Music - ClassicalRandom thoughts on my favourite pieces of classical music. Pick a composer or just scroll at leisure.
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Ludwig van Beethoven
Piano Sonata in B Flat, 'Hammerklavier' (Op. 106)
Beethoven's longest and meatiest piano sonata. It doesn't venture into the same meditative realms as his ethereal late sonatas (Opp. 109, 110 and 111), but it is remains perhaps his most profound testimony to the battle of the spirit against despair.
The sonata's first movement centres round a muscular theme intermingled with whose forcefuless is suggested a curious self-doubt. A very brief scherzo continues in a similar vein, but adding a certain note of offbeat flippancy to the proceedings. Then we come to the heart of the sonata, a mammoth 20-minute adagio of blistering sadness, and quite spectacular key shifts - one of the most heart-wrenching pieces of music I know. To round it all off is a merciless fugue that suggests a triumph over fate not by optimism, as in Beethoven's earlier works, but rather by sheer mental discipline. It is not easy listening, but it is certainly an appropriate end to this least complacent of works.
Recordings? Some have said that this sonata is virtually unrealisable in sound, which may be true: however well it is played, one always feels that there are further subtleties and intensities to be teased out of it. Of the longer-standing recordings, my favourite is by Emil Gilels. His slow movement really does the business, though the leisured pace of his outer movements takes a little getting used to. Meanwhile, Maurizio Pollini's recording is as fluent and polished as ever - to the extent, arguably, of sometimes crossing the line from restraint to uninvolvement.
Stephen Kovacevich released his CD of the Hammerklavier in May 2003. As in his other Beethoven recordings, he strikes a balance between fluidity and forcefulness that is quite unique and manages to give emphasis to both the momentary shifts in mood and the large-scale organisation of the piece. In particular, his virtuosically fast rendition of the concluding fugue brings an excitement and immediacy to this daunting movement that I haven't heard before. And while some have argued that he takes the slow movement too fast, I don't sense that he's glossing over its depths. All in all I feel this is an honest and successful interpretation, which genuinely brings something new to the recorded repertoire.
Quartet in B Flat (Op. 130)
Probably my favourite of Beethoven's late quartets, this is rich and defiant work whose overall character is defined by the forceful, lengthy opening and closing movements (by the latter, I refer to the original "Grosse Fuge", which was replaced by a more conventional movement when the "Fuge" was found too demanding by listeners).
There's no movement I don't enjoy in this piece, but the most generally celebrated, after the Grosse Fuge, is the fifth, the Cavatina. It's up there with the second movement of Schubert's Quintet as one of the great musical testaments to sorrow. As in the "Hammerklavier" piano sonata, though, anguish is finally conquered by ruthless intellectual will: the Fuge is surely the single loudest movement in the canon of chamber music.
I have two recordings of this, both by the Lindsay Quartet. The first is good; the second is better still, with intensity and dynamics notched up to the max.
Symphony in E Flat (No. 3, "Eroica") (Op. 55)
This remained Beethoven's favourite of his symphonies, a fact anyone who only knows the composer through TV ad soundtracks would find surprising. Melodically, none of the movements offers anything special; what matters is their overall structure and impact.
After the Ninth, this is Beethoven's longest symphony, surely because he had so much to say in it. It's the first major piece of his middle period, inaugurated by his discovery that he was going deaf and characterised by an emotional intensity and an individualism that was quite new to music in the early 19th Century.
As is common knowledge, Beethoven originally dedicated the symphony to Napoleon, only to retract the dedication when the latter declared himself Emperor. It's both a public and a private piece of music - a declaration of support for the humanitarian ideals (if not the practice) of the French Revolution, but also a statement of defiance of fate's cruelty to him personally.
Some have claimed that the Funeral March of the second movement is too suggestive of a public occasion to be totally effective - after all, whose funeral is it? Not Napoleon's, and not the composer's own. I think this over-literal interpretation is missing the point: it's a movement in the style of a funeral march and which partakes of the emotions of a funeral. For Beethoven himself, it surely conveys loss of his sense of life's bounty and of fate's benevolence.
For me, this is the single most moving of Beethoven's symphonies (excepting the Adagio of the Ninth). It tells the listener everything they need to know about the composer's despair and subsequent psychological renewal - finishing, as it does, with a set of variations that, in tone, presages the still grittier closing movements of the "Hammerklavier" sonata and the Quartet Op. 130.
