ENESCU: String Octet in C Major, Op. 7 (arr. Foster); Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Major, Op. 25 – Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte Carlo/Lawrence Foster/ Valeriy Sokolov, violin/Svetlana Kosenko, piano – Virgin Classics

by | Feb 18, 2009 | Classical CD Reviews | 0 comments

ENESCU: String Octet in C Major, Op. 7 (arr. Foster); Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Major, Op. 25 – Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte Carlo/Lawrence Foster/ Valeriy Sokolov, violin/Svetlana Kosenko, piano

Virgin Classics 519312 2, 65:01 **** [Distr. by EMI]:

In conversation, cellist Janos Starker referred to Georges Enescu (1881-1955) as “the most complete musician I knew.”  Violinist, conductor, pianist, pedagogue, Enescu absorbed a French tradition from the Paris Conservatory which he spliced to his Romanian heritage with an idiomatic, albeit eclectic, style that still eludes easy categories. The String Octet (1900) is a work of relative youth–Enescu was nineteen–that synthesizes several impulses from without, such as the Bach Brandenburgs; but its exuberant, long, chromatic theme of the first movement might be an attempt to emulate Tchaikovsky’s Souvenir de Florence and Schoenberg’s Verklaerte Nacht at once. Again, like Schubert, Enescu employs the long theme for its array of germ-motifs, each of which he can develop singularly at any time. Like a baroque concerto grosso, the music often contrasts tutti and concertino sections, huge masses of sound against intimate colloquys between individual instruments.

The second movement scherzo reminds us of Lady Macbeth’s remark that “hell is murky.” Enescu proceeds with contrapuntal impulses to drive an already turbulent set of emotions in high gear, the mass–in conductor Lawrence Foster’s orchestration–quite symphonic, until a solo violin emerges from the fray with a haunted serenade. The Furies, however, are not dispelled, and so a viola tries to quell the deliria. A dialogue ensues, but the febrile anguish proves overpowering. The trio section provides some amelioration, even as it threatened by storm clouds. The sonic patina is pure Schoenberg, Op. 4. Audacious chords and stabbing rhythms drive the movement forward, the metrics more reminiscent of Mahler than of any naïve comparisons to another boy wonder of the octet form, Mendelssohn. The violin solo over a swirling ostinato brings this movement, marked “Tres fougueux,” to a close.

The nocturne (Lentement) could not be more of a contrast; so thoroughly in spiritual and tonal repose, it only begs the question of why it is not played on the radio’s idea of “restful music” each day.  The middle section gathers light as it swells to a plaintive song without words, easily comparable to the Borodin nocturne from the D Major Quartet. The music segues directly into the last movement, its gypsy style moving along agitated agogics to a stylized, unearthly waltz. The rhythms becomes more earthy, but the transparent upper-voice writing keeps the air clear. A sharp ear will catch elements of the first movement, making this piece both cyclic and an extended (recapitulated) version of sonata-form over four movements, simultaneously.  The counterpoints of the dance certainly reminds me of Tchaikovsky’s treatment of his “Theme russe” in his own C Major Serenade, Op. 48.

The Third Sonata for Violin and Piano, Op. 25 (1925) is subtitled “In a popular Romanian style.” Connoisseurs know it from inscriptions by Menuhin and Enescu himself. The first notes of the Moderato malinconico tell us a slow, haunting tale of gypsy sensibilities, tears, laments, and the impulse–like Zorba‘s–to dance even to one’s cruel pains. The music becomes languorous and sweetly amorous, while the piano creates curlicues and ornaments of quasi-oriental color. The second movement, the heart of the sonata, is marked Andante sostenuto e misterioso and proceeds in a kind of dream, the slides a throwback to Stravinsky’s Firebird. The sultry harmonies yield to an ethnic dance, almost a hora with recitativo-arioso elements, shades of the Franck Sonata which Enescu revered. Sokolov and Kosenko play as though their musical passions might become personal. The raucous side of gypsy sentiment comes to the fore in the last movement, with concessions to Ravel’s Tzigane, but also to the drawn-out tones of the czardas and the hora. If Sokolov occasionally sounds like Stephane Grappelli, he would likely find this allusion complimentary.

Recorded at the Auditorium Rainier III in Monaco, 7-12 January 2008, the aural mix and densities of the respective ensembles bask in Enescu’s colors to our mutual benefit.

–Gary Lemco

 

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