Alexander Dreyschock has already been represented in this extensive
Hyperion series. As far back as
volume 21 we heard his Piano Concerto in D minor, but here there is a
brace of pieces that cement his reputation - to be fair his reputation is
largely exiguous - as something of a dramatic exhibitionist. Yet the 1845
Morceau de concert actually goes rather deeper than that might
suggest. It references Beethoven, evoking both the finale of the Ninth
Symphony and aspects of the
Appassionata sonata along the way in
music that is both tempestuous and ruggedly self-assertive. A cello solo
leads to less turbulent waters and there’s a slow, melancholy section
in which the solo piano earns most plaudits. As so often the orchestral
fabric is rather lacking in substance; at points it’s even derisory.
But even so, with soloist-director Howard Shelley at pains to balance the
brass, when they do rouse themselves, so as not to over balance the string
section of the Tasmanian Symphony, there is something very likeable and
lively about this piece. It has temperament, and it has personality, much
like the composer himself, who - this is about the only thing people
remember about Dreyschock - spent 12 hours a day for six weeks practising
Chopin’s
Revolutionary Etude, with the left hand in octaves, no
less, not single notes. His
Salut à Vienne, composed in 1846,
is a colourful enough confection, hinting at Schubert perhaps, but even at
11 minutes not really sustaining its length.
Theodor Döhler was one of the leading soloists of his day.
Heinrich Heine - who wrote that Dreyschock ‘made a hell of a
racket’ as a performer - dubbed Döhler a pianist with
‘astonishing finger-fluency, but neither power nor spirit’. He
went on to be amusing about the pianist’s white pallor as well. For
all that, the white pallor was genuine, and prophetic. He suffered ill
health and died young. Döhler was born in Naples in 1814 and died in
1856 in Florence. He studied with Benedict and Czerny amongst others, and
made many European tours. His 1836 Piano Concerto in A major is a very
public-conscious affair, a glittering Hummel-derived showpiece full of
decorative passagework and rococo filigree. It sparkles into a warm second
subject and compounds the air of frivolity with an orchestral tapestry that
supplies tuttis of no great invention. But he has charm, charm of the
Fieldian kind in the slow central movement, a cantilena that goes straight
into a genial terpsichorean finale. The fusillading pianism works over an
elegance of rhythmic brio. You feel that Döhler hasn’t a care in
the world.
You also feel that Howard Shelley has expended quite a lot of
practice and finger crunching in his endeavours. His panache is remarkable
and it’s a feat to keep the orchestra on track, even if that area is
hardly of Brahmsian depth. For all the occasional superficialities of some
of the writing, there’s no doubting the performers’ commitment
and Shelley’s splendid pianism.
Jonathan Woolf
Review index:
The
Romantic Piano Concerto