Two recordings of the "Eroica" inhabit my CD rack - Karajan's BPO recording from the 1980s, and John Eliot Gardiner's with the Orchestre Revolutionnaire et Romantique. Karajan's is pretty good, though by this time he wasn't as sharp as in his younger days. However, if there's the slightest hint of slackness in the BPO's playing, it does add a sense of immediacy that arguably is lacking from the recordings Karajan made in the 1970s.
As for Gardiner, his rendition is fast and thrilling, the bite of the fast movements compensating for an uncommonly hasty - though still, on its own terms, effective - slow movment. Plus, the speed means he can crowbar a recording of the 4th Symphony onto the same CD - can't say fairer than that.
Frédéric Chopin
Piano Concerto in E Minor (Op. 11)
Few great composers are associated with a single instrument in the way that Chopin is with the piano. Because of this, the pieces he wrote for anything but solo piano tend to get dismissed as amateurish forays into unmastered territory; but I defy anyone to find evidence of this from his piano concertos - the only major orchestral pieces he wrote.
It's true that the orchestration of the concertos is less imaginative than many composers would have made it; but this in no way diminishes the effectiveness of the pieces as a whole. The important factor is the subtle interplay of soloist and orchestra, and Chopin has nothing to be embarrassed about here.
Both the piano concertos are powerful pieces of music; but Op. 11 (chronologically the second concerto, even though it is technically number 1) has an ultra-romantic ambience that really lifts the spirit to a higher plane of existence, man - yet without ever seeming breast-beating or overripe. The particular mix of muscular power from the orchestra and sensitive commentary by the piano is quite unique.
My recording of this concerto is by Pollini and the Philharmonia Orchestra, conducted by Paul Kletzki. Back in 1961 Pollini wasn't the automaton he could be in later years, and here he strikes a balance between poetry and control that he's reproduced, despite his technical perfection, less often than one might have hoped in subsequent recordings.
Joseph Haydn
String Quartet in C (Op. 54 no. 2)
Once you've got used to the medium, you find that chamber music can equal orchestral music in excitement and drama - it's just that bit more subtle. Haydn runs a close second to Beethoven in bringing these qualities to the string quartet, like him employing surprise melodic shifts and unexpected dead stops in ways that keep the listener's ear constantly on its toes (to mix bodily metaphors rather unpleasantly).
The first movement is a high-speed roller-coaster ride that bolts between motifs and keys with spectacular unpredictability and agility. It's possibly the most ingenious single movement Haydn ever wrote. Beethoven couldn't have written it; nor could Mozart, and that's why Haydn should rightly be considered, in his quirky way, every bit as much a master as they were.
Following this a slightly arch adagio slows things down for a while, before they get going again in a minuet with strong recollections of the opening movement. Finally there's a typically Haydnesque surprise: not the buouyant rondo you might expect, but a second slow movement - this one, in contrast to the first, long, stately and moving. Towards the end of this there come some more high-speed antics, but not for long, and the slow melody has the final say.
No classical music communicates simple joy like Haydn's. Its lightness is, paradoxically, its most characteristically moving quality.
I only have the Lindays' recording of this quartet, and their intensity makes it a thrilling listen I can tell you. It's recorded with a very echoey acoustic, which makes for a "live" sound that highlights the music's sense of spontaneity. I'd be interested to hear what the more elegant Mosaïques Quartet make of it, should they ever commit it to plastic.
String Quartet in F (Op. 77 no. 2)
Haydn's last completed string quartet is an underappreciated classic. As with the late music of Mozart, Schubert and Beethoven, depths are explored here that are only hinted at in the earlier work, for all the latter's ingenious and uplifting qualities.
The quartet's focii are the gentle, restrained opening Andante moderato and the strange, introspective slow movement. The latter is one of my favourite movements in all music, even if it is surpassed by uncountable others (including Haydn's own) in terms of formal ingenuity. It simply doesn't sound like anything else you'll hear, with its subtle, wistful harmonies and the sense of stillness created by its repetition of a simple but charming theme through a set of (not actually very varied) variations. Haydn's capacity to surprise strikes again.
I've two recordings of this quartet, which complement each other superbly. The first is by the Austrian Mosaïques Quartet, whose celestial purity of tone (they play on period instruments) may on paper sound like an unhappy marriage with Haydn's direct, unfussy writing. Yet in practice it highlights an aspect of this composer that is all too often forgotten - that he can be very moving.
