Gian Francesco MALIPIERO (1883-1973)
Symphony No. 5, “concertante in eco” (1947) [16:36]
Symphony No. 6, “degli archi” (1947) [22:40]
Symphony No. 8, “Symphonia brevis” (1964) [22:36]
Symphony No. 11, “delle cornamuse” (1969) [11:59]
Moscow Symphony Orchestra/Antonio de Almeida
rec. Mosfilm Studio, Moscow, February 1994
NAXOS 8.570880 [73:51]
One of the glories of Naxos is that the low price encourages the collector
to experiment with unfamiliar composers. In my own case, Naxos has allowed
me to make the acquaintance of Leonardo Balada and Margaret Brouwer, to name
only two composers, and not even the only ones found in the “B” section
of my shelves! And so we come to Malipiero, a name much more widely known
but of whose music I had heard shamefully little when I requested this disc
for review. My impressions are therefore those of someone who comes to a
composer with fresh ears and unprejudiced opinions.
Only a little over a quarter of an hour in length, the Fifth Symphony nonetheless
presents the listener with a wide variety of moods and styles. The sound-world
is striking, with prominent parts for two pianos, and the percussive, highly
dissonant, driven opening suggesting Bartók or Prokofiev, without
really sounding like either composer. The richly romantic, rather mysterious
slow movement, with its prominent parts for several solo instruments, might
have come from another work altogether, were it not for the sudden, and apparently
unrelated periodic dissonant outbursts. There is a curious scherzo, featuring
lots of percussion, rather like a military march for much of its short duration,
but with a smile, a twinkle in the eye. The finale reverts to the style of
the slow movement, the work ending peacefully, but not before the music has
passed through a passage which might have been lifted from some celluloid
Biblical epic. A strange work, rarely settling down to anything for very
long, it is strangely satisfying too, rather more than one feels it ought
to be.
The Sixth Symphony, completed two months after its predecessor, is
placed first on the disc, perhaps because, as John Waterhouse states in the
excellent booklet notes, it is the most approachable work on the disc. For
strings only, it opens in a realm not unlike that of Tippett’s Concerto
for Double String Orchestra, though lacking the melodic richness of that
glorious work. There is some doubtful tuning from the solo instruments here
and there in the slow movement, but this is a most beautiful passage, meditative
and richly scored. It ends on a question mark, and one expects some kind
of resolution to come. This does not happen, as the following movement, for
no apparent reason, is harsh and violent, highly dissonant, and relying more
than the rest of the work on pizzicato and other string effects. The finale
reverts to the tonal writing which characterises most of the work, but it
is episodic in form, with ideas seemingly strung together, one after the
other, without much idea of where they are going or what they are meant to
be doing. There is no feeling of symphonic growth, and certainly no notion
of any kind of summing up. Neither the opening of the movement, lovely as
it is, nor the touching reprise of the main melody of the slow movement,
does anything to counteract this feeling. In spite of this, one’s reaction
to the work is rather like that to the Fifth Symphony: one can recognise
its faults - principally an over-abundance of inadequately exploited ideas
- whilst at the same time gaining a lot of pleasure from listening to the
work as a whole.
The Eighth Symphony is less satisfying. The opening must be one of
the most unpromising in the repertoire: there is no feeling of anything important
or momentous to come, no “announcement”. The first movement wanders
from one idea to another without any easily discernible form or logic, and
the ideas themselves do not stick in the mind. The music is pale, and though
there are some lovely moments they are too few and too short. A weird little
scherzo follows, jaunty at the outset and featuring a fair amount of work
for solo trumpet. The rest of the movement combines moments of drama with
an almost Teutonic business reminiscent of Hindemith. At less than three
minutes, the movement is just too short to make its effect, particularly
when followed by a finale which lasts almost fifteen minutes and which reverts
to the aimless wanderings of the first movement. Apart from the problem of
form, with nothing to lead the ear from one event to the next, the main problem
is its lack of memorable thematic material. Many hearings are required even
to begin to recognise the themes, and one does wonder, one doubts even, if
the effort is worthwhile.
The Eleventh Symphony does not quite make the twelve minute mark,
but rather than its brevity, it is once again the lack of memorable musical
material which disappoints. The four movements are inventively scored - John
Waterhouse describes the work as “a game of contrasted timbres and
textures” - but there is a stultifying feeling of inconsistency about
the material. Like the Eighth Symphony, its language is dry and dissonant.
The first movement features some spiky, rather perky woodwind writing, but
it ends before it has said anything. The slow movement is still essentially
an exploration of instrumental colour, but at least there seems more point
to it, more purpose. The tiny scherzo is empty and vapid and the finale,
whose contrapuntal writing sometimes taxes the strings, ends with a convincing
bang.
Listening to this disc with my “fresh ears and unprejudiced opinions” leaves
me wanting to explore further the music of this very prolific composer, but
I imagine I will enjoy his earlier works more than the later ones. At least
on this showing the quality of the material is superior. One does wish, though,
that someone had given Malipiero a red pencil for Christmas.
The disc, which originally appeared on the Marco Polo label, is now reissued
in the Naxos Twentieth-Century Classics series. It is as well presented as
we now expect from Naxos, with the excellent essay by John Waterhouse proving
a very useful listening aid. The recording is fine, and as far as I can tell,
listening to these works without a score, the performances are very creditable
too. There are moments when the strings sound tentative, but the music can’t
have been very familiar to these Russian players. The late Antonio de Almeida
earns our thanks for bringing this rather bewildering music to our attention.
William Hedley
see also review by Jonathan
Woolf