Classical Music: Kodaly and Dohnanyi Chamber Works

(Five Stars)

A generous and well-recorded programme of 20th Century Hungarian chamber works. The key work here is the Kodaly Duo for violin and cello: there is a freshness in the playing and a delight in the felicitous writing. The folk-inspired Serenade for two violins and viola is slighter but no less appealing. The Dohnanyi is the earliest piece on the disc: each movement is well characterised and finely nuanced. Smith and his fellow musicians respond with focus and verve in a fine follow up to last years solo disc on the same label.

Gramophone Magazine: Signs, Games and Messages

If dozens of recordings of Bartók’s Solo Sonata are available, scarcely a handful of violinists have recorded the solo pieces of György Kurtág. Born 45 years after Bartók, Kurtág grew up some 85 miles from the elder composer’s birthplace (both locations now in Romania). Kurtág has said, quite sincerely, that his ‘mother tongue is Bartók’. Both pianist-composers assiduously cultivated an understanding of the violin. These factors combined make Simon Smith’s release, combining canonic Bartók with Kurtág pieces from the past 30 or so years, apt and welcome.

Kurtág’s Signs, Games and Messages is a sort of ongoing compositional notebook similar to the eight volumes of Games, though the latter are pieces for piano and piano duet, while the former are designated for both string and wind instruments. The 18 Smith has selected for this disc, the longest of which is a little over three minutes, are characteristically terse and musically rich. His thoughtful, sympathetic performances discern the unique qualities of each.

Three perpetuum mobiles take the same arpeggiation as a starting point for arrivals in three very different places. Kurtág has written many memorial tributes for friends and colleagues, and two of those included here – to László Mensáros, one of the most beloved Hungarian actors of the 20th century, and to the conductor Tamás Blum – are deeply affecting in their understatement. The questing, fragmentary ‘Hommage à John Cage’ seems a perfect likeness of the composer.

Naturally, in the Bartók Sonata, Smith faces some stiff competition. His interpretation may not have the earthiness of Viktoria Mullova, the intellectual compass of Christian Tetzlaff or the idiomatic implacability of Barnabás Kelemen. That said, it is a compelling reading with a firm point of view.

Smith’s strong, clear sound is superbly captured in a space that accentuates the disc’s existential aura of one human alone with little but his own consciousness for company.

The Times: Wigmore Hall

Smith is a virtuoso who is at once darkly cool and immensely persuasive: he is seemingly reserved in often preferring a tone that is close to a viola, and in refraining from the subjective bravado of “expressive” playing, but he is massively confident, massively present in his control of tone and effect, and above all in his steadfast phrasing, his ability to make a long melody arch forward, powerfully supported by an urge that remains un-revealed.

There are extraordinary gifts here, and Smith did include one piece to draw attention to them: the Szymanowski Nocturne and Tarantella, which is full of evocative shadow, brilliantly precise pizzicato arpeggios, and marvellous, pearly harmonics. But otherwise, in Schumann’s A minor Sonata and Dallapiccola’s Two Studies, this was selfless playing, devoted to making the music exist as fully as possible.

The Dallapiccola performance was especially remarkable for Smith’s depth of knowledge and conviction, his unerring way of making a complex line firm and impressive. For half a recital, his programme was certainly varied enough, but one was left wanting to hear him in an even greater range of music – indeed, in almost anything from Bach to Berio.

Kodaly Serenade RESONUS CLASSICS RES10181 [OL] Classical Music Reviews: June 2017 - MusicWeb-International

Although followed by two serenades, the opening Duo is far from a carefree divertissement. Kodály started working on it while spending a vacation in a mountain resort, but had to leave abruptly after the declaration of World War I. His awe of the great mountains and the fear of the war shaped this striking work. Kodály’s music is Hungarian on the molecular level, and the folk spirit, even without direct quotations, is omnipresent here. The first movement is dark and majestic, the second mysterious and gritty. The finale starts with a rhapsodic introduction, then the pace gets quicker and the mood lightens, stylistically staying somewhere between Bartók and Ravel. Kodály’s mastery of texture fools the ear and creates an impression of more than just two instruments involved. I compared this recording to the one made by Gil Morgenstern and Darrett Adkins (Engine Company Records, 2008). Their performance, albeit with noticeably worse acoustics, is more expressive and elated, even wild at times. I admit that they may be overdoing it, but their approach of getting more out of every note is certainly more engaging and vibrant. Compared to them, Smith and Jenkinson are cooler and cleaner, but sound tame. In the second movement their fears are more distant, yet the music is no less scary and has the Shostakovich-like effect, when the feeling is not coming through ears but is born in resonating depths inside you.

