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William Bolcom's ambitious setting of William Blake's complete Songs of Innocence and Experience for soloists, multiple choral forces, and orchestra occupied the composer on and off, beginning as far back as the late 1950s, with most of the work completed between 1973-74 and 1979-82. The composer's renowned eclectic bent makes itself felt in the work's nearly two-and-one-half-hour length. Musical eras, styles, and performance practices leapfrog back and forth in unpredictable progressions, keeping the listener in a constant state of suspense as to what might occur next. For example, in the opening Songs of Innocence, Bolcom's neo-Schoenbergian setting of "The Lamb", replete with difficult, leaping intervals for the soprano soloist (brilliantly dispatched by Measha Brueggergosman), erupts into a thick, dissonant orchestral tutti that gives way to a lazy country-fiddle lament treatment of "The Shepherd". No sooner do Peter "Madcat" Ruth's hoary pipes twang out the tune than a bomb of orchestral cacophony crushes the Grand Ole Opry to smithereens. A brilliant children's chorus ("Infant Joy") emerges from the ruins, insidiously slipping into a funk-watered-down-for-Broadway-consumption groove for "The Little Black Boy". Along the way we also encounter Handel oratorio, peppy English madrigals, Stephen Foster naiveté, Ivesian mysticism, Berio's fractured folk songs, industrial-strength Varèse percussion ensembles, and effective speech-sung passages. Bolcom's thoroughly internalized command of such disparate idioms is matched and arguably surpassed by his gift for transitions, plus his ability for keeping orchestral and choral textures fresh, varied, and always interesting to the ear (his use of the harmonica within delicate string passages, for example). And even when some of his juxtapositions seem a bit far-fetched, such as the finale's bloated Reggae pretensions ("I Shot the Sheriff" versus "Also Sprach Zarathustra"), at least Bolcom knows when long enough is long enough. In general, the longer Songs of Experience section contains darker, more serious selections, although the constant stylistic shifts make it difficult to immediately perceive the dramatic arc implied by Blake's ordering of texts. You couldn't imagine a more varied group of vocal soloists. They run the gamut from Joan Morris' unique cabaret approach and Thomas Young's stentorian yet supple tenor, to Nathan Lee Graham's ringing, focused baritone and Ilona Davidson's attractive, silvery timbre in "The Angel". The numerous choirs and the University of Michigan Orchestra obviously put in serious rehearsal hours (going into overtime, I'll bet), and the sense of occasion hovering over these live performances certainly colors their first-rate contributions. And when you can't help focusing your attention on the music rather than the musicians, as I did, it's clear that Leonard Slatkin's leadership does ample justice to Bolcom's artistic vision and inner ear. Naxos provides full texts plus booklet notes by the composer. -John Disler. |
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K
Other
recommended recording by Slatkin:
Kamen: The New Moon In The
Old Moon's
Arms.
ANDREW MANZE: PORTRAIT
If you're already an Andrew Manze fan, you probably have most if not all of the recordings represented on this compilation (22 tracks from 11 albums, ranging from composers as well-loved as Bach and Vivaldi to the more obscure Pandolfi and Rebel). Even so, hearing these selections back-to-back is a reminder of just how dazzling he is, a virtuoso technician with a limitless imagination. With Manze, there's no need to qualify his talents (something along the lines of "well, he's quite good for one of those early music/period performance fiends"). He's not just a great Baroque violinist; he is among today's pre-eminent musicians, period. And if you haven't delved into his recordings yet, here's a golden opportunity. Even if you do already own his catalog, Portrait is almost worth the budget purchase price for Manze's thoughtful and well-written liner notes. Far from giving a self-serving recitation of his accomplishments, he has provided an absorbing essay that addressses some of the issues surrounding historically informed performance practices as well as his own attraction to the Baroque repertoire. (The highly articulate Manze, who read Classics at Cambridge, is a stark contrast to many other musicians whose educations have been, shall we say, largely limited to the practice room.) Whether Manze is performing solo or with the Academy of Ancient Music, the sound is uniformly crisp and excitingly present.-Anastasa Tsioulcas.
CORELLI VIOLIN SONATE. OP5/ANDREW MANZE, RICHARD EGARR
For a large part of the 20th century violinists learned Baroque sonatas and concertos as glorified exercises (even as justification for having to practice all those scales and arpeggios!), as respected historical foundations that must be stood on and conquered, and ultimately as important landmarks on the path to the "really great" solo works ("Now, my boy, I think you're finally ready for the Mendelssohn!"). In other words, these pieces were not regarded as ends in themselves for the soloist, or certainly not as subjects for involved study. And no one believed such works offered extended possibilities for self-expression. Indeed, students were impressed with an unwritten rule that in this repertoire, you were to just "play the notes". Some teachers even made the point that ornamentation and improvisation, while once an integral part of Baroque performance, was no longer taught and therefore today's performers just didn't practice this lost art, thereby excusing developing young artists from another challenge (and perhaps adventure!). So we played Telemann and Bach and Vivaldi and Corelli straight and fast and in strict metronomic pulse--even the slow movements. All of this implied that there was a "correct" way--not the same as today's "period-performance" correctness--whose purpose was to preserve (as formaldehyde preserves) an ancient artifact. Along comes Andrew Manze in the waning years of the 20th century, and all of our previously ingrained expectations regarding Baroque performance are suddenly and marvelously shattered. At last, here is a violinist who reasserts this music's once-accepted and long-misunderstood inherent excitement, its improvisatory roots, its performer-oriented legitimacy. As embodied in Corelli's magnificent Op. 5 sonatas, Manze and his long-time keyboard partner Richard Egarr set off a series of musical fireworks that not only revive these pieces as substantial concert works but also establish them as assertions of virtuoso technique and shameless celebrations of period style. Of course, Corelli's creations represent a high point in violin writing, whatever the period, but Manze expands the written notes into a dazzling display of sheer technique and well-considered yet stunningly imaginative interpretation, all of which shows off his 18th-century instrument to full effect. The engineering gives full measure to Manze's intense, delightfully edgy sound and balances perfectly with Egarr's bright, sparkly harpsichord timbre. Can Manze make a less-than-ideal recording? Apparently not.-David Venier.