Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827)
Violin Concerto in D major Op. 61 (1806) [41:47]
Alfred SCHNITTKE (1934-1998)
Violin Concerto No.3 (1978) [24:51]
Vadim Gluzman (violin)
Lucerne Symphony Orchestra/James Gaffigan
rec. November 2017 (Schnittke) and December 2019 and January 2020
(Beethoven) Kultur- und Kongresszentrum, Lucerne, Switzerland
Reviewed as downloaded in 24/96 sound, with pdf booklet, from
eclassical.com
BIS BIS-2392 SACD
[67:28]
It is seldom that the gigantic figure of Beethoven gets overshadowed, but
on this wonderful new release it is the less well-known figure of Alfred
Schnittke that looms over proceedings. This amounts to more than just the
bare facts that one of the works is by him and he supplies the pair of
cadenzas in the Beethoven. In all sorts of ways, Schnittke’s is the
presiding spirit.
Schnittke’s music is best known for its polystylism, a term I think is apt
to give the wrong impression of his music. Yes, Schnittke does weave in
lots of different musical styles from the past but his philosophy is
anything but post-modernist. These are not ironic pastiches but deep and
serious responses to the music of the past. Of great relevance to this
disc, Schnittke’s use of musical quotations puts him in a line that
stretches from Bach through Schumann to, most importantly, Shostakovich.
Whereas quotation is a feature of the work of those composers, it is raised
to a compositional technique in Schnittke’s music. His handling of it is
close to the psychological idea of emotional associations. We give meaning
to our environment in all sorts of ways but particularly we invest it with
emotional meaning. As a result, objects in our environment can revive
emotional memories. Art, and particularly music, take this to a higher level.
Music bypasses most of the cognitive functions of the brain, such as the
language centres, and speaks directly to the emotions. Of course, music can
be thought about but music without an emotional response is almost
unthinkable.
Listening to a piece of music takes place in the present moment but music
that means something to us, for example Beethoven’s violin concerto, is
overlaid with a complex network of emotional associations. It is upon these
systems of emotional associations that the music of Schnittke acts and to
which it reacts. The cadenza for the first movement of the Beethoven
illustrates this approach in a spectacular coup de théâtre. It dramatises
the composer Schnittke’s own musical and emotional associations with the
work of art that is the Beethoven violin concerto. Out of Schnittke’s
musical associations tumble the violin concertos of Berg, Brahms and
Shostakovich and even at one point the slow movement of Beethoven’s own
Seventh symphony. But none of these are exact quotations. They are
like something half remembered, filtered through Schnittke’s creative
imagination. They darken the otherwise serene music of the concerto but, to
my ears, they help me notice the darker shadows that pass over the serenity
from time to time. The simple device of the timpani taps which open the
work are deployed to call the free associating Schnittke back to the work
in hand until a mighty roll on the timpani wakes him from his reverie.
I first became aware of these Schnittke cadenzas from the huge hoohah that
greeted Gidon Kremer’s recording of the Beethoven concerto with Neville
Marriner in 1983. I didn’t actually hear this recording for many years,
when it was hard to hear what all the fuss was about. Worse, I wasn’t
terribly convinced by what Schnittke had done. It seemed a little trendy
and post-modern in the worst sense. Listening again to the Kremer recording
for this review, I felt that the older violinist largely fails to knit
together the disparate elements into a convincing musical argument in the
way Gluzman does. Far from being an anachronism, the cadenza in the first
movement seems an intensely personal response to the Beethoven. In
Gluzman’s hands it is also surprisingly moving. I hear the beauty of the
concerto as a whole as being born out of and in answer to the pain of the
composer’s life.
The cadenza in the finale is, if anything, even more powerful. This cadenza
is normally given as a brief set of flourishes in keeping with the overall
jolly mood of the movement. Schnittke’s associative approach brings back
memories of the deeper, more serious music of the first movement and, by
extension, associations with the impact of the first movement cadenza. It
is both troubling and inspiring. Then Schnittke pulls off a masterstroke –
the orchestral violins join the soloist in a swirling, ascending figure
which is just electrifying, utterly unexpected. The figure disappears into
the ether. When the Beethoven resumes, we are recovering from the shock, so
it seems changed. Perhaps we have been changed a little. And the Beethoven
seems renewed and gleams like new paint. Kremer and Marriner rather botch
the job by sticking with bizarre rigidity to a strict rhythm. Gluzman and
Gaffigan need to be heard to see how this astonishing moment is meant to
go.
This tendency to allusion and association is even more pronounced on
the other work on the SACD: Schnittke’s third violin concerto
from 1978. So pronounced is the tendency here that the composer was
forced to deny that the somewhat romantic-sounding theme in the final
movement was not in fact a quotation from either Mahler or Schubert.
