CD REVIEW: Sergei Prokofiev — PETER AND THE WOLF IN HOLLYWOOD (Alice Cooper, narrator; Bundesjugendorchester; Alexander Shelley, conductor; Deutsche Grammophon 479 4888)

SERGEI PROKOFIEV (1891 – 1953): Peter and the Wolf, Opus 67, plus music by Paul Dukas, Sir Edward Elgar, Edvard Grieg, Gustav Mahler, Modest Mussorgsky, Giacomo Puccini, Erik Satie, Robert Schumann, Bedřich Smetana, Richard Wagner, and Alexander von Zemlinsky—Alice Cooper, narrator; Bundesjugendorchester; Alexander Shelley, conductor [Recorded in Probenstudio Stolberger Straße, Cologne, Germany, during April 2014 (Peter and the Wolf), Funkhaus Berlin Nalepastraße, Germany, during September 2014 (other musical excerpts), and 5A Studios, London, UK, during June 2015 (narration); Deutsche Grammophon 479 4888 (also available with narration in German by Campino, 479 4894); 1 CD, 49:34; Available from DGG, Amazon (USA), jpc (Germany - English version | German version), Presto Classical (UK), and major music retailers]

Neither recording Sergei Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf with narrations provided by celebrities of all artistic (and non-artistic) varieties nor reimagining Classics with the goal of making them more accessible for Twenty-First-Century audiences is uncommon, but neither endeavor has produced results more delightful than Deutsche Grammophon’s Peter and the Wolf in Hollywood. With the orphaned Peter relocated to the care of his Tommy Chong-esque grandfather in an idealized Los Angeles, Giants Are Small’s concept places the familiar story in a context both timeless and surprisingly, menacingly, wondrously modern. Composed in four days in 1936 in fulfillment of a commission for a work designed to encourage the development of musical taste among young schoolchildren, Peter and the Wolf has in the past seventy years amassed a discography containing performances narrated by luminaries of culture and politics ranging from Eleanor Roosevelt to Dame Edna Everage. Like so many works of divergent degrees of profundity, Peter and the Wolf has retained the popularity that it garnered in the decade after its first performance, according to Prokofiev a failure played to a mostly-empty house, not because it is a simplistic piece but because it cleverly, almost unperceivably inspires listeners of all ages to think and imagine. Prokofiev’s Leitmotivs in Peter and the Wolf are hardly of Wagnerian dimensions, musically or dramatically, but associating Prokofiev’s melodic units and instrumental timbres with Peter, his Grandfather, and the creatures of their acquaintance is a wonderful education in the art of interpreting musical characterization. Heightening the inherent eloquence of Prokofiev’s score, the heart of Peter and the Wolf in Hollywood beats not in a caricatured musical marionette show but in a vibrant, earnest depiction of a displaced young boy’s journey into a frightening, turbulent new world.

The brainchild of visual artist Doug Fitch, filmmaker and producer Edouard Getaz, and multimedia entrepreneur Frédéric Gumy, Giants Are Small is the product of an initiative focused on engendering fascinating new frames of reference for some of the most beloved works in the repertory. The prequel narrative devised for Peter and the Wolf, establishing Peter’s origins in Russia and the circumstances of his transplantation into the strange world of Hollywood, is nothing short of brilliant, an extension of Prokofiev’s metaphorical story that is a thoughtful, organic addendum rather than an imposition. Imaginative moments are plentiful, but the sequence at the end of the prequel linking Giants Are Small’s backstory to the adaptation of Prokofiev’s original tale proves unexpectedly moving. As Peter seeks sanctuary in his bedroom and peruses his photo album, seeing photos of himself as an infant, as a toddler, fishing by a lake, with his parents, and finally alone, the listener is given a window into the boy’s very adult senses of loss and isolation. The subsequent encounters with each member of Peter’s new milieu, including the wolf, therefore assume the increased significance of elements of the lad’s assimilation into his new existence. Aided by the voice work of Cristina Aragon as Dr. Mendoza and Fitch as the newscasters, Alice Cooper’s narration is an integral component of the tremendous success of Peter and the Wolf in Hollywood. Both in Giants Are Small’s prequel and Prokofiev’s score, Cooper’s mellifluous voice is virtually an instrument in the orchestra, used like the bassoon, the clarinet, or the oboe. Cooper’s voice is an instrument for which any composer might be proud to write. It is no surprise that Cooper’s musicality is impressive, but his affinity for Dickensian narration is unexpected. He delivers the narration without a modicum of affectation or condescension, never inflating Peter’s drama beyond the dimensions set by Prokofiev’s music. In the company of his fellow Peter narrators, Cooper’s approach combines Lorne Greene’s sonorousness, Sir Ben Kingsley’s articulation, and Sir Peter Ustinov’s sly humor but is entirely his own. It is not inconsequential when considering his musical pedigree and his faculty for revealing the music of words that Cooper’s iconic album School’s Out credited both Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim among its artistic personnel. In Prokofiev’s drama, Cooper’s performance is no less effective than his splendidly witty reading of ‘King Herod’s Song’ in the 1996 London cast recording of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Jesus Christ Superstar. Even in a career that has taken him to the top of the charts, this disc is one of Alice Cooper’s finest achievements.

Under the baton of young British conductor Alexander Shelley, whose rhythmic flexibility gives Prokofiev’s score an engaging ‘swing’ worthy of Tommy Dorsey and Glenn Miller, the young musicians of the Bundesjugendorchester play Prokofiev’s score and the excerpts from other composers’ works with an ideal combination of technical prowess and youthful exuberance. It is unfortunate that the fallacy persists that, like Humperdinck’s Händel und Gretel, Peter and the Wolf is an undemanding piece because it was conceived as an entertainment for children. Peter and the Wolf is no Siegfried or Mahler symphony, but Prokofiev’s score deserves the respect given to his ‘serious’ music. One of the foremost accomplishments of Shelley’s work to date is his uncanny gift for looking past but not indiscriminately discarding accumulated traditions and forming his own interpretations of familiar pieces. In Shelley’s hands, the music selected to complement themes from Prokofiev’s score in Giants Are Small’s prequel fits seamlessly into the flow of the story, woven together by Cooper’s vocal silk. Represented by the Prelude from Act One of Lohengrin, the Prelude from Act Three of Tristan und Isolde, and the Walkürenritt from Act Three of Die Walküre, the music of Richard Wagner is featured prominently, and the Bundesjugendorchester players maintain a high level of proficiency in the gossamer string writing. Robert Schumann’s ‘Von fremden Ländern und Menschen’ from Kinderszenen and Erik Satie’s ‘Je te veux’ make effective appearances, as do bits from the third movement of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1, ‘Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks’ and ‘Catacombs’ from Ravel’s orchestration of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, the first movement of Zemlinsky’s The Little Mermaid, Dukas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ from Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, and the Knights’ Dance from Prokofiev’s ballet Romeo and Juliet. ‘W.M.B.’ and ‘Nimrod’ from Sir Edward Elgar’s Enigma Variations are thoughtfully employed, and it is intriguing to note how aptly Russian the principal theme from Bedřich Smetana’s Vltava seems in the setting of an evocation of Peter’s heritage. Only a fleeting few bars from the Largo introduction to Act Three of Puccini’s Tosca seem superfluous, but how Gershwin-like ‘Quando m’en vo,’ Musetta’s waltz from La bohème, sounds as played here! The contrasting playfulness and peril in Prokofiev’s score are intertwined spellbindingly in Shelley’s and the Bundesjugendorchester’s performance, every detail examined both for its own importance and its function in the work as a whole. Shelley’s storytelling is no less effervescent than Cooper’s, and conductor and orchestra ‘speak’ as compellingly as the narrator.

