Tag: Classical

Zimmermann | Vaňhal : Bassoon concertos
Ondřej Šindelář & Sergio Azzolini bassoons, Risonanza Praga
75:17
Supraphon SU 4375-2

Of the two composers here, the better-known name is that of Jan Křtitel Vaňhal, born in the Hradec Králové region of Bohemia in 1739. His biography is fairly sketchy. Vaňhal’s initial musical training and experience in the 1750s being as an organist and choirmaster in the region of his birth, but later he was sent to Vienna to study courtesy of a countess who had noted his talent. The list of compositions composed during the time Vaňhal spent in Vienna is extensive, but particularly noted for the symphonies he composed there, in excess of 100 were written at much the same time Haydn was writing his middle period symphonies at Eszterháza. According to Charles Burney, the symphonies of Vaňhal at one time headed Haydn’s for popularity in England. The Bassoon Concerto in C is a relatively recently discovered work found in the archives of Prague Conservatoire, one of two bassoon concertos by Vaňhal in that key. It is by some way the most ambitious of the three works on the present CD, being scored for an orchestra that includes trumpets and timpani, though as might be expected the central Adagio cantabile dispenses with them to enable a rhapsodic lyricism that contrasts effectively with the outer movements. Ondřej Šindelář‘s playing here demonstrates one of the major assets of his splendid technique – the ability to draw and shape long cantabile lines with gracious ease. The only complaint, and it applies to all the concertos, is that cadenzas are too lengthy, in addition to being somewhat eccentric, including fragmentary little phrases that are presumably intended to remind the listener that the bassoon is capable of humour but belong to the 21st rather than the 18th century.

Anton Zimmermann is a much less familiar name, having been born in Breitenau (Silesia), today Široká Niva in 1741. In 1763 he is mentioned as a ‘highly respected’ organist at the cathedral in Hradec Králové. In 1770, he would move to Pressburg, now Bratislava, where he would remain for the rest of his life. There he became Kapellmeister and court composer to the Archbishop of Hungary, at whose behest Zimmermann created an orchestra said by the musicologist J N Forkel to be ‘in the very first place, ahead of Joseph Haydn’s orchestra at Esterháza’. Although listed in Supraphon’s booklet as being a work of Zimmermann, it seems the outer movements of the Concerto in F for two bassoons may in fact be by Vanhal, since they are identical to those of his own double concerto. The booklet notes suggest several possible answers to this conundrum, none especially persuasive. Leaving questions as to who composed what aside, the expansive opening movement allows plenty of scope for the two players to indulge in lyrical unison passages contrasted with spirited imitation, while the central Adagio concentrates on unison cantabile writing. The work concludes with a bubbly finale with particularly felicitous wind writing. Here Šindelář is joined by probably the best-known period bassoonist, Sergio Azzolini, in a performance that combines nimble virtuosity and pure-toned lyricism to advance an excellent argument for this fine concerto.

However, both the concertos discussed above have to give way to Zimmermann’s Concerto in F, an entrancing work that, for all its modest pretensions, has an easy galant charm not matched in either of the other concertos. Notable, too, is the wind writing which, particularly in the opening Moderato, is engagingly interleaved with the solo bassoon. The central Adagio has a touching beauty, which like hints in the Moderato does not preclude moments of melancholy, while the final enters more dramatic territory, allowing for bravura passages excellently played by Šindelář. Throughout, he is given fine support by the Prague period instrument orchestra. The CD as a whole is a fine addition to the catalogue, while bassoonists in search of repertoire are strongly advised to look at the F-major Zimmermann concerto, a real gem.

Brian Robins

Javier Bonet natural horn, La Real Cámara, directed by Emilio Moreno
73:22
Lbs Classics

We tend to think of Mozart’s horn concertos as a tidy and entertaining group of four works composed for a long-standing family friend, Joseph Leutgeb. They are in fact nothing of the kind, having been the subject of musicological detective work almost since the composer’s own time. Take, for example, the Concerto in D, K 412 & K 386b, known as No. 1, once thought to have been composed in 1782, but later shown by paper dating to have been left unfinished in 1791, the year of Mozart’s death. One fragment, the central Rondo, and a movement not included on the present CD, was completed the following year by Mozart’s pupil, Franz Xavier Süssmayr. What is included is a repeat performance of the final Rondo with the humorous running commentary Mozart added in Italian to the manuscript, much of it insulting comments directed at his friend Leutgeb, who one imagines laughing so much that he has difficulty playing his instrument – ‘Take a breath’… ‘Go, on’… ‘This is a little better’ … and so forth are among the more refined examples. Here the comments are read by the Italian actor Carlo Gianneschi; it was a happy idea to print them translated, Mozart’s scatology and all.

Another fascinating piece of ‘mozartiana’ is the fragment of a Concerto in E, K494a. Started probably at the end of 1785 or early 1786, the fully-scored and expansive exposition is on a scale that suggests this will be the most ambitious and mature of the horn concertos. But a few bars after the soloist’s entry, the orchestra just stops, to be joined in silence by the horn a few bars further on. At least one attempt has been made to continue the fragment (Roger Montgomery on Signum), but here it is played as Mozart left it, creating a mystery around the would-be work that is both poignant and quizzical. Abounding with sufficient thematic riches for two concertos, the mystery is compounded by the fact that apparently Leutgeb knew nothing about it when Mozart’s widow Constanze showed it to him. One further work that needs explanation is the two-movement Concerto in E flat, K370b and K371, composed around the time Mozart moved to Vienna in 1781 and therefore the earliest of his horn concertos. The score was left with incomplete orchestration, a slow movement lacking altogether. Its subsequent history included being cut up as a Mozart souvenir and the rediscovery of some 60 missing bars as recently as 1991. The present performance is played in a reconstruction by Robert Levin. The nature of the solo writing, which includes octave leaps and is certainly different from the Leutgeb works, has led at least one commentator to the conclusion that it is the one horn concerto not composed for Mozart’s friend. But that perhaps also applies to K494a?

