This is a truly admirable twofer that explores Enescu’s complete works for
violin and piano. Complete, that is, unless and until some morceaux should
turn up. Until then – and even then – admirers of the Romanian polymathic
genius should seek out recordings made for Radio Bremen in 2005-06 and only
now receiving commercial release.
The reason isn’t far to seek. Violinist Remus Azoitei and Eduard Stan –
the pianist writes the excellent booklet notes – form a formidably sensitive
pairing and do justice to works that span the breadth of Enescu’s
compositional life. They prove as resourceful in the late works as they do
in the early ’prentice and salon-tinged ones.
The programming avoids a chronological survey though one could programme
it as such with a bit of ingenuity – not that I think that’s a pressing
matter. In any case each disc represents a single broadcast so this was how
the duo approached things for Radio Bremen and that integrity has been
maintained throughout the discs.
That means that the early so-called ‘Torso’ sonata shares the first disc
with the 1899 Second Sonata, whilst the fully characteristic and much-loved
Third is on the second disc with the First. Thus we have the full rich
panoply of Enescu’s violinistic imagination available here. The
Impressions d’Enfance of 1940 is a kind of
Kinderszenen
for the violin, a line he must have anticipated as soon as he titled it
thus. The ten brief movements – some are Bartók-brief at no more than 20
seconds – are beautifully characterised and full of folklore, rich harmonies
and in places - I’m thinking of the final movement – not too far removed
from late Szymanowski. In another review I called it ‘a Joycean masterpiece
of colour and incident, a single day in a child’s life recollected and
compressed, ranging from gypsy fiddlers, beggars in the street, a shimmering
water pool, cuckoo clock and crepuscular fall of night with its ominous
storm.’ The stand-out is the fourth of the set,
The Bird in the Cage and
the Cuckoo on the Wall, with its bird impressions and compelling
narrative including its passing neuroticism.
That ‘Torso’ Sonata of 1911 lasts sixteen or so minutes. It’s deliberately
rhapsodic, and evokes the cimbalom in the piano part. I often wonder how
Enescu would sound with a luthéal replacing the piano; too explicit possibly
but interesting, The previous disc I mentioned, which paired Enescu with
Ravel and Debussy, featuring Phillipe Graffin and Claire Désert, did feature
the instrument in Ravel’s
Tzigane on
Avie AV2059. The ‘Torso’ is couched in post-Brahmsian language,
powerful and exciting. The 1899 Second Sonata was written when he was just
18. It’s true that there are semi-digested echoes of Brahms and Franck, two
composers with whose violin works, as a young virtuoso, he would have been
very familiar. But the broad paragraphs, the expressive candour and the
tensile strength of the writing are some achievement nonetheless. It’s easy
to see why Carl Flesch lauded it, even though Flesch’s estimation that it
was ‘one of the most important works in all sonata literature’ seems
exceptionally high praise indeed.
The Sonata No.1, which actually ends the recital, being the last piece of
the second disc, was written by a 16 year old confirmed Brahmsian. It is
still very well constructed and shows hints of the harmonic complexities he
was later to instil in his music. The Op.25 Third, is the masterpiece among
the sonatas, and receives a fine reading here. Both men evoke the nature
sound world in a way that is itself most natural-sounding, and the native
vein of folklore fits persuasively into the syntax of their performance.
Cimbalom imitations are at their apogee in the central movement where the
birdsong imitations are ebulliently deployed by Azoitei. The spicy finale,
with its rich cantilena and changes of texture and metre, is very exciting –
as it should be in a good performance such as this.
The remainder of this disc is given over to smaller, youthful, or
occasional works, none without interest. Usually one finds a raft of
middling pieces in complete surveys such as this but Enescu was incapable of
writing middling music. Thus you’ll find a most beautiful
Ballade
from 1895 with a glorious melody, interrupted by a brief but brusque B
section before the reprise. The
Impromptu concertant is an
arabesque with a rich vein of lyricism whilst the
Andante
malinconico, the latest work here from 1951, was a competition piece
for sight-reading use at the Paris Conservatoire. The
Tarantelle
has a frank quotient of late nineteenth-century bravura; hints of Brahms,
and hints of Sarasate. Finally there is
Hora Unirei of 1917, a
peasant dance oblivious to any contemporary troubles.
The studio recording has been well-judged and doesn’t sound cold or
distant. The performances, as already noted, are really first-class, and are
alive to all the twists and turns in the music, keenly aware of the
folkloric impulse throughout and touchingly tender when required. I want to
hear more from this duo.
Jonathan Woolf
