Monthly Archives: April 2004

101 Movie Themes and Songs

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DECCA 9816782 (7-CD)
TPT: 7:53:53

 reviewed by Neville Cohn

With SBS’s Movie Show having come to an end in its 18th year (after modest beginnings), the popular, long-running program hosted by David Stratton and Margaret Pomeranz is re-locating to ABC’s Channel 2. So this lavish, 7-CD set of 101 themes and songs from the movies becomes at one and the same time, the show hosts’ farewell to SBS (and one can only speculate on the ruefulness of SBS managers as their hugely popular cinema commentators vacate their Channel 28 chairs) and marvellous publicity for their move to ABC TV.

The set (running in excess of seven hours) covers movie music for the 80-year period 1933 to 2002. Why, one wonders, did the set not include movie music from the first-ever talkie with Al Jolson singing Mammy in The Jazz Singer (1927)? And it’s surely an oversight to have completely ignored films of the silent era because movies of the day were hardly ever entirely silent.

True, motion pictures of that era had no sound tracks as we understand them now but, more often than not, special music was composed for each movie and made available in arrangements that ranged from large orchestras (which played in the great movie palaces of the time) to ensembles of two or three (or even a lone piano) for screenings in small cinemas or church halls in towns and villages that had no dedicated cinema premises.

Paradoxically, the finest movie music isn’t represented in this collection because being so inextricably associated with the overall cinema experience, so perfectly complementing the visual aspect and establishing mood that, away from the movie it’s written for, it cannot survive in its own right. Like a fish out of water, such music, taken out of its cinematic context, is instantly in trouble and in very real danger of dying.

But there is a good deal of fine music purpose-written for the movies that does have a healthy and enduring existence away from the cinema, and there’s much of this in the collection.

Another very significant body of music on movie soundtracks consists of already-established music from the classics that assumes another life, sometimes very vigorous, and reaching sometimes millions of cinemagoers who might otherwise have remained ignorant of the existence of such music. One of the most famous examples is that of the slow movement of Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No 2 played, on screen, by famed Australian pianist Eileen Joyce in Brief Encounter (1946).

Then there are those many individual themes, purpose-written for a particular movie that are so instantly communicative that they haunt the mind forever: Lawrence of Arabia, The Wizard of Oz and Breakfast at Tiffany’s (Moon River).

Less frequently encountered are those scores, specifically written for movies, that are so musically substantial that they not only go on to an independent existence but find a place in the standard repertoire, such as Benjamin Britten’s Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra which is repeatedly performed around the world although the movie for which it was composed (in a series underwritten by Britain’s General Post Office!) has sunk into oblivion.

The compilers of 101 Themes must have invested an extraordinary amount of time to rummage through the archives to obtain some of the most meaningful recordings to make up this 7-CD set. It’s a wonderfully varied compendium with something to please even the most fussy listener with track one devoted to music for the original King Kong (1933) with its extravagant flourishes and striding motif that’s just the ticket for evoking images of this most savage of all movie gorillas.

Take your pick from the remaining 100 tracks – the eerie tread of Franz Waxman’s music for Bride of Frankenstein (1935), Irving Berlin’s unforgettable Top Hat, White Tie and Tails from the 1935 movie Top Hat, the touching love music for An Affair to Remember(1957), the sheer barbaric splendour of Miklos Rozsa’s score for Ben Hur (1959) – and Jean-Yves Thibaudet playing Chopin’s posthumous Nocturne in C sharp minor for Polanski’s 2002 movie The Pianist.

There’s also a bonus track of Stratton and Pomeranz in discussion.

All the films from which tracks were drawn from this set are listed in the book 101 Movies You Must See Before You Die (ABC Books).

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn


Imogen Cooper & friends

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Imogen Cooper (piano); Alfred Brendel (piano); Raphel Oleg (violin); Sonia Wieder-Atherton (cello); Australian Chamber Orchestra, Richard Tognetti (director); Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Sir Neville Marriner (conductor)
Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Robert Schumann, Clara Schumann, Brahms, Wolf, Rachmaninov

Philips 476 209-5 (3-CD)
TPT: 3:54:03

   reviewed by Neville Cohn 

In the minds of many music enthusiasts, pianist Imogen Cooper is inextricably and exclusively associated with the music of Mozart and Schubert. So this compilation is welcome in that it features Cooper playing, not only Mozart and Schubert, but also works by Beethoven, Robert and Clara Schumann, Brahms, Wolf and Rachmaninov, most of it in association with other musicians.

