: World Premiere]
Rachmaninov Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op. 43 (1934)
Holst The Planets, Op. 32 (1914-17)

Mao Fujita (piano, above), Royal College of Music Chamber Choir, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra / Vasily Petrenko (below)

Royal Festival Hall, London
Thursday 3 February 2022

Written by Richard Whitehouse. Photo credit (Mao Fujita) Vyacheslav Prokofyev / Getty Images

Great British Music is the theme underlying the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra’s current series of concerts at Royal Festival Hall – a major work of the earlier 20th century complemented by music elsewhere in Europe and, in this instance, a commission from a young British composer.

Her output widely championed, not least by the RPO’s new music director Vasily Petrenko, Dani Howard is already master of the curtain-raiser. Hence the engaging yet never superficial effect of Ellipsis – her tribute to this orchestra in its 75th anniversary which alludes to various pieces and personages in its history, with a deftness that made for an appealing if not overly memorable listen. Not in doubt, though, was the keen motivic resource with which the piece unfolded from its fanfare-like opening bars towards the fervent apotheosis at its culmination.

Only caution through its origins in borrowed material can have prevented Rachmaninov from designating Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini as his ‘Fifth Piano Concerto’. Certainly, those volatile mood-swings of its initial 15 variations, inward rapture of the next three then tensile incisiveness of the closing six variations constitute a three-movement design whose Classical proportions are informed by the developmental ingenuity of a later era. Qualities Mao Fujita brought out in notable measure during a performance which lacked little in technical finesse.

One of a handful of pieces whose all-round audacity was the incentive rather than deterrent   to its immediate acceptance, The Planets was destined to prove the defining work of Holst’s career whose sheer impact a century and more has not diminished. Petrenko was evidently keen to emphasize its symphonic dimension through allying its seven movements to a broad consistency of pulse – witness the follow-through from his remorseless while never unduly histrionic take on Mars to his sensuous if never cloying approach to Venus. The former saw a suitably galvanic response from the RPO brass, the latter an elegance and poise from its strings which was no less evident in Petrenko’s lithe Mercury, then a Jupiter whose impetuous outer sections framed an eloquent and unaffected handling of the indelible trio.

Even the (doubtless) spontaneous applause which greeted this most familiar section did not undermine contrast with the emotional starkness of Saturn as it headed towards a climax of wrenching plangency, before finding release in a final stage that was nothing if not cathartic. The only passing disappointment came with Petrenko’s skittish and over-hasty rendering of Uranus, such as forced the martial main theme into a rhythmic straitjacket (for all that the climactic organ glissando made its mark) then detracted from the emptiness of its final bars. Not that this prevented Neptune from casting an otherworldly spell – whether in the modal musing at its start, those ethereal textures near its centre, or the gentle evanescing into which orchestra and wordless voices (the laudable RCM Chamber Choir) withdraw toward its close. If not a revelatory account, this was nevertheless a committed and involving performance that renewed admiration for Holst’s magnum opus as well as reinforcing the overall excellence of the Royal Philharmonic in the early stages of what looks set to be an era of real achievement.

For more information on the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra’s 2021-22 season, visit their website. Meanwhile click on the links for information on the artists Mao Fujita and Vasily Petrenko.