Peter and the Wolf is a work that will never gain universal acceptance among the most elitist cliques of the cognoscenti, for whom snobbery is its own kind of advocacy. It is a piece that was intended by its composer not for close study in the concert halls of great orchestras but for the enjoyment and musical edification of schoolchildren, and what is wrong with that? In a world plagued by disorder and distress, there must be moments of frivolity, moments when children and adults can come together in fun, not fear. Peter and the Wolf in Hollywood provides fifty minutes of those moments. It is a very timely reminder that, though there are dangers of which a boy can hardly dream, there are love and friendship enough in the world to sustain and swell even the smallest spark of hope.

ARTS IN ACTION: Washington Concert Opera’s performance of Gioachino Rossini’s Semiramide brings the best of bel canto to the District

Few partnerships among artists and their muses have affected the development of a genre as wondrously as the relationship between Gioachino Rossini (1792 – 1868) and the remarkable Spanish diva who eventually became his wife, Isabella Colbran (1785 – 1845), enriched opera. When Semiramide premièred at Venice’s Teatro La Fenice in 1823 with Colbran in the title rôle, the thirty-year-old Rossini was already nearing the end of his career as a composer of opera, a career that enveloped Europe in a musical temporale that uprooted the groves of bel canto from Vienna to London. Like the earlier Tancredi, Semiramide allied Rossini’s musical prowess with a drama by Voltaire, the warped tale of the murderous queen of Babylon inspiring Rossini to create not only one of his most distinguished scores but also an especially fine part for the Falcon-esque Colbran. Not even memories of Colbran’s fire-breathing interpretation of Semiramide were sufficient to preserve the opera’s place in the repertory, but occasional revivals reminded subsequent generations of the score’s merits. No less a judge of artistic quality than Oscar Wilde admired Semiramide when he heard a performance in Cincinnati in 1882. Uniting a phenomenal cast with a team of first-rate musicians under the direction of Artistic Director Antony Walker, a conductor with a rare gift for bel canto, Washington Concert Opera’s 22 November concert performance of the opera has every ingredient necessary to prepare a feast that satisfies the hunger for a Semiramide that serves every morsel with the musicality that Rossini the consummate operatic chef concocted.

Among many American music lovers, Semiramide is only slightly more familiar than Guillaume Tell, holding the advantage over the later score of having both a frequently-heard Overture and a famous aria, the title character’s ‘Bel raggio lusinghier.’ Like the obscurity in which so many of Rossini's serious operas still slumber, the neglect to which Semiramide has been subjected is in no way mandated by the quality of the score. Interestingly, Semiramide was first performed by the Metropolitan Opera on tour in Boston as early as 1892, when the title rôle was sung by the legendary Adelina Patti, and was introduced to the MET’s New York audience two years later by Dame Nellie Melba. In January 1894, an anonymous critic wrote in The New York Times that ‘it is not likely that any one takes Semiramide very seriously in these days. It is a string of display pieces which give the singers abundant opportunity to exhibit the agility of their vocal organs. The music has no connection with the plot, which is very imperfectly explained even by the libretto, and which, indeed, is better left unexplained.’ Is it possible that New Yorkers in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century heard a different Semiramide than the one that inspired Rodney Milnes to write in Opera in response to the 1990 MET revival of the opera that ‘it is a work that grips the imagination from first to last’? In actuality, Semiramide’s famous Overture is the rare such work in the Rossini canon that incorporates thematic material from the score it was intended to introduce, and the level of inspiration in evidence in Rossini’s settings of Gaetano Rossi’s text elevates the opera to a higher histrionic plane than that occupied by many of the composer’s operas. Whether or not a listener is willing to accept Semiramide as a profound work, the challenges that the score poses to singers cannot be denied, and it is the clearing of these musical hurdles that is certain to be the defining virtue of Washington Concert Opera’s performance of the opera.

Rossinian cousins: Soprano Jessica Pratt, Washington Concert Opera’s Semiramide, as Amira in Gioachino Rossini’s Ciro in Babilonia at Pesaro’s Rossini Festival, 2012 [Photo by Eugenio Pini, © by Rossini Festival, Pesaro; used with permission]

An Englishwoman by birth and an Australian since her teens, soprano Jessica Pratt recently sang the title rôle in Semiramide for the first time with Opéra Municipal de la Ville de Marseille. The finicky French press wrote that her performance was of a quality that caused the audience to wish that time would stop in order to prolong enjoyment of her singing. There is surely some sort of cosmic significance in the fact that it was a pair of fellow Australians whose efforts prevented Semiramide from being lost forever in the mists of Babylon’s hanging gardens. Dame Nellie Melba was Semiramide in eight of the Metropolitan Opera’s nine performances of the opera in the Nineteenth Century: after 1895, Semiramide was not heard again at the MET until 1990, depriving MET audiences of hearing the great Australian interpreter of the Twentieth Century, Dame Joan Sutherland, who sang the rôle opposite the Arsace of Marilyn Horne in California, Boston, and Chicago. Melba’s and Sutherland’s voices were very different instruments from what historical accounts suggest that Colbran’s was, but these ladies memorably carried Semiramide’s mantle until it could be hoisted aloft in the Twenty-First Century by their talented countrywoman. Bringing her newly-minted portrayal of Rossini’s conflicted queen to Washington, Pratt is committed to refining and deepening the characterization that garnered acclaim in Marseille. ‘I would like to highlight her vulnerability and her very precarious position, her determination to survive and rule in a masculine world,’ the soprano commented. Whereas many singers are understandably concerned solely with meeting the technical demands of the rôle, Pratt, one of the finest technicians among today’s generation of young bel canto singers, is dedicated to revealing unexpected facets of Semiramide’s personality. ‘I would like her to be seen less as a fearsome tyrant queen and more as a brave, intelligent, and ambitious woman trying her best to survive in a world where every day could be her last if her past crime comes to common knowledge.’ That she sets this goal whilst facing some of Rossini’s most ferocious bravura writing is a testament to her artistic fearlessness and confidence in the solidity of her technical foundation.

