Wynton MARSALIS (b. 1961)
Violin Concerto in D (2015) [43:25]
Fiddle Dance Suite for solo violin [23:38]
Nicola Benedetti (violin)
Philadelphia Orchestra/Cristian Măcelaru
rec. 2017/19, The Kimmel Centre, Verizon Hall, Philadelphia; The Menuhin Hall, Stoke D’Abernon, UK.
DECCA 485 0013 [67:03]
While Wynton Marsalis is arguably the best known and certainly among the most loved of all jazz musicians he is far from uncontroversial. Noted for his adherence to traditional as opposed to more experimental forms of jazz, his staunch belief in the power of tonality and harmony seem linked to his career-long enthusiasm for classical forms. I mention this if only to draw attention to the little phrase ‘in D’ appended to the title of his concerto. Is Marsalis doffing his cap to Stravinsky here? It’s not something one tends to see in 21st century music and might lead the uninitiated to suspect that the new work will embody some sort of bland, polite crossover. That would be to completely underestimate this formidable musician and misconstrue his intentions. It would also overlook Marsalis’ prominent role as an educator over three decades; this collaboration with Nicola Benedetti represents a meeting of like minds given her similar motivations – not least her admirably forthright proselytising for musical opportunity among all young musicians.
The pragmatic idealism of both these prominent figures is encapsulated in Marsalis’ superb booklet note. In little more than three pages he succinctly lays out his broad artistic credo before providing an eloquent, lucid introduction to the two new pieces. At one point he states: “Because modern living is an integrated experience, it is never difficult to discover organic connections.” I would respectfully suggest that finding links between Afro-American socio-cultural experience and Scottish folk fiddling is far from easy, but Marsalis makes it appear so. Nor do his connections seem remotely contrived, since the cross-pollination that underpins each piece seems so natural one is left wondering why it has never been done before.
The concerto lasts forty-five minutes and comprises four substantial movements. The music flies by and teems with colourful incident. The opening movement is entitled Rhapsody and for once the term seems appropriate. The sleepy violin ushers in music that is by turn unashamedly romantic yet delicately inflected with the blues. Straightaway the Philadelphia Orchestra sounds like the Rolls-Royce that it is. Marsalis describes the music as a dream which encompasses an urban nightmare before subsiding into what he characterises as ancestral memory. If these are musical Jungian archetypes, episodes which suggest calypso swing, Scott Bradley (the genius behind the Tom and Jerry scores), Strathspey fiddle and Mahler flash by. The percussion writing is especially colourful yet light on its feet, never overdone. There is precision and clarity of intention at every turn. The closing bars move from transcendent beauty to mysterious dance. There is something of the Ivesian processional about it.
And speaking of Mahler – the second movement is marked Rondo Burlesque (with a ‘q’ not a ‘k’); it is distinctly un-Mahlerian. Benedetti’s solo line skitters along, speeding up and slowing down - again rather cartoonishly – epitomised by the weird fluttering effects Marsalis has integrated into the violin part. I suspect there would have been a fair bit of giggling at rehearsals. The movement amounts to a constantly gripping mélange of styles and references. The music seems to be constantly tripping over its feet as it tries to keep up with the carnival, or vice-versa. The movement also features a rather tipsy cadenza, with stomping light percussion accompaniment and banjo-like strumming. While I would never encourage one to chase down a Jim Beam with a Jura, in this case I’m prepared to make an exception. The panel elides gracefully into a third movement Blues which does exactly what it says on the tin. Marsalis’ orchestration is terrific, redolent of Duke Ellington although early on a glorious sequence of modal string chords evokes prime Roy Harris with the tiniest blues inflections. This movement has even more of a processional shape, whereby the listener hovers around on the sidewalk watching the floats (or life itself) pass by. We experience jazzy brass choirs and some expansive, noisy climaxes – I suspect this is the ‘sermonizing’ to which Marsalis refers in his note. The concerto was recorded live; not even Decca’s glossy engineering can completely eradicate some congestion in the sound at its loudest points.
The final Hootenanny is a stomping, percussive blend of Highland fling and Harlem globetrotting. Impressive as the fiddle writing (and Benedetti’s abandoned, joyful playing) is, it’s Marsalis’ magnificent orchestration that most frequently registers. At its conclusion the band and the soloist disappear Farewell symphony-like one by one into the distance, presumably onto the next (whisky) bar. The concerto predictably gets a huge ovation from the Verizon Hall faithful. Marsalis’ Concerto in D is not just great fun; it frequently plumbs some unexpectedly emotional depths. It most certainly deserves regular exposure – one hopes Nicola Benedetti will play it frequently over the years and that others will take it up.
The levity and abandon of the Fiddle Dance Suite for solo violin could perhaps be considered as an antidote to the eternal profundity of the Bach Partitas. Cast in five movements, Marsalis unleashes his polyglot muse to weave together an implausible slew of references and allusions in a work that at once sounds fiendishly difficult and improbably organic. The opening Sidestep Reel contains a profusion of hair-raising syncopations, as well as adjacent nods to baroque, be-bop and what sounds like (I suspect it isn’t) the folk music of the Tatra mountains beloved of Szymanowski. It really shouldn’t work, but it does. The following As the Wind Goes provides an effective foil, a winsome hybrid of spiritual and lullaby, although even this sweet song goes off in some unexpectedly dark, Bartokian directions before floating away stratospherically into the gentle nocturnal breeze. In Jones’ Jig Marsalis adapts a jolly dance every which way in a clever exploration of three in a bar. Nicola’s Strathspey is an ingenious amalgam of Scottish folk and dark blues, and the suite ends with the extended Bye-Bye Breakdown, a riotous barn-dance ‘thang’ which encompasses a cornucopia of ever more unlikely references, not all of them musical. At its heart is an eerie, rather tart dirge, while its conclusion features some furious foot-stamping. It goes without saying that Nicola Benedetti plays as though it’s been under her skin for decades, and in the ingenuity of Marsalis’ remarkable craftsmanship the Fiddle Dance Suite amounts to far more than a filler for the concerto. It’s hard to imagine the Decca engineers eliciting a more faithful, exciting sound.
I really enjoyed both these intriguing, unusual and incontrovertibly spectacular pieces. I truly hope they find a life beyond the release of this disc. Who would have thought that a trumpet master could have written so idiomatically and pungently for solo violin?
Richard Hanlon
