Despite being featured
in a series of ‘21st Century Classics’, these two
works by this German composer were both written in the first
half of the 1990s. While Leyendecker is one of a more recent
generation that has abandoned the avant-garde styles of the
twentieth century, it is clear to see that this significant
composer of mainly orchestral and chamber music does not look
all that far back for much of his inspiration. It would be wrong
to suggest that Leyendecker is a post-war Romanticist, but it
would also be incorrect to state there is absolutely no trace
of avant-garde in this music. He is more concerned with the
relation between form and orchestration and the importance of
overall structure in the music. His music is not particularly
nationalistic, but rather a personal and individual means of
expression. Overall the musical style is somewhat eclectic,
and cannot be pigeon-holed into any specific category.
The booklet notes
from Cris Posslac incorporate a fairly substantial note on both
works from Leyendecker himself, although Posslac informs us
that they are not an instruction on what to hear in the music,
rather just a note on how the pieces themselves were constructed.
The composer’s texts are rather analytical and do not give a
very detailed insight into his compositional processes. There
are also one or two unnecessary comments from Posslac on issues
in contemporary music in order to demonstrate this brand of
music as a more viable alternative to the avant-garde.
A rich and constantly
changing orchestration and palette of colour pervades Leyendecker’s
third symphony. Despite its slow and pensive nature, there is
a constant tension beneath the surface, with a significant use
of arch structure, both in the separate movements and in the
three-movement structure as a whole. There is an abundance of
small motifs that recur, particularly in the rondo-like and
intricately complex scherzo of the second movement. The two
outer movements are, however, both considerably slower, and
while they are not as complex they do retain a level of involvedness,
being at no time straightforward. A slightly ambiguous sense
tonality gives a tenuous link to the past, along with the use
of traditional forms and the movement and work titles.
The recording heard
here catches the first performance of the Violin Concerto. This
took place in front of a live studio audience in 1996. The sense
of tonality is a little increased in the three movements of
the concerto, the change obviously reflecting the presence of
a soloist. Traditional forms are represented in each movement
of the concerto, where a good deal of tension still lurks, often
unleashed in frequent climactic sections. The violin sounds
at times folk-like in its rapid figurations, particularly in
the opening movement and the soloist is found at the centre
of the many contrasts, taking on a large number of roles with
apparent ease. An increasing number of moods, and even identities,
for the violin soloist are found in the remaining two movements.
The violin leads an extended musical vision of space filled
with ever-growing density of orchestration and colour in the
second movement. The variations of the final movement give ample
opportunity for a range of textures from the violin.
The artists give
clean performances, with an extensive series of emotions brought
through from the score. A immensely accurate rendering of the
concerto is also provided by the soloist and dedicatee, Roland
Greutter. The recorded sound is appreciably warm in the violin
concerto, and (rather appropriately) a little more icy in the
symphony.
Adam Binks
See also Review
by Gary Higginson
Roland Greutter (violin)