Ardent Arsace: Mezzo-soprano Vivica Genaux, Arsace in Washington Concert Opera’s performance of Gioachino Rossini’s Semiramide on 22 November 2015 [Photo © by Michel Juvet; used with permission]

Created by coloratura contralto Rosa Mariani, whose brother Luciano was Rossini's first Oroe, the rôle of the noble warrior Arsace in Semiramide is among Rossini's most challenging parts for the modern mezzo-soprano voice—and, indeed, one of the most formidable travesti rôles in opera. Ideally, an Arsace must be both chest-thumpingly masculine and sensitive, a combination that is difficult for a female singer portraying a male character to achieve. In Washington Concert Opera’s performance of Semiramide, Arsace will be brought to life by one of the world's most acclaimed Rossini singers, Alaska-born mezzo-soprano Vivica Genaux. In a career spanning two decades, Genaux has sung many of Rossini’s great travesti rôles, as well as his contralto heroines such as Angelina in La Cenerentola, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, and Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia. Like Marilyn Horne before her, she has scored well-deserved successes as Arsace in Semiramide, not least opposite Angela Meade and Lawrence Brownlee at Caramoor in 2009. Having previously sung Angelina in La Cenerentola and Falliero in Bianca e Falliero for Washington Concert Opera, Genaux comes to Washington on the heels of a much-lauded Norwegian début as Romeo in Bellini's I Capuleti ed i Montecchi with Stavanger Symfoniorkester and Fabio Biondi. ‘I’m very excited to sing the role of Arsace again,’ Genaux recently said. ‘Semiramide is one of my favorite operas: the music is so full and rich, with gorgeous duets and ensembles paired with the virtuosity and intensity of the arias. To me, it’s one of Rossini's finest works, and I can't wait to share this amazing experience with the Washington Concert Opera!’ That she has such esteem for Semiramide is of course very meaningful considering Genaux’s experience with Rossini repertory. Not surprisingly, her affection for the opera is greatly influenced by the music for Arsace. ‘Arsace is very representative of the mezzo rôles in Rossini's dramatic operas in that he is a young man who, through the course of the opera, is called upon by circumstances to take on the responsibilities of an adult,’ Genaux stated. ‘I love walking in his shoes every time I sing him, feeling how the bewilderment and uncertainty of the youth matures into the conviction and complete dedication of the man.’

Idiomatic Idreno: Tenor Taylor Stayton, Idreno in Washington Concert Opera’s performance of Gioachino Rossini’s Semiramide on 22 November 2015 [Photo © by Amy Allen; used with permission]

The third variable in Semiramide’s Pythagorean equation of ambitions, amorous intrigues, and assassinations is the Indian king Idreno, who will be sung in Washington by thrilling young tenore di grazia Taylor Stayton. Idreno’s allegiances and perspectives are continually trapped in the crossfire of the drama throughout the opera, and his music—much of which has often been cut for a variety of reasons, foremost among which is tenors’ inability to sing it—reflects his near-constant state of flux. One of America’s most exciting young singers and one capable of mastering Idreno’s music on Rossini’s terms rather than his own, Stayton recently wowed audiences at the Metropolitan Opera with his singing as Percy in Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, a rôle in which he has shone since his time at Philadelphia's Academy of Vocal Arts. Though Rossini and Donizetti are often misleadingly pigeonholed together, Stayton is keenly aware of the stylistic chasm that divides Semiramide from Anna Bolena. ‘There is a definitely a difference, musically, between Rossini and Donizetti,’ he indicated. ‘Percy is the beautiful standard of Donizetti: the long legato lines, ascending to slow beautiful cadences at the ends of arias, and always demanding complete vocal control. For me, Idreno is more [representative] of the intense vocal fireworks that Rossini is known for in his operas and [of] maintaining that vocal control with virtuosic agility—a completely different ball game.’ Particularly with music demanding technical concentration as great as that required by Idreno’s searing—and stratospheric!—Act One aria ‘Ah! quel giorno ognor rammento,’ it can be very difficult to achieve a credible characterization of a rôle in the concert setting. ‘Since WCO champions concert versions of opera,’ Stayton remarked, ‘my focus is on the music. I hope the audience will enjoy and have as much fun listening to Semiramide as we do performing the opera.’

For the lower-voiced male rôles in Semiramide, Washington Concert Opera’s performance offers a trio of fantastic voices wielded by expert stylists. Assur, a part in which Samuel Ramey excelled to the degree that a New York critic wrote that Ramey’s performance of the music at the MET put the bel in bel canto, is entrusted to bass-baritone Wayne Tigges, a singer whose versatility, not unlike Ramey’s, enables him to follow his Assur for Washington Concert Opera with an assumption of the titular seagoing wanderer in Virginia Opera's Spring 2016 production of Richard Wagner's Der fliegende Holländer. Oroe, the High Priest of Baal, will be sung by bass-baritone Evan Hughes, a native Californian whose sonorous voice and interpretive intelligence have delighted audiences in recital halls and opera houses. Chinese bass Weí Wu, the engaging Friedhold in WCO’s March 2015 performance of Richard Strauss’s Guntram, returns to Lisner Auditorium to intone the dramatically vital utterances of L’ombra di Nino.

Despite the increased traction that the opera has achieved on the European circuit in recent years, it has now been more than two decades since Semiramide was performed at the Metropolitan Opera. Of course, it was not until 1997 that La Cenerentola, one of Rossini’s most popular scores, was performed at the MET, where recent seasons have offered audiences première productions of Rossini’s Armida and Le comte Ory. Without question, the difficulty of the music puts Semiramide out of the reach of all but the most gifted Rossinians. Fortunately, it is an ensemble of precisely such artists that Washington Concert Opera will assemble in Lisner Auditorium on 22 November. With a rare performance of Donizetti’s La favorite in the original French scheduled for 4 March 2016, Washington Concert Opera’s 2015 – 2016 Season again provides audiences with opportunities to experience gems of bel canto as they were meant to be performed.

Sincerest thanks to Jessica Pratt, Vivica Genaux, and Taylor Stayton for responding to questions for this preview and to Kendra Rubinfeld of Kendra Rubinfeld PR and Tim Weiler of O-PR Communications for facilitating the artists’ responses.

For more information about Washington Concert Opera’s 2015 – 2016 Season and to purchase tickets, please visit the company’s website.

