DVORAK Cello Concerto in B Minor, opus 104
BRUCH Kol Nidrei, opus 47
JANOS STARKER, cellist
ANTAL DORATI conducting the London Symphony Orchestra
SR90303
Monaural MG50303
“wry on earth didn’t | know that a person could write a violoncello
concerto like this? If | had only known, | would have written one
long ago.’ These words were spoken after a first examination of the
new Cello Concerto by Antonin Dvorak. The speaker was no less than
Johannes Brahms, Dvorak’s long-time friend and champion, who
seemed to have forgotten for the moment that he himself had only
recently completed the magnificent Double Concerto for Violin, Cello
and Orchestra.
Brahms was not the only composer who realized the many problems
involved in writing a work for cello and orchestra. Although the cello
has an exceptionally wide range, its more easily accessible notes lie
well below the normal melodic surface of the orchestra, making it diffi-
cult to penetrate a heavy fabric of orchestral accompaniment. Besides,
while a good player can perform great feats of virtuosity on the instru-
ment, it still lacks the exciting tonal brilliance of the violin. Perhaps
that is why so few really fine compositions for cello exist in the con-
certo literature. Of these, performers and listeners alike are in general
agreement that the Dvorak Concerto belongs in the very front rank—
many say at the top of the list.
It was another cello concerto—the second by Victor Herbert (recorded
on Mercury MG 50286/SR 90286)—that inspired Dvorak to write his sole
work in this form. In March, 1894, during his last year as head of the
National Conservatory of Music in New York, the Czech composer heard
Herbert play his new concerto for the first time with the New York
Philharmonic in Carnegie Hall. He was so moved by the experience
that he determined to write a cello concerto of his own. His friend and
compatriot, Hans Wihan, Professor of Cello at the Prague Conservatory,
had long been pressing him for such a work; and now he saw his way
clear to creating it.
Dvorak began work on the concerto in New York in November, 1894,
and completed it the following February. During that period, he had
the assistance of Alwin Schroeder, first cellist of the Boston Symphony
Orchestra, who offered advice on certain technical details.
Wihan, too, had some advice of his own to give. When Dvorak returned
to Prague in April, 1895, the Czech cellist took great pains to edit the
solo part, adding bowings and fingerings. Evidently he wanted to go
even further and add some of his own inventions, including a cadenza
in the last movement. For his collaboration on the work, Dvorak dedi-
cated the concerto to Wihan. But he feared that Wihan might try to
interfere in the correction of the proofs. Therefore, on October 3, 1895,
he felt impelled to write his publisher, Simrock: “‘My friend Wihan and
| have differed as to certain things. Many of the passages do not
please me, and | must insist that my work be printed as | have written
it. In certain places the passages may, indeed, be printed in two ver-
sions—a comparatively easy and a more difficult one. Above all, |
give you my work only if you will promise me that no one—not even my
friend Wihan—shall make any alteration in it without my knowledge
and permission—also no cadenza such as Wihan has made in the last
movement—and that its form shall be as ! have felt it and thought it
out. The cadenza in the last movement is not to exist either in the or-
chestral or the piano score: | informed Wihan, when he showed it to
me, that it is impossible to insert one. The finale closes gradually,
diminuendo—like a breath—with reminiscences of the first and second
movements; the solo dies away to a pianissimo, then there is a Cre-
scendo, and the last measures are taken up by the orchestra, ending
stormily. That was my idea, and from it | cannot recede.”
It may have been the differences between Dvorak and Wihan which
account for the fact that the latter was not the soloist at the concerto’s
premiére. This took place at a concert of the London Philharmonic
Orchestra on March 19, 1896. The composer conducted, and the soloist
was the young English cellist Leo Stern, who came to Prague especially
to study the work with Dvorak, and who returned there to play the con-
certo on April 9. Later, Stern introduced it to New York and Chicago.
The first American performance, however, was given, appropriately, by
Schroeder with the Boston Symphony on December 19, 1896.
Though the concerto was written in New York, there is nothing which
relates it musically to Dvorak’s other American compositions. By the
time he came to work on it, he was far too homesick to put anything
of the New World into it. His thoughts were with his native land, and
the spirit of the music is entirely Czech.
The concerto is scored for woodwinds in pairs, four horns, two
trumpets, three trombones, ‘tuba, kettledrums, triangle and strings. It
is in the customary three movements. The first movement is an even-
flowing Allegro, with a sturdy first subject and a rich, melodic second
theme, first announced by the solo horn. There is a feeling of quiet
reserve about the second movement, Adagio ma non troppo, which
includes a brief cadenza for the solo instrument. The finale, Allegro
moderato, is almost march-like in character. Its rather unusual ending
has already been described in the composer’s own words. But another
unusual feature, which occurs shortly before the end, is a duet for the
solo cellist and the orchestra’s concertmaster. PAUL AFFELDER
It is a sort of musical compliment to Max Bruch's long devotion to
folk music that what is considered one of his most. representative
works should have sprung from an alien tradition. Aiong with his First
Violin Concerto, Kol Nidrei, an ‘‘Adagio for violoncello based on a He-
brew melody,” is today the most frequently heard composition by a
composer who was a contemporary of Brahms, but who survived him
by almost a quarter of a century. The traditional Hebrew chant has
been treated with such conviction, however, by this Lutheran grandson
of an eminent German clergyman, that it is more familiar to concert-
goers than his earlier Kyrie, Sanctus and Agnus Dei (opus 37).