Perhaps the most satisfying offering overall is an account of Rachmaninov’s Sonata for cello and piano, page after page presented with an understanding of style and sensitivity to tone and mood that are utterly persuasive. The near-flawless quality of the presentation is all the more remarkable when one takes into consideration that for much of the recording, Cooper was in such pain (from a trapped spinal nerve, eventually diagnosed by an MRI scan) that she had frequently to bite her lip to prevent her crying out. And inbetween takes, it was necessary for her to lie prone on the floor as this gave some relief from severe discomfort.

Despite this, the recording is a joy from start to finish, the clarity and refinement with which both the piano and cello parts are essayed quite revelatory. And a complete avoidance of honeyed sentimentality on the one hand and tasteless lapses into vulgarity on the other helps make this recording by Cooper and cellist Sonia Wieder-Atherton an interpretation to savour. I particularly liked the scherzo which comes across like a dance for phantoms – and the romantic ardour which informs the playing in the finale is everything one could have wished it to be.

In a solo capacity, Cooper is magical in two Brahms Intermezzi, Opus 116 No 2, a little miracle of tenderness and glowing tone – and Opus 116 No 6 is no less satisfying. More often than not, and in lesser hands, the latter can sound turgid and dense-textured. Here, for once, its lyrical ideas are presented with rare clarity, its essence captured like a butterfly in the gentlest of hands. Has Cooper recorded more of these miniatures? If not, she should.

Cooper is frankly magnificent in Schubert’s Sonata No 21 in B flat, D 960. In the first movement, she is a master guide taking us on a journey across one of the composer’s most sombre landscapes. Listen, too, to the poignancy of Cooper’s account of the slow movement and how masterfully she is able to maintain a sense of onward momentum at very slow speed. It’s a remarkable feat of musicianship. And the carefree high spirits that are the essence of the Scherzo make for listening of a most satisfying sort. In evoking the unclouded happiness of the finale, Cooper takes up an interpretative standpoint at the emotional epicentre of the music.

There’s more delight in Schubert’s Trio in B flat, D898, the first movement splendidly full-blooded and the following Andante fastidiously mined for every ingot of melodic and harmonic beauty. Here, it is as if Cooper, Raphael Oleg (violin) and Wieder-Atherton (cello) are drawing on a shared musical consciousness. And the jaunty, folksy nature of the scherzo is a perfect foil to the blitheness that the ensemble brings to the opening measures of the finale.

Cooper joins her great mentor Alfred Brendel in Mozart’s Concerto for two pianos, K365. Time has not dulled this famous recording, made in 1977. It’s a joy from start to finish. The finale is given magnificent treatment, the nobility and grandeur of the writing incomparably presented. If ever a recording warranted re-issue, it’s this. So, too, the Concerto for three pianos, K242, here in a version for two pianos. The outer movements are a delight, the intricacies of the finale having all the precision of a fine Swiss watch but not for a moment sounding mechanical or impersonal. The slow movements of both this concerto and K365 are beyond conventional criticism. There’s also a very much more recent Mozart recording; it dates from November 2000, a ‘live’ performance of K595 given by Cooper and the Australian Chamber Orchestra.

The soloist’s poised and elegant treatment of the first movement of K595 is admirable. I very much admired, too, the simplicity with which she presents the Larghetto; blessedly free of artifice, it’s a performance to cherish. So, too, the finale, its blithe, lilting qualities beautifully established.

Cooper is no less persuasive as a lieder accompanist. Her partnership with baritone Wolfgang Holzmair yields some of the compilation’s finest listening. Their performance of Wolf’s Seemanns Abschied has about it a sense of urgency that grips the attention – and the serenity with which Schumann’s Die Lotusblume unfolds sounds intuitively right. And the charm and very real melodic delights of a bracket of Clara Schumann’s
Songs may well be revelatory for those coming to these songs for the first time.

Cyrus Meher-Homji, whose brainchild this 3-CD set is, works tirelessly to retrieve memorable recordings which, for one or other reason, have been dropped from the catalogues. This set of CDs is an instance, especially in relation to some extraordinarily searching lieder interpretations which, thanks to this re-issue, are available to listeners who might not have been aware of their existence. And for those who might have experienced Imogen Cooper’s artistry exclusively in relation to solo work, this set will bring home just how versatile this remarkable musician is.

Highly recommended.