ARTIST PROFILE: Prince of the Piano — Italian pianist LUDOVICO TRONCANETTI

Principe del pianoforte: Italian pianist Ludovico Troncanetti [Photo © by the artist; used with permission]

​The acclaimed American thespian Kelsey Grammer, not only television’s beloved Dr. Frasier Crane but also a lauded interpreter of Stephen Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd, is quoted as having said that ‘praying is when you talk to God. Meditation is when you’re listening. Playing piano allows you to do both at the same time.’ Whether or not one prays or meditates, it cannot be denied that both playing and hearing the piano can be exercises in purest spirituality. Indeed, to hear Arthur Schnabel play Beethoven or Ivan Moravec play Chopin can be akin to a spiritual experience, one with potential both to calm and to excite. Since the development of the instrument in the Eighteenth Century, the piano has occupied positions of particular prominence in all genres of Classical Music. At virtually any given time in the past quarter-millennium, there have been enough Classically-trained pianists in the world to fill Stadio Giuseppe Meazza, but there are hardly ever enough truly good ones to man a proper football match. The second decade of the Twenty-First Century is an age in which passion and proficiency are often subservient to promotion, and it is sobering to contemplate how many extraordinary artists, how many Schnabels and Moravecs, are unappreciated because some money-hungry agent or record label executive has not instructed music lovers to notice them. Solely being one of the world’s most accomplished pianists is no longer enough to sustain a successful career: one must perform, not merely play. In the esteem of those for whom music is still primarily defined by exchanges among composers and artists, there will always be room for pianists who play because they love playing, pianists for whom constant study and drive for improvement of technique and interpretation is at the service of music, not fame. Italian pianist Ludovico Troncanetti is an artist who personifies Kelsey Grammer’s insightful elucidation of the dual nature of the piano. He is a consummate performer whose endeavors at the keyboard exude theatricality, but he is first and foremost an introspective artist whose intensity is the offspring of an omnipresent commitment to refining not just his technique but also his ability to communicate with composers and audiences. His music-making listens as palpably as it speaks.

Unlike many musicians (or many musicians’ claims), Troncanetti was not an acknowledged prodigy from an early age. ‘I don’t think we can talk about childhood as I started playing the piano at thirteen—by chance!’ he recalls with a laugh. ‘I remember [that] I was listening [to] much more symphonic music rather than [music] for piano solo. I really loved Horowitz and Cziffra, and nowadays my taste [hasn’t] changed at all!’ Still, he developed rapidly as both a technician and an artist, his raw talent refined by fastidious study and self-imposed discipline. ‘As far as I’m [now] much more mature, I can say [that] I appreciate and understand more pianists than before,’ he shares. After pausing for a moment, he smilingly adds, ‘I don’t have a favorite one!’

This rejection of favoritism also extends to his choices of repertory. Troncanetti eschews specialization, wisely seeking to avoid being confined artistically by identification with any one niche of the piano’s extensive repertoire, but he possesses an unmistakable affinity for interpreting the music of Franz Liszt. One of the most ill-informed injustices in the Classical Music community is the continuing perception of Liszt’s piano music as a series of emotionally-barren virtuoso display pieces. ‘Unfortunately, this thought about Liszt is very common, sometimes as a compliment [and] sometimes as a defect,’ Troncanetti opines. ‘Amateurs should know [that] Liszt used his virtuosity in order to convey his own feelings, thoughts, moods, and sensitiveness through the music; not the contrary. In other words, according to Liszt, technique is the means and not the aim.’ In Troncanetti’s view, many modern listeners recognize Liszt more as a musical circus act than as a practicing artist and pedagogue—a musician primarily concerned with what Shakespeare called ‘outward shows.’ ‘As a teacher, Liszt offered his students little technical advice, expecting them to “wash their dirty linen at home,” as he phrased it,’ the passionate young Italian intimates. ‘Instead, he focused on musical interpretation with a combination of anecdote, metaphor, and wit. In my personal opinion, a good and clear example of all this is the Grosses Konzertsolo (S.176), in which the composer perfectly combines his piano skills and [an] avalanche of tormented feelings.’ His mention of Liszt’s teaching style turns Troncanetti’s thoughts to the lessons that he would seek to impart to his own students. ‘If I were a teacher,’ he begins, ‘first of all, I’d recommend [that] my pupils make sure that what they’re playing corresponds to what they feel inside themselves. Secondly, I’d suggest not to abuse the pedal and to do their best to play “legato” with it as little as possible.’ This leads to contemplation of what Troncanetti perceives as one of the greatest vices of contemporary pianism. ‘As [my] last advice,’ he muses, ‘I’d [share that I’d] appreciate if they didn’t “run” on the keyboard too much. Musicians are not sprinters!’ He is the rare artist who takes his own advice: two of the greatest joys of his playing are the liquidity of his legato playing and the unhurried articulation of his phrasing, each note granted its full weight in the line regardless of its duration.

When asked from which composer he would most like to commission a piece fashioned to exhibit his unique gifts, he says without hesitation, ‘That’s [a] very funny and curious question! For sure, I’d ask Liszt and [Swedish pop group] ABBA for a piece specially-tailored for me! It would be a sort of mix of the Liszt personal mood and ABBA’s unforgettable musicality and joy!’ The choice of Liszt is natural, the composer’s music having launched Troncanetti’s public career. He remembers, ‘The first piece I played in public was the First Mephisto Waltz (S.514), when I was seventeen. It’s still in my repertoire, and, comparing to the first time I played it, I certainly say [that I now] play it definitely more slowly, more clearly, and [highlighting] all the harmonies that interweave and make the piece so amusing!’ His description of his approach to Mephisto Waltz No. 1 is, in fact, representative of the way in which he seeks to play all repertory, whether a piece was composed two centuries or two weeks ago. How does he define what it is that he tries to achieve with his playing? ‘I’d say the balance between virtuosity and sound,’ he summarizes. ‘I always do my best to try to balance them perfectly and make the sound as clear as possible and use the pedal just where it's necessary.’

In molding his career as a concert pianist, Troncanetti is a solo artist in the truest sense of the designation. He does not have formal management or representation, preferring to make his own decisions and allow his playing to serve as the persona that agents are so keen to fabricate for their clients. He has the boon of being as handsome as the leading men of Hollywood’s gilded past, but he is also cognizant of the difficulties of pursuing a career without a manager's guidance through the business aspects of an artist’s life. Nothing distracts him from the music, however. ‘The greatest challenge in [artists’] careers is the concert itself!’ he exclaims. ‘Every single time we perform, we always test ourselves! It doesn’t have anything to do with the time you spend practicing: that’s utterly a personal question. Whether you practice twenty-four hours or just one per day, you'll always have that crisp, inevitable, and funny feeling which makes you feel responsible and ready to face the audience—and yourself, too. It’s a never-ending challenge which lasts during all your career. No choice; each of us has to deal with it. That’s the special thing of our job.’

His unpretentious embrace of this ‘special thing of [the] job’ sets Troncanetti's playing apart from that of his colleagues. Perhaps it seems counterintuitive to suggest that his performances are more complete, more interpretively fully-formed experiences for listeners because the pianist himself regards them as works in progress, but this pianist’s dedication to perpetual self-improvement makes every performance a part of a journey that has as its ultimate destination not perfection but profoundest connection with both music and hearer. It is this quest that is the hallmark of Troncanetti’s playing, whether in the rehearsal room or the concert hall. For him, playing is a means of sharing aspects of his psyche with audiences in a manner that words could never accomplish. ‘I want [audiences to] remember my capacity to share my feelings, to be emphatic; just the way I go straight to their souls without showing off,’ he says. ‘If they remember me for this, I’d feel so immensely grateful—the happiest man in the world!’