Bruch had a lifelong devotion to folk music, and became somewhat
of an authority on German, Russian and Swedish music, some of which
he drew upon in his Songs and Dances (opus 63 and opus 79). His
Adagio on Celtic Melodies and better-known Scottish Fantasy (op. 46)
explore yet other sources and his deep interest in folk art might well
have influenced Vaughn Williams when that celebrated folklorist
studied with him.
International in his travels as in his musical interests, Bruch was
serving as conductor of the Liverpool Philharmonic Society at the time
he composed Kol Nidrei. It received its first performance, however, at a
concert of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra on October 20, 1881.
For the basis of his composition, Bruch quite literally drew upon
what is regarded as one of the most sacred of Hebrew melodies, cus-
tomarily chanted on the eve of the Day of Atonement. This prayer, the
Universal Jewish Encyclopedia explains, serves to annul ‘‘all vows
made in any form whatsoever during the course of the year, insofar as
they concern one’s own person.”’
The personalized solemnity of the original melody is most appropri-
ately paralleled by the timbre of the solo cello, which intones it first,
unadorned. Variations expand on the original theme and lead to a
secondary subject, pronounced by the orchestra first, this time, and
then assigned to the solo instrument. The original theme is recalled as
the work concludes in a sombre mood.
ABOUT JANOS STARKER
“Every so often an artist appears who dominates his instrument in
the minds of a generation, and usually you spot him young. There was
never much doubt about Casals, or Heifetz, or Segovia, or Landowska.
And there is not much doubt today about the thirty-seven-year-old Hun-
garian-American Janos Starker.’’ Thus Martin Mayer last year began a
word-portrait of an artist who could even then review some twenty years
of critical acclaim.
While occupying the first cello chair in several leading American
orchestras, Mr. Starker built upon an already imposing international
reputation that had begun in Hungary where he was first cellist at the
Budapest Opera and Philharmonic Orchestra. Since coming to the
United States in 1948, he has made a deep impression on the musical
life of this country, serving as principal cellist of the Dallas Symphony,
the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and the Chicago Symphony and
performing in solo recitals.
“It took no time at all for Mr. Starker to prove . . . that he is certainly
the equal of any living cellist” remarked Harold Schonberg of the New
York Times on the occasion of his first New York City recital in 1960. In
addition to his activities as a performer, however, Janos Starker has
devoted a considerable portion of his time to traveling among American
community orchestras as string consultant, and teaching at Indiana
University as professor of music.
Perhaps the aspect of Janos Starker’s art that has produced most
comment is the exceptional subtlety of conception and refinement of
control which he commands. Raymond Ericson of the New York Times
recently summarized Starker’s accomplishments in these words: “The
technical aspects of Mr. Starker’s playing are so wholly merged in the
solution to problems of interpretation and style, that the listener tends
to forget how much technical mastery the cellist has achieved. The
pitch is unerringly right, the tone is mellow without being mushy, diffi-
cult leaps and runs are manipulated with the easy unobtrusiveness of
a magician.”
MERCURY records on 35-mm. magnetic film
Mercury’s famous Living Presence recording technique, developed
more than ten years ago, is still setting the pace for quality and fidelity
in recorded reproduction. The use of 35-mm. magnetic film, with its
additional width, extra thickness and faster rate of speed, has even
further refined and extended frequency range and transient response
while cutting background noise to an irreducible minimum. Like all
LIVING PRESENCE recordings, these works were recorded with ex-
tremely sensitive omnidirectional microphones (three for stereo, one
for mono) hung in front of the orchestra at the beginning of the ses-
sion, tested for balance, and then never moved: Likewise, the volume
controls on the recording machines were adjusted by means of level
checks at the start, and then never moved. In this way Mercury record-
ings preserve the entire dynamic gamut of a real performance, and the
listener hears the music just as he would at a live concert . . . better,
in fact, because the microphones are hung in the focal point of the
auditorium, an optimum position where no seat could ever be.
This Mercury LIVING PRESENCE STEREO record makes availabie to the
disc-buying public an exciting new listening experience. The use of
the MARGIN CONTROL system of variable groove spacing in Mercury’s
LIVING PRESENCE monaural discs represented a major step in the
perfection of the long playing record. This technique has now been
successfully augmented with electronic groove depth control for the LIVING
PRESENCE STEREO record, thus enabling Mercury to produce a two-channel disc
of exceptionally wide dynamic range, reliable stylus tracking throughout the
frequency range, and startling clarity and definition of instrumental timbres. This
Mercury LIVING PRESENCE STEREO record should be played according to the RIAA
standard witha stereo reproducing cartridge having a stylus tip not exceeding .7 mil.
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