One of the most prized assets of a horn player’s technique was an ability to play legato with a smooth, continuous tone. Javier Bonet quotes the Mercure de France on the subject of Joseph Leutgeb, the publication noting that he ‘sings the adagios as perfectly as the smoothest, most interesting and most precise voice would’. It’s an encomium I’m more than happy to bestow on Bonet too, since although he displays a fine technique and the necessary agility where Mozart asks for it, something not always guaranteed – ‘There you go again, torturing me …’, it is the purity of line and vocal quality of the lyrical writing that remain longest in the mind. One need listen no further than the lyrical opening of K370b to be impressed not only by the cantabile line but the glowing warmth and affection of Bonet’s playing. Only in some of the cadenzas would I part company with him, since his playing at times carries them beyond stylistic bounds and length. The orchestra playing under Emilio Moreno, a doyen of the Spanish early music scene, is stylish and fully supportive

This is a thoroughly enjoyable CD, obviously made and played not just with a high level of musicality but also with affection. ‘O damn you, you’re talented!’, to quote Mozart again.

Brian Robins

Dmitri Smirnov violin, Kammerorchester Basel, conducted by Giovanni Antonini
73:55
Alpha Classics 1146

The 17th in the splendid series of the complete Haydn symphonies directed by Giovanni Antonini features him directing one of the two orchestras he is working with (the other is of course his own Il Giardino Armonico) in three early symphonies from the 1760s. But as anyone familiar with the cycle will be aware, it is valuable not only for the symphonies, but also the tasty extras generally thrown into each selection. Here, the CD takes its name from the dedication Haydn wrote to the violinist Luigi Tomasini at the head of his Violin Concerto in C – ‘fatto per il luigi’ (composed for Luigi). Tomasini joined the Esterházy orchestra as leader in 1761, the same year as Haydn became vice-Kapellmeister, and the undated concerto probably belongs to much the same period. In his early years at Esterházy Haydn diplomatically composed many solos in his orchestral works to allow his players to make an impression, the most famous example of course being the ‘times of the day’, trilogy, Symphonies 6, 7 & 8.

Tomasini was something of a capture for Esterházy, an outstanding virtuoso capable of double-stopping with perfect intonation and the possessor of a beautiful, Italianate tone that allowed him to play long, cantabile lines with sustained purity. Both these assets are unsurprisingly fully exploited by Haydn, with double-stopping from the outset of the rather dignified opening Allegro moderato to the aria-like sustained sotto voce of the lovely central Adagio. The third movement is a delightfully bouncy Presto that calls for plenty of double-stopping and considerable agility from the soloist. These demands are met in exemplary fashion by Dimitri Smirnov, a semi-finalist in the 2024 Queen Elisabeth Competition (Brussels), whose unwaveringly sustained lines in the Adagio are particularly admirable. I did wonder if perhaps his cadenza in the opening movement was a little over-elaborate for a work of these proportions, but it’s a relatively minor point in the context of such outstanding playing.

Taken together, the three symphonies included, No 16 in B flat (c.1763), No 36 in E flat (c.1761-2) and No 13 in D (1763), provide a compelling explanation as to why so many music lovers regard Haydn with such affection. There are no masterpieces here, just good humour in spades, an abundance of spirit and energy, affectionately-shaped slower movements, and minuets that seem to belong as much to a country dance as they do to a court ballroom (No. 16 has in fact no minuet and only three movements). But, if not yet a masterpiece, there is one of these symphonies that does point toward the gradual emergence of a master. This is Symphony No 13, composed during a period when Haydn had four horns available at Esterházy. The composer took full advantage to open the symphony with strikingly rich sonorities – wind and horns over an urgent, driving string ostinato. The remainder of the symphony confirms it as something special among Haydn’s early works. The Adagio cantabile (ii) is one of those concertante movements in which the composer gave one of his outstanding instrumentalists a notable solo role, in the present case the cellist Joseph Weigl, who was also given a solo role in the central Andante of Symphony No 16. The final movement of No 13 has become famous for sharing the four-note Gregorian motif in the finale of Mozart’s Symphony No 41, ’Jupiter’, where it of course forms the basis for the extraordinary contrapuntal last movement. Haydn shows less inclination to treat it fugally – though there are hints – writing a movement equally divided between counterpoint and homophonic drive and energy.

The performances throughout attain the high standard that have become a feature of the series, being lithe, witty and pointed in quicker movements, while featuring playing always responsive to Antonini’s Italianate warmth in andantes and adagios. Just occasionally, as in previous issues, he gives cause to wonder if he gets lured into tempi that are a little too fast for the music, if not for his superb orchestras. Here, the final Allegro molto of the E flat Symphony is an example. But in truth the overall level of performance in this splendid series is making life increasingly difficult for the would-be critic!

Brian Robins