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn

 

 

 

 


Puccini Discoveries

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Turandot: Finale Act III (completed by Luciano Berio); miscellaneous works
Orchestra Sinfonica di Milano Giuseppe Verdi
Riccardo Chailly (conductor)

DECCA 475 320-2
TPT: 1:20:47 

reviewed by Neville Cohn

The third in a series devoted to rescuing music from an undeserved obscurity – the first two focus on Rossini and Verdi respectively – this compilation of mainly, but not exclusively, music written by Puccini as a young man is fascinating fare for those seeking musical rarities.

Even the earliest material, written when the composer was a teenager, shows astonishing confidence and skill in the use of an orchestra, even if the ideas enshrined in these pieces are not in themselves particularly memorable. But these miniatures, way stations en route to creative greatness, provide fascinating listening. It’s treasure trove for collectors.

Consider the Cantata “Cessato il suon dell’armi”. It is very uneven with a trite rom-pom-pom quality but worth listening to for its virtuoso trumpeting and some wonderfully ardent singing by tenor Joseph Calleja. It wasn’t until as recently as 2003 that Puccini’s granddaughter Simonetta disclosed that she was in possession of some of the work’s performance parts, possibly in her grandfather’s hand.

There’s also a potpourri of themes from La Boheme played – most expressively and with a fine feel for tonal shadings – by a concert band. And a similar line-up tackles the noisy and trashy march-like Scossa elettrica with gusto. Trivia collectors would doubtless be interested to know that the latter was written for a convention of telegraphists in 1899. The title translates as ‘electric shock’!

Inno a Roma, just under three-and-a-half minutes long and the last piece Puccini completed before his death, is given a beautifully expressive reading. The composer didn’t care much for it, though, once dismissing it as “a fine mess”. Also recorded is Preludio a Orchestra, believed to be the composer’s earliest surviving composition, long believed lost but in 1999, the city of Lucca (where Puccini was born) purchased the original manuscript, now placed on disc for the first time. It shows astonishingly precocious handling of the orchestra.

Another curiosity is Salve Regina for soprano and organ, the latter played by Roberto de Thierry who provides a fine, understated accompaniment to soprano Chiara Taigi’s vocal line, which is somewhat marred by some wavering on sustained notes. (Puccini subsequently incorporated this into his first opera Le Villi.)

Organist de Thierry also features in Requiem for chorus, solo viola and organ ­ five-and-a-half minutes’ worth – although Gabriele Mugnai’s solo viola line is not always in tune.

Vexilla for men’s chorus and organ is trite tripe but certainly worth including in this compilation if only to show that the master was not always masterly. It was written at the time the young Puccini was playing in a dance band! And surely only for the very most dedicated collectors of trivia is Puccini’s Ecce sacerdos magnus for a cappella choir, all 25 seconds of it!

Far and away the most substantial offering – and worth having the disc if only for this – is Luciano Berio’s completion of Turandot. It’s a magnificent offering, the tragic splendour of the finale quite marvellously suggested; the brass is in superb form and does much to underscore the exotic nature of the episode, fine organ playing adding a fitting sense of grandeur. Eva Urbanova is beyond criticism in the eponymous role. This track is a world premiere recording as is much else on the disc such as Preludio a Orchestra, very much a prentice work, and the two pieces for concert band.

Motteto per San Paolino for baritone solo, chorus and orchestra was the first ever of Puccini’s works to be publicly performed; it’s worth paying attention to if only for that reason even if, despite a top performance, the music comes across as predictable, cliched and tedious.

Adagetto (which the young Puccini later recycled for use in his opera Edgar) is played in an appealingly expressive way, the hitherto unpublished manuscript transcribed for this world premiere recording by Riccardo Chailly who also added a closing chord.

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn

 

The Waltzing Cat (Leroy Anderson)

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Piano Concerto; The Typewriter; Sleigh Ride; Blue Tango: The Syncopated Clock; Chicken Reel; Fiddle Faddle et al
Melbourne Symphony Orchestra: Paul Mann (conductor)
Simon Tedeschi (piano)

ABC Classics 476 158-9
TPT: 1:08:04

  reviewed by Neville Cohn 

Millions around the world are familiar with the music of Leroy Anderson without necessarily knowing his name. And for much of the 1950s, when his music was at the height of its popularity, Anderson made a fortune from performing royalties.

And as eminent Australian-born, now USA-based, art critic Robert Hughes has pointed out, Anderson’s music became as much a part of the national consciousness of the USA as Norman Rockwell’s cover illustrations for the now defunct Saturday Evening Post.