Happiness is a state that is sadly rare in the lives of many artists. In some cases, this is perhaps because the choice to pursue a career as an artist is a surrender to external pressures rather than a response to internal desires. When playing the piano, the fingers either sound the right notes or they do not, but a pianist's artistry is defined by less-tangible qualities. When carefully-groomed dilettantes are celebrated as important artists because their publicists insist that it should be so, it can be difficult to discern a legitimate artist among the throngs of pretenders. Artists are men who view life from the inside out, and this perspective can blind those incapable of seeing the smiles among the scowls and tears. It is impossible to overlook the smiles in Ludovico Troncanetti’s playing. More remarkably, it is impossible to overlook the composers’ smiles that emerge from the sound worlds he creates as he plays their music. Happiness is perhaps the most elusive of human emotions but also among the most contagious. It is also cyclical, and the happiness with which Ludovico Troncanetti infuses his playing, happiness derived from forging friendships with and via music, is returned and redoubled by the joy that hearing his performances inspires.

In performance: Italian pianist Ludovico Troncanetti in his natural habitat [Photo © by the artist; used with permission

Ludovico Troncanetti is based in Milan, Italy. To learn more about this incredible artist’s work or to make booking inquiries, please contact him via email.

Sincerest thanks are extended to Mr. Troncanetti for his time and candor in responding to questions for this profile.

CD REVIEW: Richard Wagner — DAS RHEINGOLD (M. Goerne, M. DeYoung, D. Humble, K. Begley, P. Sidhom, A. Samuil, K. Youn, S. Milling, D. Cangelosi, C. Reid, O. Pushniak, E. Nakamura, A. Varak, H. Haselböck; NAXOS 8.660374-75)

RICHARD WAGNER (1813 – 1883): Das Rheingold—Matthias Goerne (Wotan), Michelle DeYoung (Fricka), Deborah Humble (Erda), Kim Begley (Loge), Peter Sidhom (Alberich), Anna Samuil (Freia), Kwangchul Youn (Fasolt), Stephen Milling (Fafner), David Cangelosi (Mime), Charles Reid (Froh), Oleksandr Pushniak (Donner), Eri Nakamura (Woglinde), Aurhelia Varak (Wellgunde), Hermine Haselböck (Floßhilde); Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra; Jaap van Zweden, conductor [Recorded during concert performances in Hong Kong Cultural Centre Concert Hall, 22 and 24 January 2015; NAXOS 8.660374-75; 2 CDs, 153:35 (also available in Blu-ray Audio format); Available from ClassicsOnlineHD, Amazon (USA), jpc (Germany), Presto Classical (UK), and major music retailers]

NAXOS’s new recording of Richard Wagner's Das Rheingold is a celebration of new beginnings. In addition to preserving the rôle débuts of two of today's most lauded singers, this recording launches a complete Der Ring des Nibelungen that will be the first such effort by an orchestra in Hong Kong and all of mainland China, as well as its conductor’s inaugural Ring. Were those its only virtues, it would be a worthwhile addition to the Rheingold discography, but the strengths of this Rheingold extend far beyond these impressive firsts. Recorded in the Hong Kong Cultural Centre’s state-of-the-art Concert Hall during two widely-lauded concert performances in January 2015, the recording is a technological triumph overseen by producer and engineer Phil Rowlands, whose expertise has produced a recording that satisfies both as a faithful reading of Wagner’s sonically thrilling score and as a memento of the frisson of this important occasion. Neither performances nor recordings of Das Rheingold are rare, but performances and recordings of the quality of this one, distinguished by the participation of a splendidly-selected cast, are no more common than giants and Rhinemaidens. One of the most prevalent themes in Classical Music during the past decade has been the primacy of NAXOS releases among the finest new recordings, and this Rheingold is an exceptionally musical variation on that theme.

Founded in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century as an amateur ensemble, the Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra assumed the form in which it is heard in this Rheingold as recently as 1974. Under the direction of esteemed Asian and Western-born Music Directors including Ling Tung, Kenneth Schermerhorn [familiar to NAXOS aficionados as the much-lamented Music Director and Principal Conductor of the Nashville Symphony], David Atherton, Samuel Wong, and Edo de Waart, the HKPhil has grown into one of the world’s finest orchestras and a beacon for native and international talent. The orchestra’s current Music Director, Dutch violinist [the breadth of his talent is intimated by his having become the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra’s youngest concertmaster at nineteen], conductor, and composer Jaap van Zweden, established his credentials as a Wagnerian on disc with a compelling performance of Parsifal with the Radio Filharmonisch Orkest on the Challenge Classics label, also recorded in concert. The insightful management of orchestral textures and psychological depth that characterized van Zweden’s conducting of Parsifal also course through this recording of Das Rheingold. The HKPhil musicians respond to his leadership with feats of virtuosity that rival the best playing of the Staatskapelle Dresden and the Wiener Philharmoniker. Whether by virtue of near-perfect playing or judicious editing of material from the pair of performances, the orchestra’s contributions to this performance would be welcomed with fervent ‘Bravi’ at Bayreuth. The opera's Vorspiel here develops, as it should, from a silent abyss—hardly an easy accomplishment in the context of a live recording!—into the primordial clamor of disrupted nature, lusty giants, and obstreperous deities, and there is no mistaking in this performance the fact that the seeds of the scene-change music in Richard Strauss's Die Frau ohne Schatten and the Interludes in Britten's Peter Grimes were sown by Wagner in the Einleitung before Scene Two and the Verwandlungsmusik before Scene Three of Das Rheingold. Van Zweden's tempi are occasionally idiosyncratic, the pacing sometimes seeming slightly deliberate, but momentum is maintained impressively, creating a pervasive sense of dramatic tension despite the inherent stasis of the concert format. Van Zweden is attentive to Wagner's differentiations of the sonic landscapes of the Rhinemaidens, the giants, and the gods, limning the musical boundaries of each realm with taut rhythms for the mortals and expansive phrasing for the denizens of the newly-built Walhalla. The machinery of the Nibelung dwarves’ sweatshop, famously represented in Wagner’s score by eighteen tuned anvils, here sounds more like the clinking of cutlery in a well-appointed kitchen, but the orchestra’s playing, bolstered by marvelous performances by brasses and woodwinds, is consistently on an aptly Wagnerian scale, and van Zweden paces a performance of grandeur and gravity.

