Haydn: Nelson Mass, Symphony no 102 Boston Baroque/Martin Pearlman (Linn)
In a week bristling with geo-political tension, we need Haydn's "Mass for Troubled Times" more than ever. Here, Boston Baroque's natural trumpets blast out their tattoo in the Kyrie with a punch matched by that of the choir. Such a magnificent opening – the boldness due in part to Prince Esterházy's economically-driven downsizing of Haydn's orchestral forces. Woodwinds and horns had been dismissed, and trumpets and timpani were used instead to supplement the ripieno strings. Martin Pearlman's swift speeds are perfectly judged, and this performance ticks all the right boxes. Sample the moment a minute into into Haydn's Gloria in excelsis Deo, when the solo quartet step aside to let Pearlman's massed choral forces ring out. It's as rousing as anything in Mahler 8. Pearlman's excellent soloists work hard, and he captures the mood changes as well as anyone.
We get the Symphony no 102 as a welcome bonus. Pearlman's full-blooded approach works well, though the resonant acoustic can make for oppressive listening in the louder tuttis. Muted brass in Haydn's Adagio add their colour, and the Presto finale zips along, almost derailling to comic effect in the final 30 seconds. Two masterpieces on a well-produced disc - brilliant music, performed with style.
Weinberg: Symphony no 10, Sonata no 3, Sonatina, Concertino Soloists, Kremerata Baltica/Gidon Kremer (violin and leader) (ECM)
“How could an artist with a bulging musical œuvre of 7 operas, 22 symphonies, 10 concertos, 17 string quartets and realms of vocal and chamber music fail to receive the appreciation he so richly deserves?” Wolfgang Sandner's booklet essay argues that Mieczysław Weinberg's neglect has much to do with ill-fortune, of reaching creative maturity in the wrong place at the wrong time – Weinberg, born in Poland, moved to the USSR in the early 1940s, continuing to compose into the 1990s. This imaculately performed and recorded compilation highlights Weinberg's weaknesses as well as strengths. How his musical style evolved is well charted, with the earlier pieces included here owing much to Weinberg's mentor and friend Shostakovich. The compact 1950 string trio is a fabulous listen, the last movement's Klezmer pastiche ending abruptly, equivocally, as if the composer was shying away from making any extra-musical points. A 1949 Sonatina for violin and piano is another beguiling work – superficially easy listening, the shadows burbling away imperceptibly under the music's surface.
Still more rewarding is the1948 Concertino for violin and strings – deft, rhythmically witty stuff, revealing just how potent Weinberg's melodic gifts were. It lasts 15 minutes, and there are a few moments when you suspect that he's treading water, but the tunes are so good you're inclined to forgive him. Weinberg's Symphony no 10 was premiered by Rudolf Barshai in 1968, and the style is much more arresting. It's freely atonal in places, always emotionally highly-charged. Gidon Kremer's performance is gripping – the violent outbursts thrillingly visceral, and the furious, bright closing chord a haunting, unforgettable sound. Weinberg's unsettling 1979 Sonata no 3 for solo violin completes the anthology, a passionate, personal work dedicated to the memory of the composer's father. Kremer's performance might well convince you that this is one of the great works for solo violin. Good sleeve art too. This is a self-recommending introduction to a fascinating, elusive figure.
Battle for Music (Panamint Cinema)
Directed by Donald Taylor in 1943, Battle for Music is a clunky yet hugely engaging semi-documentary charting the wartime history of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Facing liquidation through loss of financial support, the orchestra's players formed their own company and managed to keep the ensemble afloat, touring extensively across the UK. Author J B Priestley became the figurehead for a fundraising campaign, and bandleader Jack Hylton engaged the LPO to perform in variety theatres and music halls. The idea for the film originally came from the Ministry of Information, who unexpectedly withdrew their backing. The musicians' attempts to play themselves are unintentionally hilarious. Viola player Thomas Russell proves a hugely likeable Secretary for the orchestra, despite delivering his lines in comically deadpan style. Charles Gregory, the LPO's principal horn, is equally wooden.
But the musical performances captured are fascinating – composer Constant Lambert's electrifying account of Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet is a treat, and he also accompanies Benno Moisewitch in a generous, well-edited chunk of Rachmaninov. Adrian Boult conducts Elgar's Cockaigne. Malcolm Sargent's plodding conversation with Russell about the need to interest children in classical music still has relevance, though the message is undercut by shots of a youthful audience looking slightly bored by a languid reading of Delius's La Calinda. The montage sequences showing speeding trains must have been an inspiration for David Lean's Brief Encounter. The booklet notes are worth perusing, particularly for their narration of Boult's shabby role in removing the left-wing Russell from his position as Chairman. Readers of a certain age will be interested to discover that Russell subsequently became the MD of Colletts bookshop on Charing Cross Road. Image and sound quality are excellent, and the extras are generous, particularly a delightful animated Musical Poster and a short propaganda film about the work of the wartime Council for the Encouragement of Music and the Arts. There's also a Blu-ray version. A must-see.