His engaging music, for the most part, has never lost its popularity; it is still frequently heard, mainly on radio. And just as the SEP brought Rockwell huge fame, so, for Anderson, did the Boston Pops Orchestra which, under Arthur Fiedler’s direction, gave innumerable performances of his music – and placed a good deal of it on gramophone records that sold in huge quantities.

While Anderson was a student at Harvard, his teachers included George Enescu; he flourished under the older man’s guidance. Versatile as well as gifted, Anderson played organ, piano, tuba, trombone and double bass.

After being ‘discovered’ by Fiedler in the 1930s, Anderson was invited to write a piece for the Boston Pops annual Harvard Night performance. Jazz Pizzicato was the result and the rest, as they say, is history. Anderson never looked back, leaving the world a precious legacy of orchestral delights, music that is unfailingly sunny and optimistic, miniatures without a trace of sadness, regret, violence or anxiety.

His music has worn well; his pieces sound as fresh and engaging as they ever did. Who over the age of, say, 60 years, can listen to delights such as The Typewriter or Blue Tango without experiencing a rush of nostalgia?

Anderson was at his most effective as a miniaturist, turning out a stream of short pieces, like the delightful Waltzing Cat or Bugler’s Holiday, compact compositions that lodged as much in the heart as the mind of legions of listeners. They defined an era.

But that sure touch was absent when Anderson embarked on larger scale works. His Piano Concerto in C lacks the magic of his miniatures – and not even the very considerable virtuosity of soloist Simon Tedeschi can disguise the inherent dullness of the concerto. Interestingly, a musical, Goldilocks, ran for 169 performances on Broadway even though the critics clobbered it.

Conductor Paul Mann, the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra and the recording engineers have together produced one of ABC Classics most charming and engaging issues in some time.

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn

 

Magdalena Kozena (mezzo soprano) and friends

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Chansons madecasses (Ravel);

Satires (Shostakovich);

Il Tramonto (Respighi);

Drei Stimmungsbilder (Schulhoff);

A Charm of Lullabies (Britten)

DG 471 581-2

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

Magdalena Kozena’s voice is a remarkable instrument – and in this compilation, it does her bidding to an extraordinarily meaningful degree.Respighi’s Il Tramonto is a perfect vehicle for displaying it to advantage. Listen to the skill with which she is able to sustain a note without loss of power or weakening of intonation while producing a stream of sound that caresses the ear. There is about the singing here a serene, contemplative quality that sounds intuitively right; it blends beautifully with the corporate sound of the Henschel Quartet.Kozena’s account of Britten’s A Charm of Lullabies to Malcolm Martineau’s unfailingly stylish accompaniments at the piano, is frankly magical. I particularly admired her account of The Highland Balou to words of Robbie Burns. With its gentle Scotch snap, Kozena’s vocal line has a velvety mellow quality to which Martineau responds with exquisite backing. On the other hand, A Charm (which, with its references to horned hags, would surely be frightening for a young child before lights are put off for the night) seems grossly unsuitable as a lullaby – but then, Britten had no children and perhaps simply could not imagine that a father, with an instinct to protect and shield a child from harm and fear, could never inflict so unsuitable a song on a child being lulled to sleep.

Similarly unsuitable for little children, surely, is Nurse’s Song, more menacing than soothing. But Kozema and Martineau are beyond reproach in that in each case they take up an interpretative position at the emotional epicentre of the music. This is artistry of the highest order.

Of Ravel’s Madagascan songs, it is the second in the cycle – Cries – that makes for rivetting listening from its initial crashing chord that calls attention to a terrible tale of violence visited upon the largely defenceless native Madagascans by French colonisers. This song, with its undercurrent of horror, is flanked by pieces of a very different stripe: the first, a love song is given near-ecstatic treatment – and the languor which informs Il est doux is very convincingly evoked.

A generous compilation includes three songs by Erwin Schulhoff who died, tragically young, in a nazi concentration camp in 1942. Close your eyes, to the accompaniment of piano and Christoph Henschel’s sweet-toned violin, comes across as the apotheosis of sadness. And of a bracket of songs by Shostakovich, it is The Critic that lodges most firmly in the mind with its bitter, withering attack

In this compilation, Kozena proves herself that rarity among singers: she sounds utterly persuasive no matter what language she sings in. This, in addition to a no-less-infrequently encountered ability to mine everything she approaches for the subtlest of interpretative nuances, places her in a special category of excellence.

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn