“He
... wrote much chamber work and six symphonies. All these works,
however, are dead. Beethoven once said of his compositions,
‘he imitates me too much.’ He caught the style and the phrases,
but he could not catch the immortality of his master’s work.
One work of his will live – the admirable Biographical Notices
of Ludwig van Beethoven, which he published in conjunction
with Dr. Wegeler (Coblenz, 1838)”. So writes A.W. Thayer in the 1940 edition of
Grove.
“Beethoven is
reported to have made the most damaging remark about him (‘he
imitates me too much’), which, though probably apocryphal, is
only partly fair”. So writes Cecil Hill in the New Grove of
1980.
Hill – somewhat
grudgingly and partially – acquits Ries of the charge of being
merely a slavishly derivative imitator of Beethoven or, in the
terms in which Thayer puts it, of being little more than a plagiarist.
The more I hear of the music of Ries, the more I feel that it
deserves better even than Hill’s half-hearted acceptance. Yes,
of course, his work registers the influence of Beethoven but
that is hardly surprising, given that he had studied and worked
with him. Indeed only a genius as towering as Beethoven himself
could have been left unmarked by such an experience. Beethoven’s
own statement – if indeed he ever made of it - needn’t be taken
as some kind of gospel truth or even as an objective judgement,
for all kinds of reasons to do with his temperament and his
attitude towards other musicians, the state of his relationship
with Ries at the time of the remark, etc. Ries is not a profound
original - like most composers. He writes in one or more of
the prevailing idioms of his day - like most composers. The
relevant question is how well he writes in that idiom.
The answer is
that, very often, he writes strikingly well. These three chamber
works for clarinet, for example, are substantial, searching
pieces, often subtle in their use of classical forms, endowed
with attractive melodies and emotionally expressive. The earliest
work, the trio, uses the instrumental combination of clarinet,
piano and cello, which Beethoven had used in his Op. 11 trio
of 1798, rather than the combination of clarinet, piano and
viola which Mozart employed in the so-called Kegelstatt Trio
K.498 of 1786. But where Beethoven’s Op. 11 is in three
movements (allegro con brio – adagio – allegretto), Ries’s
Op. 28 is in four (allegro – scherzo, allegro vivace – adagio
– rondo, allegro ma non troppo). There is a loose affinity
in the way both composers create surprising harmonic changes
in their respective first movements but, to my ears, there is
actually very little real indebtedness to Beethoven in the larger
handling of Ries’s fine trio. The rhythmic inventiveness of
the second movement is striking, the adagio - which also serves
as an introduction to the last movement - has a distinctive
ornamented melody played first on piano and then on cello, before
some lyrical writing for the clarinet. The final movement has
something of the rural dance about it. A rewarding piece which
deserves to be taken on its own terms and judged – surely pretty
favourably? – on its own terms.
The Clarinet Sonata,
Op. 29 comes early in the history of compositions for clarinet
and piano. There is pleasing formal wit in the three movements
of this sonata, harmonically quite sophisticated in the opening
movement, with delightfully contrasted moods in the adagio.
The latter includes one passage where the clarinet part lies
below that of the piano which allows for two improvised cadenzas
on the clarinet. The finale contains some demanding and striking
writing for the piano.
Ries’s second
sonata for clarinet was written some five years later, probably
during the composer’s honeymoon in the Rhineland; he had married
in London in July 1814. Fittingly, the sonata breathes an air
of happiness and contentment, its often extended melodies marked
by their elegance and charm. The adagio is a beautiful dialogue
between the instruments, the piano - as at almost every point
in these sonatas - being far more than a mere accompanist. The
final movement returns to material from its two predecessors,
handling them in quite complex and technically demanding ways,
before the sonata ends in an affirmation of untroubled joy.
All three of these
pieces deserve wider circulation than they have yet had. Pace
Dr. Thayer, these works are most definitely alive. All three
are persuasively performed on this CD, which can be recommended
unreservedly. Klöcker, Fromm and Duis are all highly accomplished;
the interplay between them is a delight. This is a CD to which
I shall return many times.
Glyn Pursglove
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Dieter Klöcker (clarinet); Thomas Duis (piano); Armin Fromm (cello)
