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www.danacord.dk
Who would have thought,
a few scant years ago, that we would
now have such an embarrass de richesse
of Emil von Sauer on compact disc? Not
only have Marston and Arbiter covered
this Liszt pupil’s commercial and off-air
legacy with some comprehensive aplomb
but also Danacord have given his compositions
the same honour and encyclopaedic zeal.
This is Volume 6 in their series and
it give us the first ever recording
of the Second Piano Concerto – you may
have caught the First on Hyperion –
coupling it with some charming morceaux.
In fact Sauer always
dismissed his Liszt connections – one
of the honourable few to do so – whilst
insisting that his main influence had
been Nicholas Rubinstein. One thing
is for sure however and the recorded
evidence supports the assertion – his
technique remained formidable into his
late seventies. As a composer his range
of influences are of the Saint-Saëns/Brahms/Schumann
kind, no bad thing. He also shows a
welcome interest in mildly exotic sonorities
and filtered Russian and Eastern influences
- at least he does in the Second Concerto.
This is a one-movement work, half an
hour in duration and inter-connected
thematically. There are four distinct
sections. It was first published in
1901 and premiered by the soloist-composer
in Berlin the following year, the conductor
being none other than Richard Strauss.
Whereas the First Concerto was fairly
light, the Second is more dramatic and
complex, though not necessarily superior
as a work of art. The opening oboe line,
so spicily and evocatively Eastern in
orientation, sets up promising vistas
of influence – say an analogue of the
Japanese influence on Van Gogh. But
in truth the local colour is fleeting
and not really internalised and Sauer
doesn’t much pursue it. The piano enters
immediately after, its figuration musing
and contemplative, decorative, before
some Romantic-Virtuoso writing is unleashed.
Sauer makes strong play of a trumpet/piano
exchange – delightfully intimate in
places – and throws in a rather trite-sounding
humorous children’s tune, some stolid
cymbal work and a generally playful
patina. It’s noticeable that for all
the earlier intimations of Romantic
fervour, Sauer for the most part discreetly
downplays the piano rhetoric. There’s
a deftly turned Scherzo (marked Vivacissimo
(attacca) with fine runs and a Hungarian-sounding
folk section as well as more relaxed
contrastive material. Throughout the
Concerto Sauer proves he is in control
of the many and disparate moods (too
many in truth but he was always rather
profligate with his ideas) and so his
slow movement is a gloriously burgeoning
one, with a memorable series of ideas
from 6.50 that soar unashamedly. There
are hints of Liszt along the way before
he turns ceremonial in the finale, plush,
rhythmic, not taking itself too seriously
and with lightness a-plenty and plenty
of looks back at earlier material which
he weaves none too academically in to
the score.
The Cinq Morceaux
de difficulté moyenne were
dedicated to his daughter and are charming
genre pieces. They are the kind of thing
that Sauer was most known for, on record
at least, and some examples of his own
playing of the like have been preserved
on disc. The Petite Étude is
particularly felicitous, Chopin haunts
the Valse lente and Brahms stands behind
the Berceuse. The final four pieces
on the disc are a grouping of known
and unknown. The Menuet lauds Old Vienna
and the Galop de Concert is a work we
know from Sauer’s own playing of it
– as ever Marshev, whom I haven’t so
far mentioned, is right inside the genre.
There’s no sign that he considers any
of this music run of the mill and he
plays throughout with outstanding sympathy
and delicate colouration – not to mention
command of the idiom. It’s good to see
James Loughran on the rostrum and on
disc. He brings out all the orchestral
piquancies and romantic swellings with
all his accustomed and unselfconscious
finesse.
Jonathan Woolf
see also review
by John France
Oleg Marshev (piano)