This does take us deep into Schnittke’s musical world. In this
work none of the allusions are direct quotations. Instead, they are
hints or nudges. Just enough to provoke emotional associations without
absolutely nailing them down. Their emotional force derives from this
very open-endedness. Like his great contemporary, Gubaidulina, Schnittke’s
music superficially seems to be made from very little material, certainly
proportional to its emotional impact.
By the time he came to write this particular concerto, Schnittke’s use of
this way of writing music had acquired considerable sophistication. The
building blocks of the final movement are the Romantic phrase already
mentioned, music that appears to be derived from Russian Orthodox chant and
some lyrical writing for the violin above the stave. The Romantic melody is
the most obviously ripe with associations – it reminded me of the passage
in Das Rheingold where mention is made of Freia’s golden apples that give
eternal youth to the gods – and this ripeness opens up a rather simple
phrase to allow a world of both music and feeling. With this phrase the
whole mainstream Germanic classical tradition is ushered in, and in whatever
form that tradition is meaningful to the listener.
Even within the context of this disc, the high-lying writing for the
soloist in this movement made me think of the glorious and similarly
high-lying writing I had just heard in the Beethoven concerto. Nothing is
spelled out. It is up to each individual listener. I have no idea if
Schnittke was thinking of the Beethoven concerto when he wrote this
concerto but it doesn’t really matter. Gluzman, by putting the two together
and playing them the way he does, allowed me to find an association,
however subjective, between them.
Gluzman’s performance of this Schnittke concerto is gripping and intense
from the first bars of its almost improvisatory opening. He finds great
beauty in even the relatively austere music of the opening movement, is
suitably rebarbative in the middle movement, but touches on the sublime in
the climactic finale. Out of an emotionally frigid wasteland, he and
Schnittke conjure up a profound meditation on mortality, memory and art.
Leaving aside interpretive matters, Gluzman makes the kind of sound I could
happily listen to for hours on end. His double stopping reminds me a little
of David Oistrakh in the almost sensual way he strokes them. Even up in the
stratosphere, his tone is sweet and full bodied. Less angelic perhaps than
Kreisler in the Beethoven but, as I have indicated, I don’t think Gluzman’s
conception of the Beethoven is quite as untroubled.
Schnittke cadenzas or not, this is one of the great performances of the
Beethoven. I thought this on first listen but decided to reserve judgment
until I had really got to know this performance. If anything, my admiration
has deepened with familiarity. From his very first entrance, Gluzman’s
unhurried composure and gleaming tone ooze magnetism. He is helped in this
by James Gaffigan’s very positive contribution to proceedings. He generates
a real sense of hushed anticipation every time the music fades down for the
soloist’s entries.
Whatever constitutes magic in music, it is what I hear at the very start of
the development. Time seems to stop but Gluzman phrases with such utter
naturalness, it is the opposite of affected or attention seeking. This is
one of many such moments, but they are woven into an overall conception of
this opening movement that makes sense as drama. I’m sorry to say that I
have always found Isabelle Faust’s much praised version with Abbado rather
glum, and it certainly seems more so to me in comparison to the vivid,
teeming life Gluzman and Gaffigan conjure up.
The slow movement again highlights the easy inevitability of Gluzman’s
phrasing. This is something that just can’t be taught. Overall the Lucerne
Symphony Orchestra give superb support with just the right amount of period
manners to their playing but I want to give special mention to the
delicious clarinet playing. At the opening of the slow movement, the duet
between soloist and the clarinets is as close to heaven as I can imagine.
The touch of earthiness Gaffigan finds in the orchestral statements of the
main theme of the finale is typical of the tasteful imagination that has
been expended on this performance. The emphasis on the bass produces a
drone-like effect that has the Pastoral symphony’s peasants dancing into
view.
As I hope I have indicated, one of the great successes of this performance
is the way it integrates the Schnittke cadenzas convincingly into the whole
so that they add to our appreciation of Beethoven rather than distract from
it. The same could be said for the whole album, which is much more than just
a random coupling. The Schnittke echoes and reflects back the Beethoven,
the Beethoven emerges refreshed from the encounter with the Schnittke.
Only time will tell, but I will be genuinely surprised if this account of
the Beethoven doesn’t join the ranks of such legendary performances as
Kreisler, Menuhin or Schneiderhan. In other words, this isn’t just a good
modern version but good: full stop. I have noted how the performers draw
out the darker aspects of the Beethoven but they do so that the bright
colours gleam even brighter.
David McDade
