This twin CD set was
funded by the Tyzen Hsíao Music
Foundation. It provides the international
stage with what is, I think, its first
real insight into Hsíao's music.
As you can see he is an ambitious composer
aspiring to the highest forms of music.
Hsíao was born
in Kaoshing. After study in his native
Taiwan he moved to Japan to develop
his composition skills at the Musabino
Music Academy from which he graduated
in 1967. After some years back in Taiwan
he moved to the USA in 1977. He now
resides in Taiwan and has done so since
1995.
While the English-only
liner notes claim the influence of traditional
Taiwanese poetry, folk culture and devotional
music, Hsíao's 'label' as the
'Taiwanese Rachmaninov' tells us more
about this music.
We also need to keep
in mind the history of the island of
Taiwan which was a colony of Imperial
Japan from 1895 to 1945 and then fell
under Nationalist Chinese control with
Chiang Kai-shek from 1949. Communist
China expelled Chiang Kai-shek’s forces
from the mainland. A civil incident
in Taiwan flared into insurrection and
Chiang Kai-shek suppressed those stirrings
of rebellion with brutality. The date
of the 'spark' event was February 28th
- hence the popular references to '228'
(only openly spoken of since the end
of martial law in 1988).
The above is the background
to the 1947 Overture which,
truth to tell, is sentimental, a little
kitsch, drifting into a sub-Rachmaninovian
lushness. To complete the OTT effect
Hsíao adds a tempestuous piano
part and a choral address that speaks
of planting trees in our land, joining
hands and praying for the loss of loved
ones and for future peace. The style
is of exalted nationalism dripping with
patriotic fervour. It is a small step
from here to other cantatas praising
political leaders to the skies. Although
ringing uncomfortably for non-Taiwanese
ears this piece reflects tragic events
and the high hopes of the people of
Taiwan.
The Piano Concerto
was premiered in Vancouver in 1994.
It is a lushly romantic work with Rachmaninov's
stormy and sometimes glittering emotionalism
providing a reference point especially
in the two outer movements. The adagio
is like a hybrid of Vaughan Williams
in The Lark Ascending and The
Nutcracker. Anatoly Sheludiakov
positively revels in its unabashed romanticism
and melodic profusion. The balance between
soloist and orchestra is much better
here than in the sometimes strangely
distant or congested 1947 overture.
After this indulgence
the brief three movement Symphony
comes as major gear-change. This time
Hsíao embraces the language of
modernity, discontinuity and rhythmic
dissent. In the first movement a chug-thudding
Rite of Spring rhythm provides
an anchor for the listener struggling
to find his bearings. The title Formosa
is the name the Portuguese gave to Taiwan.
It means 'beautiful and good things'.
The second movement is a largo that,
in ominous tones, touches on the sound
of bells and the outline of wood flute
melodies. There are also some Schoenbergian
whisperings and scuttling. In the finale
it is as if the seething commercial
life of modern Taiwan bursts in. This
is a violent contrast from the overture
and piano concerto.
The Cello Concerto
successfully integrates the tune
Shushiuki sung by an Elgarian
cello amid the Western classical context
established by Dvořák
and Tchaikovsky. This Concerto has its
own virile life as can be heard in the
allegro con spirito which
has the vital impetus of the A'mai tribal
dance and a folk song Yotzehueishian
(The Homecoming). Once again there is
sentimentality here but provided you
can bear this the music works very well;
in fact as well as anything on this
disc. Cellists looking for a concerto
out of the rut, grateful to play, direct
speaking and not averse to sweetness
would do well to try this out.
The Angel From
Formosa is an idyllic picture
of the Taiwanese countryside. It is
completely Western in expression, gentle
and consummately poetic.
The Violin Concerto
starts with a very Delian allegro
moderato in fact an atmosphere carried
over from the Angel piece. The
soloist's line smiles, surges and yearns
and is most effectively and sympathetically
played by Alexander Trostiansky. The
sway and surge of this mood is well
sustained across the almost 13 minutes
of the first movement and into the sunset
glow of the adagio dolente. After
all this basking in sunshine the dashing
moto perpetuo style finale takes
a good long draught of inspiration from
the finale of the Barber concerto. Had
the concerto been called 'concerto idyllica'
I doubt anyone would have blinked. Allowing
for the completely anachronistic language
it works extremely well … as does the
Cello Concerto.
With the exception
of the Formosa
symphony Hsíao writes in a late nineteenth
century style marked out by Rachmaninov,
Delius, Tchaikovsky, Elgar and Dvořák.
Music that is easy to like and
in the case of the concertos for violin
and cello works very well indeed.
Rob Barnett
Moscow State Chorus/Vladimir Kontarev (1947)
