Paul Burkhard was born in Zurich in 1911. His composition teacher
was Volkmar Andreae but he studied widely in his capacity as
a pianist, and even took up the cello. He was a noted conductor
and from 1938 was active in his native city as a theatre conductor,
later becoming – at Hermann Scherchen’s instigation – second
conductor of the Studio Orchestra at Beromünster Radio. A composer
as well as a conductor and executant, he wrote in a variety
of forms. Perhaps his most celebrated work was Zäller Wiehnacht
(Christmas at Zell) written in 1960. One of his last works
was written in 1976, the year before his death, and was a birth-to-death
reminiscence in seven acts, called Sieben Stufen des Lebens,
begleitet von einer Nachtigall, der Bringerin eines sanften
Todes. Its English title is ‘Seven steps of life, accompanied
by a nightingale, the bringer of a gentle death’.
It’s written for harp, clarinet, and organ and directed by the
composer himself in this broadcast performance made three months
before Burkhard’s death in September 1977. It’s invariably a
colouristic and allusive chamber piece. The harp’s dreamlike
runs and the nightingale’s clarinet calls are pervasive features,
introduced benignly in the birth of the Infant – each estate
of man is represented by a different movement. Perkier writing
announces the Boy, edging towards jaunty, the organ moving from
supportively chordal to appropriately upbeat melodically. The
harp’s arpeggios and the clarinet’s musing are invariably more
self-contained in Adolescence. Young adulthood is represented
by a pawky organ fanfare and a deal of self-confidence By now
we reach Senior aetas and the music becomes more emollient,
more equable, with writing that might not, at moments, be out
of place in, say, Smetana. Musing soliloquies dominate Old Age
before the inevitable slow winding down of all things. The music
is clearly deeply personal, but offers playfulness and sympathetic
vitality into the bargain in a non-denominational, post-impressionist
sort of way. The recording is very good but there’s tape print
through in places which causes ghostly pre-echo
Burkhard’s Swiss contemporary Hans Schaeuble studied in Leipzig
with a Reger pupil. He too was a more than competent pianist.
He then moved to Berlin where he lived between 1931 and 1942,
though he returned to his homeland from 1939-41. Carl Schuricht
conducted his Symphonic Music for Large Orchestra with
the Berlin Philharmonic in March 1939, and this apparently made
an impression but his German stay caused resentment back home
and he had trouble getting his works performed. His ballet Die
Rose und der Schatten was finished in 1958, and was his
last stage work, one he revised in 1977 and again in 1979. It
was recorded in 1959, the composer at the piano with Nico Kaufmann,
though I’m not sure whether it was commercial or broadcast.
Certainly it’s rather boxy and somewhat splintery too, and I’d
guess it’s a private affair. It’s not easy to reclothe the piano
reduced version we hear, but it’s clear that there are Stravinskian
elements at work, as well as, perhaps, hints of Frank Martin.
I hear some Spanish rhythms in the First Act Ensemble [track
14] as well as some droll dance rhythms. There’s some nice lyric
material in the second of the Act II solos [track 16].
The booklet is in German and in English and sports an especially
nice photograph of Burkhard, Schaeuble and Kaufmann in dinner
jackets enjoying themselves. As for a ready market for the disc,
this is not for the generalist, but for the most particular
of Swiss specialists – it’s an Archive Special.
Jonathan Woolf
Nico Kaufmann (piano) and Hans Schaeuble (piano) 