Substantially completed by the autumn of 1854 but not performed until 1869, Das Rheingold both brought the precepts outlined in Wagner’s 1851 tome ‘Eine Mittheilung an meine Freunde’ to fruition and broadened the scope of the Ring as a whole, which Wagner had originally conceived as a trilogy rather than the tetralogy that it became with Das Rheingold. For modern audiences, Rheingold introduces the characters and themes that shape the dramas of the three subsequent works, Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung. First heard are the sometimes playful, sometimes portentously prophetic Rhinemaidens, the guardians of the gold fashioned into the ring that brings gods’ and men’s destinies into conflict. With soprano Eri Nakamura as Woglinde and mezzo-sopranos Aurhelia Varak and Hermine Haselböck as Wellgunde and Floßhilde, the performance begins with the tuneful frolicking of an appealing trio of Rhinemaidens. The ladies' euphonious singing of 'Weia! Waga! Woge, du Welle' sparkles like sunlight on the water's surface, and each voice is both individually and collectively ideal for the music. The good-natured teasing of Alberich has in this performance an obvious core of vulnerability, but there is nothing insecure in the ladies’ singing. Their voicing of 'Lugt, Schwestern! Die Weckerin lacht in den Grund' crackles with girlish verve, and the avidity with which they sing 'Nur wer der Minne Macht entsagt' is telling. Nakamura’s, Varak’s, and Haselböck’s vibrant exclamation of 'Haltet den Räuber!' evinces panic without being undermined by vocal flaws. In the final scene, the trio’s shimmering 'Rheingold! Rheingold! Reines Gold!' ends the performance with a surge of truly golden sound, the demands of the tessitura met with unassailable conviction by all three ladies.

The giants Fasolt and Fafner are sung with sonorous malevolence and subtle hints of humor by basses Kwangchul Youn and Stephen Milling. Youn brings to Fasolt’s 'Sanft schloß Schlaf dein Aug'!' a voice that sounds as though it was mined of the earth’s sturdiest ore, and the power with which he projects 'Was sagst du? Ha! Sinn'st du Verrath?' is gladdening. In Scene Four, Youn sings ‘Halt, du Gieriger! Gönne mir auch was!' with steely authority that is the hallmark of his performance as a whole. As Fafner, Milling is a blood-curdling thug from the start, already very nearly a dragon! The reptilian smugness of his delivery of 'Du da folge uns!' is matched by the explosive intimidation of his 'Hör' Wotan, der Harrenden Wort!' In Scene Four, Milling hurls out 'Gepflanzt sind die Pfähle nach Pfandes Maß' and 'Nun blinzle nach Freia's Blick!' with abandon. Fasolt and Fafner do not require vocal beauty, but hearing their music sung so capably, without allowances having to be made for lapses in stability and intonation, heightens appreciation of the care with which Wagner gave life even to these hateful characters.

Alberich is portrayed with snarling menace by baritone Peter Sidhom, who, despite being unafraid of distorting the voice in service to his depiction of the character’s agenda, ultimately sings the part with greater fidelity to Wagner’s score than many recorded Alberichs. In the opera’s first scene, he dispatches 'Hehe! ihr Nicker' with the forcefulness of a gunshot, and Sidhom’s increasingly agitated, unsettling articulations of 'Garstig, glatter glitschriger Glimmer!' and 'Der Welt Erbe gewann'ich zu eigen durch dich?' are electrifying. Here and especially in Scene Three, the part’s highest notes trouble Sidhom, who must sometimes resort to shouting, but his portrait of the embittered Nibelung is laudably consistent. The baritone’s account of 'Hehe! Hehe! Hieher! Hieher! Tückischer Zwerg!' is invigorating, and in both 'Schau, du Schelm!' and 'Die in linder Lüfte Weh'n da oben ihr lebt' Alberich’s nefarious intentions scintillate in Sidhom’s singing. The opera’s final scene prompts Sidhom to give broad expression to Alberich’s frustration. His 'Wohlan, die Niblungen rief ich mir nah' and 'Gezahlt hab' ich nun laß' mich ziehn!' exude hatred and a burgeoning quest for vengeance. Sidhom is an Alberich who epitomizes villainy without caricature, and his considered, confident singing inspires sympathy for the character’s suffering.

Tenor David Cangelosi is, as he has been in a number of Ring productions, a wily, wheedling Mime who sings the rôle more comfortably than many Mimes heard in recent years. Throughout the performance, Cangelosi’s Mime is like a live wire, showering every scene in which he appears with dramatic sparks. The tenor’s tones are not always conventionally attractive or ideally-placed, but the Mime that he portrays is an appropriately unpleasant figure who is tolerated by the other characters only with considerable restraint. Cangelosi sings 'Nehmt euch in acht! Alberich naht!' obsequiously but with ringing tone, and his use of text throughout the performance is masterly. Cangelosi manages to make Mime interesting rather than merely repulsive, and his vocalism is gratifyingly fluent.

Though the voice has tremendous presence, baritone Oleksandr Pushniak is unfortunately only a partially successful Donner, his stentorian singing of 'Heda! Heda! Hedo!' and 'Bruder, hieher! Weise der Brücke den Weg!' when summoning the thunderstorm in Scene Four impaired by unsteadiness. Vocal instability is perhaps a family trait, as tenor Charles Reid's alert, verbally sharp-witted Froh is also weakened by tremulousness, especially above the stave. Both gentlemen create sharply-defined characters whose parts in the drama they uninhibitedly fulfill, but their intelligent, accurately-tuned performances are too often compromised by vocal unevenness in moments of significance.

As Freia, the object of the giants' disgusting desire, soprano Anna Samuil’s effervescent singing leaves no doubt of why she is such an irresistible prize for Fasolt and Fafner. The golden apples that preserve the gods’ youth seem to glisten in Samuil’s singing, but the terror that emanates from her pleas to be rescued from the giants’ unmistakable designs is bracing. Unlike many Freias, Samuil scales the upper reaches of her music without shrillness. Her singing of ‘Schwester! Brüder! Rettet!' pierces the musical tapestry of the performance like a dagger. Offering tones of meteoric allure, Samuil’s Freia is a woman any self-respecting brothers would move heaven and earth to save from the clutches of libidinous oafs.

It no longer seems possible that this abused, broken planet could sing with a voice as strong and beautiful as that of Australian mezzo-soprano Deborah Humble, and the direness of her Erda's warnings to Wotan are all the more chilling for being so splendidly sung. Humble invests troves of rich, burnished tone and unerring dramatic instincts in her performance of 'Weiche, Wotan, weiche!' The result is one of the most compelling recorded accounts of the brief but crucial rôle, one in which every note of the part is wholly in the voice and no compromises are required. Humble rivals Lili Chookasian and Oralia Domínguez for sheer vocal quality and uses German text as imaginatively as Maria von Ilosvay and Marga Höffgen. Arrogant and foolish indeed is the Wotan who fails to heed the counsel of such an Erda!

