The image on the back cover of the CD depicting Jansen arm-wrestling with Antonio Pappano feels noticeably apt. Not since Herbert von Karajan unleashed the Berlin Philharmonic, issuing a challenge to Anne-Sophie Mutter to bite back in their 1981 recording of Brahms’ Violin Concerto, has a conductor pumped Brahms’ orchestral introduction with such dramatic theatre and pizzazz. This is an opera that just happens to be scored for violin and orchestra, Pappano seems to be telling us, but the high-intelligence of Jansen’s musicality, not to mention her good taste, leads her to pursue a more expressively and colouristically nuanced pathway than this might imply. The genuinely startling feature of this new performance is witnessing Jansen scoop detail out from Pappano’s broad sonic wash. Like two swinging pendulums gradually locking into alignment, the bump-and-grind rootsy grit that Jansen brings to the folksy Finale meets Pappano head on; but otherwise the gossamer delicacy of the Adagio, and the uncountable rhythmic suppleness with which Jansen navigates Brahms’ airborne lines during the opening movement, moves largely by stealth. Bartók’s First Violin Concerto, a promising pairing on paper, proves less adaptable to this good cop/bad cop approach. The unwinding chromatics of the first movement clearly…

The final years of Herbert von Karajan’s tenure as Principal Conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic had descended into chaos; egos clashed and Karajan was moonlighting with indecent regularity in Vienna. Claudio Abbado gradually pieced goodwill back together when he was appointed as successor in 1989, his collegiate approach contrasting noticeably with Karajan’s despotic tendencies. Abbado’s valedictory appearance with the orchestra in May 2013 thus marked the end of an era, an occasion wistfully celebrated in this latest release from Berlin Philharmoniker Recordings. Two works, which Abbado had recorded previously, were on the programme: Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique, which turned out to be a characteristically shrewd piece of programming. Abbado’s earlier Midsummer Night’s Dream (also with BPO) might have included more numbers, but the chimerical gleam of those hanging-in-the-air opening woodwind chords gives notice that here is something very special. The fleeting, skipping Scherzo, with its sinuous harmonic sleights-of-hand, is as fantastical as the triadic, muscular brass writing of the Wedding March is rooted in the earth. Deborah York and Stella Doufexis, and the choir, balance well-enunciated weight against suggestive fancy. Abbado’s perspective on Berlioz is far removed from Bernstein’s blood and guts cinematic view –…

A highly articulate, soul-searching performance from this ever-thoughtful pianist.

A handful of Limelight critics are spoiled for choice picking their favourite recordings.

David Robertson and Pierre-Laurent Aimard talk about Messiaen’s unique musical portrait of life, the universe and everything. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

We talk to the apostle of authenticity about his life and his Schubert recordings with the Berlin Philharmonic. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

Editor’s Choice, Orchestral – December 2015 Andris Nelsons has intimate first-hand knowledge of growing up under the cosh of the Soviet regime. As an impressionable 12-year old in 1990 he saw his native Latvia declare independence from the Soviet Union, and among the adjustments to be made was the joyful reappearance of his ‘disappeared’ grandfather, who had spent the previous 15 years holed up in Siberia. Is it because Nelsons understands instinctively the political lunacy that shaped this composer that he can play the music of Shostakovich as opposed to allowing his interpretations to become overstacked with symbolism, metaphor and mythology? Other conductors, of course, shared comparable experiences – Rozhdestvensky, Ashkenazy and Maxim Shostakovich, the composer’s son. But how rare it is to hear Shostakovich’s musical motivation so starkly delineated which, in turn, illuminates the politics. This first installment in a projected cycle to be released with the tag ‘Under Stalin’s Shadow’, opens with a sonic emergency. Shostakovich’s 1936 opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk was the source of all subsequent bother that the composer would have with the regime. Denounced in Pravda as “petit-bourgeois formalism”, Nelsons needs you to know precisely why this music displeased The Party. The introductory chords…

Daniel Barenboim’s 1967 set of the Brahms Concertos with Barbirolli and the New Philharmonia grabbed the moment as the young pianist embarked on a voyage of discovery safe in the knowledge that his mentor was on the podium. Barenboim’s 1980s remakes with Mehta and the New York Philharmonic have always struck me as curiously unlovely; the work of two hard-nosed pros with nothing to prove, or lose.  These new recordings stand somewhere between the two, a reminder that Brahms has been as much tormentor as mentor to Barenboim. The Staatskapelle Berlin is Barenboim’s own orchestra and Gustavo Dudamel is clearly having a ball pushing levers and turning knobs that, no matter what he does, are preset to generate a stylistic Brahmsian sound. Riccardo Chailly’s Leipzig set with Nelson Freire arguably finds pliant subclauses within their comparably authentic sound; but Dudamel doesn’t put a foot wrong. Barenboim’s playing comes, of course, loaded with gravitas, but he is not immune from moments of routine. The Second Concerto’s Allegro appassionato benefits from a temporary lift as Barenboim lightens textures during the repeat. But otherwise he defaults to rather monochrome dynamics and tone. The First is more consistent. Nothing is rushed or forced during…

If a three-and-a-half star rating feels miserly for a record that promises much, you should know that the last time I reviewed music by Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho, I feared for the continued well-being of my computer as I punched my displeasure into my keyboard. Saariaho’s early music – especially gems like Verblendungen and Lichtbogen – were packed with raw-boned harmonic and timbral intrigue; but then, during the 1990s, her music drifts towards generic notions of lyricism and line, leaving those of us who admired the early work to wonder what happened to her incisive, bold spirit. The great British comedian Les Dawson once claimed that “beauty fades, while ugliness endures” and although Saariaho’s music from the 1980s was never exactly ugly – the beauty was elemental, bracing and absolutely revitalising – the ambient, soft-focus leanings of more recent pieces can sit too comfortably inside emotional inverted commas. But then I play this disc and Quatre Instants, her 2002 song cycle for soprano and orchestra, and Terra Memoria, a realisation of her 2007 Second String Quartet for full strings, win me over in a way I wasn’t expecting. The… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already…

Messiaen’s masterwork goes for the lot: rocks, birds and throws in the song of the star Aldebaran for good measure. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

Charles Burney dismissed them as vile, but William Lawes’ Royal extravagances are most definitely viol. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

This final installment of Rumon Gamba’s six discs exploring the orchestral work of turn of the (last) century French composer Vincent d’Indy – whose aesthetic pitched up somewhere between César Franck and Richard Wagner – is probably not the best place to gain an entry-point. Fans will be happy to have a new recording of Wallenstein, the composer’s three-part pseudo-symphony inspired by a rather vainglorious poem by Schiller. The 1976 recording by Pierre Dervaux and the Orchestre de la Loire remains the go-to, but Gamba’s Iceland forces are captured with intimate depth, brass pushed slightly forwards in the mix; d’Indy liked nothing better than a brass fanfare, so such sonic gerrymandering is acceptable. The piece itself, though, is remarkably unremarkable. Given d’Indy’s pedigree as a disciple of Franck and Wagner, his attempts to create a Franckian cyclic structure deploying Wagnerian motifs as staging posts flounder because his melodic and gestural hooks feel so unmemorable and generic. Elsewhere, Bryndís Hall Gylfadóttir’s sweet and effervescent playing sells d’Indy’s folksy Lied for cello and orchestra. But you can see why the monochrome Sérénade et Valse, Suite dans le Style Ancien and Prelude to Act III of his opera Fervaal remain historical curios.