Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949)
Cello Sonata in F major Op.6 [29:31]
Romance in F, Andante cantabile [9:35]
Richard WAGNER (1813-1883)
Wesendonck Lieder (transcribed by Norbert Anger) [21:33]
Romanze in E, after Albumblatt (arranged by David Popper) [5:18]
Introduction to Tristan und Isolde (arranged by Werner Thomas-Mifune) [12:48]
Norbert Anger (cello)
Michael Schöch (piano)
rec. 2017, Teldex Studio, Berlin
OEHMS OC1701 [78:54]
The name of Richard Strauss does not readily come to mind in association with nineteenth-century music for the cello, or chamber music at all for the matter. But, under the critical eye of his father, the teenage Strauss sharpened his compositional skills in a number of chamber works during the 1880s: after a string quartet in 1881, there followed a piano sonata (1882), a cello sonata (1883), a piano quartet (1885) and a violin sonata (1888).
The Cello Sonata in F Major Op.6, which opens this disc by cellist Norbert Anger and pianist Michael Schöch, was dedicated to Hanuš Wihan who between 1880-88 was the principal cellist of the Royal Bavarian Court Orchestra in which Strauss’s father was first horn player, and who was also the dedicatee of Dvořák’s Cello Concerto and Rondo in G.
It’s a buoyant and confident work, in which one can discern the voices of the earlier Viennese masters in whose music Strauss had been schooled by his father and, predominantly, of Brahms – in the fullness of the textures, the flexibility of the rhythmic interplay which tugs against the rigidity of the Classical forms, and in the long-reaching melodic phrases. But, there’s also evidence of the young composer’s own distinct voice, even in the opening bars of the Allegro con brio. The movement commences with march-like chords of Beethovenian bravura but these are soon interrupted by a swooning cello melody – echoes of Mendelssohn, perhaps? – that seems to presage the bitter-sweetness of operatic songs to come. There are some episodes that seem rather ‘academic’, such as the fugato which closes the development section of the first movement (it’s almost a relief when the cello’s double-stopped chords halt the fugal advance), but some of the harmonic nuances signpost the way ahead, and there are outbursts of joyful lyricism that have a truly Straussian swagger in their stride.
I confess, the two musicians performing here are not familiar to me. The liner booklet tells me that since 2013, Anger has been principal cellist of Staatskapelle Dresden, a role he also assumed at the Bayreuth Festival Orchestra in 2015, while Schöch is equally accomplished as a pianist and organist, and since 2015 has been Professor of Organ at Tiroler Landeskonservatorium in Innsbruck.
In these recordings, they form a balanced and assured partnership. Anger draws a wide tonal palette from his cello, made in 1720 by Alessandro Gagliano, founding father of the Neapolitan dynasty of luthiers. He finds a lovely graininess low down on the C string, and thoughtfully enrichens the colour, swelling the sound as the phrases bloom and soar confidently and evenly. Despite the busyness of the piano part, Schöch never over-powers his partner, and plays with tasteful graciousness when apt: the sprightly theme introduced at the end of the Allegro con brio’s exposition dances lightly before it is transformed and darkened in the ensuing development, the carefree casualness cast aside in urgent exchanges characterised by crisp, clean counterpoint. At the end of the movement an impetuous accelerando captures Strauss’s breezy confidence.
The Andante is the most ‘forward-looking’ of the movements, rejecting conventional melodic lyricism for a more introspective dialogue between the two instruments, the spirit of searching and yearning achieved by subtle means. Here, I liked Anger’s carefully modulated vibrato: the mood remains sombre rather than sentimental, even as the cello climbs to the peaks. There are brief flowerings of intensity, and one or two phrases that could have come straight from Rosenkavalier, but on the whole the reflections are subdued and introspective. The delicacy of the piano repetitions that support the rising cello line is admirable, and the latter is tenderly supplemented by the piano’s own quiet commentary. This movement is beautifully shaped by the duo, and closes touchingly as the fragile, gentle melodic fragments dissolve.
The Allegro vivo returns us to the mood of the opening, and the players capture its vivacity: Schöch’s perky piano sounds almost cheeky at the start, and Anger creates a telling contrast between the ‘youthful’ dancing triplets and more ‘mature’ spirit of the elongating theme. There is a stormy episode in which piano and cello push each other harder and higher, but the good-natured optimism prevails. The whole movement put me in mind of the final movement of Max Bruch Octet, not a work of striking precociousness but representative instead of a no less astonishing late-life flowering of creativity.
Also included is the Romance in F which was originally conceived for cello and orchestra, completed in June 1883 and premiered by Wihan in February 1884 at Baden-Baden. Anger and Schöch keep the pace quite brisk, which benefits both the episodes of lyrical eloquence and the more bracingly dramatic sections. This is assured playing, but despite the articulacy of the account I missed some of the colour that an orchestral accompaniment would offer – Strauss’s music seems to require a richer palette – as at the opening when gentle pianissimo woodwind support the cello’s first utterances; or when the double bass or bassoon have a telling entry, conversing with and darkening the low, roving of the solo cello; or, when the soloist is accompanied by just bassoon and horns, the latter injecting familiar Straussian leaping gestures. That said, Anger has a beautiful tone and here sustains an expressive and engaging melodic line.
If Strauss was not a natural chamber musician, then the same might be said of Richard Wagner whose music, similarly, seldom seems to invite the description, ‘intimate’. But, Anger’s transcriptions of the composer’s Wesendonck Lieder – which set texts by his occasional muse, Mathilde von Wesendonck – make one think again. The songs have been arranged for various ensembles: Felix Mottl orchestrated them, as did Vieri Tosatti in 1972; Henze produced an arrangement for chamber orchestra (1976); in 2015 Christophe Looten’s transcription for voice and string quartet was performed at Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. Wagner even produced his own chamber orchestra arrangement of ‘Träume’, designed to serenade Mathilde on her birthday in December 1857. Anger’s account balances ecstasy with a quieter passion, the cello line largely following the vocal part but the tone more soft-edged than a soprano voice. ‘Der Engel’ (The angel) has a lovely, billowing dreaminess; Schöch’s surging ripples pulse urgently through ‘Stehe still’ (Be still!), soothing as the cello sinks into despondency, then brightening for the close, at first refulgent, then becalmed. Diverse emotions in just three minutes!
The songs were written during the time that Wagner was working on Tristan und Isolde; he labelled ‘Träume’ (Dreams) and ‘Im Treibhaus’ (In the Greenhouse) as ‘studies’ for the opera. Here, ‘Im Treibhaus’ possesses a perfumed languor and the tremulousness of barely suppressed passion. Schöch’s whispered ending is exquisite. ‘Träume’ begins with restraint but inevitably releases its rapture, made more persuasive by Anger’s focused tone and restrained vibrato.
The disc concludes with two further arrangements for cello and piano. I might have been inclined to place David Popper’s arrangement of the fervent Romance from Wagner’s Albumblatt – in which Anger climbs cleanly to the summits, including a pristine high E at the very close – before the Wesendonck songs, since it has an affinity of ambience with Strauss’s own Romance, thereby allowing Werner Thomas-Mifune’s arrangement of the Introduction to Tristan und Isolde to extend the brooding intensity and sparkling rapture of the songs. But, the latter makes for a powerful and emotionally engulfing close.
Claire Seymour