British tenor Kim Begley is the uncommon veteran of Wagner and Richard Strauss rôles whose carefully-honed technique and well-judged performances have preserved the beauty and flexibility of the voice, and he sings Loge in this performance with nimbleness and finesse which many younger singers should envy. Ever an imaginative artist, Begley makes much of the text, his diction giving his singing of 'Immer ist Undank Loges Lohn!' additional bite. He infuses 'Ein Runenzauber zwingt das Gold zum Reif’ with unexpected nuances, establishing Loge as the sole fount of reason and understanding in Das Rheingold. In Scene Three, Begley's reading of 'Nibelheim hier: durch bleiche Nebel' is appealingly forthright, and he shapes both 'Ohe! Ohe! Schreckliche Schlange' and 'Dort, die Kröte! Greife sie rasch!' with the intuition of a born Wagnerian, accentuating key words without altering the emphases in Wagner's phrasing. He unleashes a world-weary fury in 'Da, Vetter, sitze du fest!' in Scene Four, furthered by his bright enunciation of 'Ist er gelöst?' Begley phrases 'Lauschtest du seinem Liebesgruß?' with bel canto grace, the voice flowing through the music with far greater pulchritude than many listeners might think possible in Wagner repertory. This is one of Begley's finest recordings and a Loge that rivals the best interpretations on disc.

Solely among recorded performances of Das Rheingold, American mezzo-soprano Michelle DeYoung must endure comparisons with many of the greatest Wagnerians of the past century as Fricka. Having recently garnered acclaim for her vocally and dramatically voluptuous Venus in the Metropolitan Opera's revival of Tannhäuser, DeYoung here establishes her Fricka as a worthy successor to celebrated interpretations of the rôle by Elisabeth Höngen, Ira Malaniuk, Rita Gorr, and the incomparable Kirsten Flagstad, whose Fricka in the DECCA studio recording conducted by Sir Georg Solti remains one of the most-debated performances on disc. DeYoung's vocalism is ungainly to a degree, and she is most effectively in her element when under greatest stress, but the voice is a legitimate Fricka instrument that possesses metal and femininity in equal measures. The mood that she conjures with her granitic 'Wotan, Gemahl, erwäche!' is one of consummate political dominance, Fricka's moral authority outweighing Wotan's ambition. DeYoung deploys mountains of tone in 'So schirme sie jetzt' and 'Wotan, Gemahl, unsel'ger Mann!' In the lower register, where Fricka's music often takes her, she can summon the focus of a contralto with velvety sumptuousness that contrasts stunningly with the laser-like upper register, the top of the voice essentially that of a dramatic soprano. In Scene Four, DeYoung envelops her rousing statement of 'Lieblichste Schwester süsseste Lust!' with sisterly concern and spousal scorn. DeYoung's performance leaves nothing to chance, her first effort at portraying Fricka disclosing a commendable absorption of the rôle. A number of Frickas have credibly conveyed the aggrieved wife's contempt for Wotan's misadventures, but few singers have given voice to her protestations as unfalteringly as DeYoung does in this performance.

As a Wotan admired for remarkable perspicacity as an interpreter of Lieder rather than Wagnerian declamation, baritone Matthias Goerne has much in common with his storied countryman Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. Goerne shares his illustrious predecessor's poetic approach to text and seemingly boundless palette of vocal colors, but in his first portrayal of Wotan it is George London rather than Fischer-Dieskau whose example Goerne's singing brings to mind. Unlike Fischer-Dieskau, who encountered passages in Wotan’s music that required more voice than he could supply, Goerne possesses the range and the orotundity of tone for the part, which he plays with machismo and bristling pride. Having waited to sing Wotan until he had experience with a character like Berg’s Wozzeck under his belt, Goerne here makes one of the most auspicious rôle débuts in recent memory. The soaring sovereignty with which he phrases 'Endlich Loge! Eiltest du so,' a passage of which many Wotans make little, is indicative of his intuitive grasp of both the character and his music. Throughout the first half of the opera, Goerne alternates petulance with pure muscle in depicting Wotan’s shifting allegiances and thirst for power. Facing Fricka’s withering disdain and the bungling turpitude of the giants and Nibelungs, Goerne’s Wotan assumes the capacity of unanswerable supremacy, taking command in​ Scene Four with an imposing account of 'Soll ich sorgen und fürchten.' Greeting Walhalla, his perceived refuge from the perils and responsibilities of wielding the ring, Goerne sings 'Abendlich strahlt der Sonne Auge' stunningly, complemented by a poised but pointed 'So grüss' ich die Burg.’ Few singers have elucidated the motivations and flaws of the Rheingold Wotan at any points in their careers as Goerne here does in his first attempt. Heartening as the profundity of his interpretation of the rôle is, it is his singing that wins the greater share of the laurels. Any listener who continues to believe that tired barking is the trademark of a successful Wotan should hear this performance. Goerne’s singing harkens back to past generations, when Wotans like Friedrich Schorr, Hans Hotter, and George London revealed that brawn need not impede beauty.

Die Walküre is the Ring opera that works best beyond the context of the complete Cycle, but Das Rheingold is in many ways the most accessible of the four works that comprise Der Ring des Nibelungen. There is a concentrated circumspection in Rheingold’s uninterrupted narrative that is not duplicated elsewhere in Der Ring, and Wagner’s music at once occupies a lofty plane of inspiration and exemplifies effective theatricality. The observer who suggests, perhaps because of its less-daunting dimensions, that Das Rheingold is an ‘easier’ piece than Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung has surely never been involved with performing, producing, or recording it. This NAXOS recording of the Hong Kong Philharmonic’s Rheingold, the first installment in a complete Ring Cycle scheduled for realization in increments by the end of 2018, is an achievement for which every participant and all Wagnerians must give thanks. Its weakest link is far from ruinous, and its foremost strengths—the Wotan of Matthias Goerne, the playing of the Hong Kong Philharmonic, and the conducting of Jaap van Zweden—foretell a Ring to challenge notions of great Wagner performances being solely things of the past.

CD REVIEW: Frédéric Chopin & Sergey Rachmaninov – MUSIC FOR CELLO & PIANO (Alisa Weilerstein, cello; Inon Barnatan, piano; DECCA 478 8416)

FRÉDÉRIC FRANÇOIS CHOPIN (1810 – 1849): Sonata for cello and piano, Op. 65; Étude, Op. 25, No. 7 (arranged by Auguste Franchomme); Introduction et Polonaise brillante for piano and cello, Op. 3 and SERGEY RACHMANINOV (1873 – 1943): Sonata for cello and piano, Op. 19; Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14—Alisa Weilerstein, cello; Inon Barnatan, piano [Recorded in Teldex Studio, Berlin, Germany, 21 – 23 November 2014; DECCA 478 8416; 1 CD, 80:54; Available from DECCA Classics, Amazon (USA), iTunes, jpc (Germany), Presto Classical (UK), and major music retailers]