The other recording is by the Lindsay Quartet. Intensity is this group's watchword: an all-male outfit, they have a distinctively "masculine" character, though this shouldn't be seen as implying that they lack sensitivity. But they keep the tempos brisk and the dynamic contrasts strong, and present a meatier take on the piece than the Mosaïques. Do yourself a favour, I say, and buy 'em both.
Gustav Mahler
Symphony in D Minor (No. 3)
It took a Proms concert a few years ago to lift this among my favourite Mahler symphonies. Until that occasion forced me to sit through the whole first three movements, I didn't have the patience to try to follow them; plus, the thrilling live sound helped sustain attention. Now I revel in the outrageous length of the whole thing - Mahler's idea that the symphony should be a world in which the listener gets lost is truly realised here.
The first three movements are meandering and often quite noisy, excepting the haunting horn solos in the third. All archetypally Mahlerian. Then there's an anguished vocal solo; an ingeniously melodious children's chorus; and finally, a 35-minute monster of a slow movement for which the word "oceanic" seems even more apt than usual, as it's the final destination into which the previous movements flow. (Oo, get me.)
My recording of this is by Haitink and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw. Not all Haitink's Mahler recordings are successful, but on this occasion he manages to overcome his Northern European pflegm to fully enter into Mahler's emotionally overloaded fin-de-siecle Austro-Jewish world.
Symphony in G (No. 4)
Probably Mahler's least characteristic symphony. Not that any of its movements could possibly have been composed by anyone other than the master of fin-de-siecle opulence; but after hearing it, you may well wonder, "Where was the bombast? Where was the doom?" Because for the most part, this symphony is a testament to serenity.
Only one movement brings clouds into the picture. But rest assured, these clouds mean business - they are deep blue booming cumulo-nimbus, and they are the size of small countries. They appear in the third movement - deceptively titled "Ruhevoll" (peaceful). Allegedly this was Mahler's favourite of all his slow movements, and justifiably, I think: nowhere is his yearning for transcendence more powerfully expressed - not even in the Adagietto of the Fifth symphony. Those descending-semitone crescendoes floor me, every time. Like so much of the most poignant music, this movement strikes an astonishing balance between sadness and rapture, and is a definite condender for my favourite movement in all classical music.
OK, that's enough of that. The fact is that the other movements, though less immediately arresting, have their own power and eloquence that only become apparent after a few listens. All of them are essentially serene, and yet fascinating in their slow, purposeful working out of themes, and their subtle drifts of mood. The more one listens to this music, the more awe-struck one is by Mahler's ability to sustain musical logic over such huge timescales and aural canvasses; every detail is perfectly placed for optimum dramatic effect.
My recording of this symphony is by Karajan and the Berlin Phil. If there is a better recording around, I'm not sure I could cope with the sensory and emotional overload.
Symphony in A Minor (No. 6)
Although I would be hard pressed to describe any Mahler symphony as my favourite, since they all have their unique points of interest, No. 6 is one that holds my attention more consistently than certain of the others (for example, most of No. 5 I find a massive yawn, excluding the famous Adagietto). Check out the grumpy martial beat of the first movement, the menace of the scherzo and the fab oceanic yearning of the Andante moderato. This is a symphony in which Mahler's profligacy makes perfect sense - how could something so BIG be any less long?
I've two recordings of this symphony. Georg Solti (conducting the Chicago SO) is fine in the faster movements, but fails to get to the heart of the slow movement. Not so Karajan, who teases out of the Berlin Philharmonic a performance of characteristic restrained intensity. This one does the trick for me, although it is annoying having the change CDs for the final movement :(
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
String Quartet in D Minor (K. 421)
Of all Mozart's music, it's the string quartets and quintets that I keep coming back to. The inherent intimacy of the medium seems to add a depth to the intricacy of Mozart's writing; and in fact any of Mozart's six 'Haydn' quartets, or the four string quintets he wrote in his maturity, would merit inclusion in this list of my favourite classical pieces.
I've chosen K. 421 here because its slow movement and minuet are among my favourites of Mozart's movements - both quite simple, but subtly poignant in a way no other composer could imitate. There's very little to say over and above that; if you know anything about Mozart's music, you'll know why this quartet is so good.
The Talich Quartet provide a smooth, lively account of this piece; as in all their recordings, the emphasis is on the intimacy of shared music-making, with less attention, perhaps, to deeper emotional resonances.
The Mosaïques Quartet's account is delicate and restrained. As in most of their recordings, they tend to slow speeds, and while they certainly never linger sentimentally over phrases, I can't help feeling that slightly faster speeds help to highlight, by way of contrast, the poignancy that is inherent in the Mozart's scores.