The first movement of Kodály’s Serenade is energetic and passionate, with echoes of late Russian Romanticism and the French Impressionists. The sound of two violins and a viola produces light and airy textures. This is not a decorative serenade with repetitive “background” music: this is a serenade in the original meaning of the word – an evening song. This evening will go into night in the slow middle movement, dark and mystical with enthralling sonic effects, all like one long sustained tremolo. This landscape is not scary, but has an eerie air. There is some great viola playing from Paul Silverthorne. The finale is a lengthy dance scene with diverse episodes of different character, mood and tempo, but always with unstoppable momentum. Again, I feel that this ride is safe and smooth, where it can be more risky and rough. I compared it to the recording of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Centre (Delos, 1993), and I hear in the latter performance the folksy, lively irregularity that I do not find in the present recording, whose tone is beautiful and clean, but sounds too pristine. This works well for the mysterious middle movement, but not for the more fiery outer movements. After all, we are listening to Kodály, not Taneyev. Maybe a slight rubato here, a tiny roughness of tone there could make the music more alive and informal. In the finale the Lincoln Centre musicians do not only play faster, but also produce the much-needed bounciness, which really turns notes into a dance.

Dohnányi was only five years older than Kodály, but a whole generation gap lies between the two composers. While Kodály was looking for new ways to put the Hungarian national spirit into music, Dohnányi was firmly rooted in the German-Austrian music, especially Brahms. Thus the characteristics of the performers which make them less ideal for the deeply Hungarian works of Kodály – the purity, the transparency, the elegance – are actually quite welcome in Dohnányi’s more stereotypical Serenade and make it light and airy. The opening Marcia is lighthearted and energetic. The Romanza is warm and sweet, with a passionate Trio section. The polyphonic Scherzo is sharp and demonic, with angularity that forebodes Shostakovich. The theme of the Trio section is gentle and Brahmsian, and in the recapitulation both themes are superimposed, creating a peculiar yet alluring tone picture. The forth movement is Tema con variazioni; the theme is slow and plaintive, with Brahmsian yearning and ambiguous oscillation of major and major modes; the variations have increasing intensity. Dohnányi was always the master of finales, and the Serenade ends with a merry dance of the Rondo, which could have sounded Mendelssohnian if it were faster; at the present tempo it sounds a bit heavy-footed. For comparison I listened to the performance by Beethoven String Trio (Praga Digitals, 2006) and found them more rustic and involving. Still, the performance by Smith, Silverthorne and Jenkison has undeniable zest.

Overall, the disk left an impression of some very English readings of some very Hungarian music. It is clean, elegant and smooth. The recording quality is excellent: very clear, spacious, really professional. Next to it, the recordings I used for comparison sounded like student projects. The sound is very lean and “white” – more grit and roughness would probably suit this music better.

The three works on this album are truly wonderful and should be better known. It is good to have them placed side by side, and this is a fine presentation of all three. The four musicians from London do not form a “named” ensemble, yet they play like a long-established group, with good synergy and well-measured intonations. The instruments have beautiful voices and blend very naturally. Still, one can find more idiomatic performances out there, and personally I would lose some of the polished refinement that this disc brings in order to gain some more Hungarian spirit. The booklet contains very well-written essays about the composers, the works and the history of their creation, as well as the performers’ bios.

Oleg Ledeniov

The Strad: Signs, Games and Messages

György Kurtág builds grand, over-arching architecture by stringing together compressed fragments – concentrated gestures aimed at provoking concentrated listening. Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin (1944) is anything but compressed, its four-movement plan divining structures of expansive wonder from motivic seeds – a yin-meets-yang of interpretative challenges.
The recorded tradition of the Bartók – beginning with its dedicatee Yehudi Menuhin and moving towards recent recordings by James Ehnes and Vilde Frang – is rich and diverse, and the ‘heat’ of British violinist Simon Smith contrasts noticeably with the cool, unfussy approach favoured by Ehnes. The Bachian mood music of the opening ‘Tempo di ciaccona’ is unashamedly pushed to the fore, and the heat of Smith’s performance rises through expressive swells that inject a vague air of Romanticism. A ballad-like reading of the third-movement ‘Melodia’ is brusquely interrupted by Bartók’s Presto finale, as Smith rides the rude, rhythmic stampede like a rodeo.
Kurtág’s Signs, Games & Messages variously draws on John Dowland and folk sources, and includes miniatures dedicated to Cage and Bach, although I’m not convinced that the parts add up to the grand whole that Kurtág aims for. But Smith clearly is convinced, and this luxuriantly detailed reading, matched by a clean-cut recording, will not leave existing Kurtág devotees disappointed.

The Strad: Purcell Room

Opting for a programme of early-20th-century works, Simon Smith proceeded to celebrate their various stylistic nuances with interpretative flair. He dealt neatly with the neo-classical proportions of Stravinsky’s Suite Italienne, particularly the understated, witty elegance of the “Minuetto e Finale”, where he revelled in the frantic brilliance of successions of fifths.

The sweet tone Smith proffered in the Stravinsky was fleshed out for the more oblique meanderings of Szymanowski’s Three Myths with a sensuous, sobbing vibrato. Andrew West brought cavernous clarity to the layered piano wash, over which Smith laid a perfectly sculpted, stratospheric lament. The fleeting melodies which emerged amid the high rustlings of the violin in the third Myth, “Dryads and Pan”, were captured exquisitely, while the sheer romance of the violin’s soaring melody was entrancing.

More introspective still was Debussy’s Sonata. Here, Smith achieved a sensitive balance, at times indulging his sumptuous tone, at others producing a dusky remoteness.