On the heels of a thoughtfully-planned, superbly-produced Deutsche Grammophon recording of the composer's Variations on themes by Arcangelo Corelli and Nicolò Paganini, Universal again honors the artistic legacy of Sergei Rachmaninov with a lovingly-presented DECCA recording of his Opus 19 Sonata for cello and piano and the exquisite Vocalise (Op. 34, No. 14), contrasted by a trio of works in similar veins by Frédéric Chopin. Hearing the music of both composers with this degree of proximity, it is impossible to overlook the extent to which Rachmaninov's part writing was influenced by Chopin's example, and the two geniuses shared a gift for creating melodies that, once heard, never leave the mind. Indeed, the pieces on this disc, played by American cellist Alisa Weilerstein and Tel Aviv-born pianist Inon Barnatan with a level of musical symbiosis that transcends casual partnership, are of that variety of music that lurks in the subconscious like memories waiting to be relived. The spirit of this collaboration is reflected in the music: Chopin had been dead for nearly a quarter-century when Rachmaninov was born, but the older composer's artistic soul might be said to have been resurrected in the work of the younger man. To the extent that composers' souls are enshrined in their music, the spirits of both Chopin and Rachmaninov sing in the selections on this disc, their voices enthrallingly projected by the playing of a pair of exceptionally talented musical communicators.

Completed and premièred with the composer at the piano on 2 December 1901, less than two months after the first performance of his titanic Second Piano Concerto, Rachmaninov's G-minor Sonata for cello and piano—so designated at the composer's urging because of the equality of the music for both instruments in terms of difficulty and importance—is among the composer's most introspective and quietly moving works. Weilerstein and Barnatan begin the opening Lento – Allegro moderato movement with an aura of uncertainly, the shifting harmonies executed with a light touch that conjures an atmosphere not unlike the discord of the opening bars of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. From that start, however, cellist and pianist progress to a reading of the movement's development that is strangely electric and sensitive. There is nothing quaint about Weilerstein's and Barnatan's playing, and they do not shrink from overtly Romantic expansiveness. The complex patterns shared by the instruments in the Allegro scherzando movement are phrased by the musicians with uncanny synchronicity that never inhibits individuality: naturally, a cello cannot play a passage identically to the way in which it is played on the piano, and Weilerstein and Barnatan complement one another's approaches without engaging in unimaginative mimicry. The interplay of their sharing of thematic material makes the Andante movement a legitimate conversation in music, almost a love duet, and the lyrical eloquence of their playing provides numerous moments of spine-tingling emotional impact. Rachmaninov does not seem to have been a sentimental man, but it is logical to presume that he allowed feelings to which he did not grant words to speak through his compositions. The passions of the concluding Allegro mosso movement are ambiguous, and the unexaggerated sincerity with which Weilerstein and Barnatan convert them into sound heightens the ambivalence. Rachmaninov was no less accomplished in the art of blending instrumental timbres in his chamber music than in his larger-scaled, imaginatively-orchestrated works, and the robust sounds that Weilerstein and Barnatan coax from their instruments often give the impression that far more than two players are at work. The melodic figurations, as sumptuous as they are sensual, are executed by both musicians with keen focus on the organic cadences of the music. This is also true of Weilerstein's and Barnatan's performance of the rhapsodic Vocalise (Op. 34, No. 14), a piece in which cello and piano interact playfully but with galvanizing unity of purpose. As technicians, Weilerstein and Barnatan are unfailingly nimble-fingered, but it is the keen intelligence of their playing of Rachmaninov's music that refuses to relinquish its grasp on the listener's ears and heart.

Composed in 1846 and dedicated to the widely-acclaimed cellist Auguste Franchomme, Chopin's Sonata for cello and piano in G minor (Opus 65), the last of his works to appear in print before his untimely death, is an ideal companion for the Rachmaninov Sonata. The Sonata is one of a handful of surviving works in which Chopin composed for other instruments in combination with piano, and in it his complete understanding of the tonal possibilities of the piano is proved to have extended to the cello. From the first bars of the Allegro moderato movement, there is a wistfulness, familiar from the Nocturnes, that flows through the Sonata, almost a Leitmotiv that unites the movements like a silent melody. To their credit, Weilerstein and Barnatan immerse their playing in Chopin's latent melancholy without wallowing in it. The rhythmic crispness of their playing alleviates the somberness of the music, revealing the glimpses of sunlight that peer through the clouds. In both the Scherzo and its boisterous Trio, the musicians offer playing that exemplifies technical brilliance, but the zenith of their interpretation of Chopin's Sonata is their performance of the Largo movement. Like Mozart and Beethoven, Chopin possessed an extraordinary gift for creating slow movements that remarkably unite emotions of near-operatic intensity with confessional intimacy. In the Sonata's Largo, cellist and pianist leave no expressive path unexplored but maintain absolute control on rhythm and phrasing, allowing the listener to contemplate Chopin's music on its own terms without imposing an idiosyncratic interpretation of their own devising. It is often far bolder to allow a piece to speak its own language than to attempt to translate it, and Weilerstein and Barnatan further disclose the depths of their artistries by sagaciously respecting Chopin's music. The sense of joy in making music that beams from Weilerstein's and Barnatan's playing of the Sonata's Finale is gladdening, and the precision of their performance is enhanced by the insightfulness of their phrasing. Every smile, sigh, and furtive sorrow that inspired Chopin resounds in this reading of his beautifully-crafted Sonata.

Arranged by the dedicatee of the Sonata, Auguste Franchomme, the Étude in C sharp minor (Op. 25, No. 7) is, as played by Weilerstein and Barnatan, a piece that combines virtuosity with vulnerability. Franchomme’s mastery of the cello enabled him to retain the Étude’s unique structure, and his friendship with Chopin surely contributed to the faithfulness of his preservation of its ethos. Weilerstein gives a stirring account of Franchomme’s cello part, and Barnatan matches her every feat of prowess with his own unassailable finesse. The Introduction et Polonaise brillante for piano and cello in C major (Opus 3)​ is among Chopin’s many miniature masterpieces, fully meriting its ‘brillante’ designation. Weilerstein’s and Barnatan’s performance likewise merits the distinction, their shared affection for the music cascading through their playing of the Introduction et Polonaise brillante—as it does through their playing of every piece in this recital.

Listening to this disc again and again, it seems utterly ridiculous that some of Classical Music's most influential advocates perpetuate the falsehood that there are no musicians at work today who are capable of consistently rivaling the performances and interpretations of artists of the past. Boasting of performances by distinguished pairings such as Edmund Kurtz and William Kapell, Zara Nelsova and Artur Balsam, and Sviatoslav Knushevitsky and Lev Oborin, the discography of Rachmaninov’s Sonata for cello and piano, though still an underappreciated work, contains many fine traversals, and the Chopin Sonata has been even more fortunate on records. Still, neither piece has been more blessed in the recording studio than when Alisa Weilerstein and Inon Barnatan met before the microphones in Berlin. Yet again in the long history of recorded sound a DECCA release restores confidence in the integrity of contemporary artists. More fundamentally, this is a ravishing recording of fantastic music.