Ultimately, I would plump for the Chilingirian Quaret's recording. They don't have the surface charm of the Talich, or the shimmering poise of the Mosaïques; but there is a depth to their music-making that only becomes fully apparent after several listens. There are no fireworks but you come away feeling that they have really got to the heart of the music. And their tempos are invariably well-judged.
Franz Schubert
Symphony in C (No. 9) (D. 944)
I tend to agree with those who think this symphony is too long; or if not too long, perhaps long in not quite the right way.
The problem for me is with the two middle movements - both full of pretty themes and pleasant, trotting rhythms, but with what seems to me a lack of tautness about them. To take an example, the waltz theme of the trio may be one of the cutest tunes Schubert ever wrote, but so relentlessly is it hammered home that by the time the scherzo returns you feel you never want to hear it again in your life.
I wonder if the problem is also partly the lack of a slow movement. Think of the way that Beethoven's 3rd and 9th Symphonies depend for so much of their power on the gravitas of their adagios. The same goes for Mahler's 4th and 6th Symphonies - and indeed Schubert's own late piano sonatas and the String Quintet. Somehow the Symphony in C lacks, for me, an emotional fulcrum.
Still, all that said, this is one of my favourite symphonies, principally on account of the opening and closing movements - and being more specific still, on account of a particular recording of them, by Klaus Tennstedt and the Berlin Philharmonic. Tennstedt plays the piece fast and with strong dynamic contrasts, emphasising drama wherever possible, rather than rhythm. The result is a particularly rousing rendition: the first movement has a marvellous feeling of excitement and anticipation about it, which makes me picture an enormous 18th-Century sailing ship being prepared for an epic voyage (or something). The final movement recaptures the same spirit - both the thrill and the melancholy of departure for new places.
String Quintet in C (D. 956)
If I recall correctly, this is the only piece of chamber music that made it into the "Desert Island Discs" all-time Top Ten. It's justifiably one of Schubert's most famous works - principally on account of its heart-rending adagio. But the depth of its other movements shouldn't be overlooked - particularly the massive opening one, whose total effect is so much more than the sum of its parts. There's also the long slow interlude in the allegretto, which contains some of the most vertiginous key shifts Schubert ever committed to paper.
The final movement is a light, but strangely menacing allegretto - as though the Devil were doing a victory dance on the grave of the being whose life he tormented in the movements before. It's quite a fitting end, even if it's not what you come to the piece for.
I've got the Linday Quartet's recording of this. As ever, their combination of intensity and depth gets right to the heart of the piece.
Piano Sonata in A (D. 959)
My favourite Schubert sonata. If it doesn't have a single movement as poignant as the first of the better-known D. 960, nevertheless in my opinion it forms a more coherent whole. Like D. 960 it is pervaded by melancholy, but of a more equivocal kind that mixes resignation with rapture. The first movement is austere, reflective and full of ambiguity, as themes of questioning - even apprehension - alternate with passages of bold confidence.
The second movement (the most famous in the work) is one of the grimmest Schubert wrote, with its middle passage of crushing, chaotic chromatism. After this, the clouds clear for the scherzo; but the happiness it expresses is that which has known excruciating suffering - it is the happiness of gratitude. The finale is a cheerful, whistling rondo that carries many thematic echoes of the first movement; with its simple, placid main melody, at first it seems something of a disappointment after the preceding profundities. However, its real significance becomes clear in the middle section, where the rondo theme gives birth to a three-note motif that balances spectacularly between keys, creating a tone of strenuous yearning before finally giving out and letting the movement return to its placidity in the little time it has left.
The piece ends with a burst of powerful, affirmative chords that recall the opening theme of the first movement - bringing things full circle and suggesting (to me) an ultimate refusal to let suffering stifle love of life.
I have several recordings of this sonata. My current favourite is Maurizio Pollini's, whose Schubert recordings have grown on me. At first I found them understated to the point of coldness, but more and more I appreciate their fluidity - an essential ingredient, I think, in any successful recording of Schubert's music.
Stephen Kovacevich's recording caused controversy on its release, and not without reason - taking considerable dynamic liberties, he manages to make this sonata sound like something by Beethoven. On first hearing, it is impressive; but the more familiar it becomes, the more vulgar it seems also. (On the other hand, Kovacevich's Beethoven recordings are among the best around.)
Other recordings I have are by Perahia and Brendel. Both are fine; Brendel paces his rendition quite slowly, which some may find offputting, but I think it works.