Prokofiev’s Sonata no. 2 brought a fine violin and piano ensemble, with West expertly matching Smith’s fiery, crisp articulation. Smith’s effortless bow control made light of the flowing, uneasy chromaticism of the Andante, while the outspoken finery of the Allegro con brio was well controlled.

Smith’s choice of encore – Lili Boulanger’s Nocturne – confirmed his turn-of-thecentury loyalties. This delicate and unassuming piece was played with the characteristic poignancy and expressive power which made this concert so enchanting.

Bartók: Sonata for solo violin; Kurtág: Signs, Games & Message

Reviewed on Tue 29 Nov, 2016

György Kurtág (who turned 90 this year) has a knack of compelling the listener even with a rudimentary and repeated phrase and equally of creating an expansive world when a piece is aphoristic. The eighteen movements of Signs, Games & Messages play together for less than half an hour – the longest is just short of five minutes and several are counted in seconds; individually and collectively they make a big and intriguing impression. Simon Smith plays with poise, dynamism, tonal variety and an outreach of expression. As he does with further music for unaccompanied violin by an earlier Hungarian master, Béla Bartók, his large-scale four-movement Sonata (in fact of similar length to the Kurtág) composed for Menuhin, invention ignited by a noble opening gesture and compelled by intensity and meticulous working out, yet the idiom is fiery and earthy, and eloquent in the slow movement. Excellent recorded sound and presentation.
–Colin Anderson

Hungarian folk: chamber music by Kodaly and Dohnanyi

Star rating: 4.5

Powerful chamber music from Kodaly in unusual instrumental compositions

This disc is something of a follow up to violinist Simon Smith's previous Resonus disc, solo violin music by Bartok and Kurtag (see my review). On this new disc, Smith is joined by Clare Hayes (violin), Paul Silverthorne (viola) and Katherine Jenkinson (cello) in a programme of duos and trios, Kodaly's Duo for Violin and Cello, Op.7 and Serenade for two violins, and viola, Op.12, and Dohnanyi's Serenade for String Trio Op. 10.

Between 1909 and 1920, Zoltan Kodaly composed two string quartets, the sonata for solo cello, the sonata for cello and piano, the duo for violin and cello, and the serenade for two violins and viola. And in the subsequent four decades, he wrote no further chamber music. The works written between 1909 and 1920 however are of great importance in Kodaky's output and it is in this chamber music that Kodaly really found his creative voice. The sonata for solo cello is well known, and on this disc Simon Smith allows us to hear two powerful companion works where Kodaly integrates folk-influence into his own distinctive voice.

The Duo for Violin and Cello is a big work, three movements lasting just under 27 minutes. From the opening of the lively Allegro serioso, non troppo we notice Kodaly's inventive texture, with one instrument taking the lead and the other commenting, but the two changing roles constantly thus bringing great variety, and deceiving the ear about how many players there are. The main material is lyrical, folk-inflected but in Kodaly's hands it becomes quite strong and certainly not lazily folkloric. The Adagio begins quietly concentrated, and rather melancholy. It is an intense and rather spare movement, but then the passion ramps up and the players really make the music bite. The end is quieter, but certainly not easier. The finale starts with a rhapsodic violin cadenza, before the vibrantly busy movement proper starts. Here moods are changeable as are emotions, leading to a vivid ending.

This is a terrific piece and Simon Smith and Katherine Jenkinson bring out the complexity of the work, emphasising the strength.

Kodaky's Serenade for two violins and viola seems to have represented a personal challenge to write a work without bass line. In both Kodaly's works on the disc it is tempting to align the music with external circumstances, the duo being written at the outbreak of World War One, the serenade when Kodaly's teaching career at the Liszt Academy in Budapest hung in the balance, for no fault of his own.

The serenade is somewhat more conventional than the duo, but no less inventive.  The opening Allegramente comes over as a fairly conventional Hungarian dance, but Kodaly's instrumental writing is imaginative and the textures highly varied. The Lento ma non troppo is quieter, but rather more striking with its fragmented textures and spare writing, illuminated by moments of intensity. The final Vivo opens with a bang and develops into something more rhythmically folk-ish.

Kodaly's older contemporary Dohnanyi was more aligned to Austro-Hungarian tradition than Kodaly and Bartok. Dohnanyi's Serenade for String Trio dates from 1902, one of the first works where he found his voice. There is little of the voice of Hungarian folk-music here, instead we have five short yet characterful movements, starting with the brightly cheerful march with its more stereotypical quasi-Hungarian elements familiar from 19th century music. The Romanza is delicate and lyrical, at first but then develops some real passion in the middle section. The Scherzo is perkily characterful, with a sly edge to the music, whilst the Tema con variazioni is beautifully constructed with some lovely moments in the contrasting variations. The Rondo finale is brisk and breezy in an almost Grainger-esque manner.

The works on the disc provide a nice contrast in styles and attitude, representing the development of Hungarian music. Whilst I enjoyed the Dohnanyi, it is for the terrific performances of the Kodaly that I will return to the disc.