Classical CD Reviews
FRITZ BRUN: Symphony No. 8 in A Major for Large Orchestra; Variations ueber ein eigenes Thema for Piano and String Orchestra - Studio-Orchester Beromuenster/Fritz Brun (Symphony)/Adrian Aesschbacher, piano/Collegium Musicum Zurich/Paul Sacher - Guild
Brun claims the first movement captures “the vibrant bustle of a town.” Whether this makes Brun’s A Major Symphony the modern Swiss counterpart of Vaughan Williams’ “London” Symphony remains a matter of taste.
Published on February 21, 2009
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FRITZ BRUN: Symphony No. 8 in A Major for Large Orchestra; Variations ueber ein eigenes Thema for Piano and String Orchestra - Studio-Orchester Beromuenster/Fritz Brun (Symphony)/Adrian Aesschbacher, piano/Collegium Musicum Zurich/Paul Sacher - Guild 2351, 78:58 [Distrib. By Albany] ****:
Fritz Brun (1878-1959) has a limited reputation as a Swiss composer, pianist, and conductor who had the benefit of studies with Busoni and Nikisch. With the help of conductor Volkmar Andreae, Brun secured a conductorship at Berne, which he maintained for three decades until 1941, when Brun retired to devote himself exclusively to composition. He wrote ten symphonies between 1901-1953, and his personal syntax is tonal, albeit influenced by Schoeck and Honegger. The Eighth Symphony on this disc (4 October 1946) is performed by the composer with an ensemble often associated with another musical visionary, Hermann Scherchen.
The A Major Symphony (1942) has a kind of program in sonata-form, as each of the four movements suggests a period of a twenty-four-hour day: the Allegro vivace, midday; the Andante, based on an old Bernese folksong, evening; the Notturno, a late-night, lunar landscape; and the Allegro non troppo, the cheerful morning. Whether the opening violence of the first movement’s main theme carries any impression of the World War is anyone’s guess. The brooding second subject gloomily moves with dark energies we hear in some Bartok and Franz Schmidt. The heavy periods hint at Bruckner’s influence. Brun claims the movement captures “the vibrant bustle of a town.” Whether this makes Brun’s A Major Symphony the modern Swiss counterpart of Vaughan Williams’ “London” Symphony remains a matter of taste. Various trumpet declarations imbue a heraldic character to the music that softens temporarily; the varied mix of turbulent emotions in rather brassy, chromatic colors has a lurid relation to the music of Nielsen.The last notes of the coda sound like Berlioz’ Rakoczy March.
The second movement Brun derives from an old folksong, “Schoenster Abestaern,” most-lovely evening star. Of Brucknerian length and sectionalized along that same composer’s “tape worm” (Brun’s phrase) or “boa constrictor” (Brahms’ term) principles, the melodic tissue becomes increasingly stratified, with that “Wagner horn” sound we know of Bruckner, soon followed by broken riffs of laendler. The music intensifies as it becomes more episodic, the musical threads alternately anguished, strident, nostalgic--and to my ears, somewhat random. Nineteen minutes of ersatz Bruckner adagio make me testy. The Notturno finds its inspiration in a painting by Ernst Morgenthaler, a lunar vision from a terrace, with friends drinking in both wine and a vision of the Milky Way. Some jazzy timbres make their way into this brew, shades of Richard Strauss, with bass clarinet, flute, con sordino strings. A Mediterranean spirit reigns in the form of sighs, warbles, and breezy riffs that hint at Milhaud’s La Creation du Monde. The clarion last movement proceeds, over a thumping tympani and bass pedal with serpentine themes, “to bring in the morning. . .the musician’s workshop. . .the kind and benevolent Tessin sun.” Grofe did all this in fewer notes for the Grand Canyon Suite! So, another verbose Brucknerian ride may find some auditors nodding off. The last two minutes attempt a wake-up call, a march in a lighter--or at least Richard Strauss-lighter style. A cross between Ein Heldenleben and An Alpine Symphony, Brun’s A Major, despite its apparent sincerity, is too derivative of Bruckner to warrant my return to its sentiments.
The 1944 Variations (rec. 25 January 1946) with Adrian Aeschbacher (1912-2002) and Paul Sacher (1906-1999) prove more direct and compelling than the Symphony. The original theme is followed by eight variations of varying densities and tonal coloration. The spirit of Franz Schmidt seems nigh, as well as the darkly modal contours we associate with Frank Martin, whose work Paul Sacher both commissioned and championed. Aeschbacher’s gracious palette does much to sell the concertante part, while the Zurich strings make their own points, often leading the progression of motifs. The individual variants are quite terse, a pleasant trait after the prolix symphony. Variation VI caught my ear, likely due to its sounding like Schumann by way of bravura Bartok. The longest of the variations is marked Largo (espessivo), two-thirds of which is pure string serenade; the piano adds a dry recitative then a few, disparate, major-key arpeggios to a viola and violin duo. The last variant smacks of the Prokofiev C Major Concerto finale, only smaller-scale; it proceeds to some modal riffs and runs that culminate in a syncopated chorale.
Note: a bonus track gives us the 78 rpm shellac Variation VIII in its un-edited, pre-remastered form, just to show off what modern, digital processing can accomplish.
--Gary Lemco
Fritz Brun (1878-1959) has a limited reputation as a Swiss composer, pianist, and conductor who had the benefit of studies with Busoni and Nikisch. With the help of conductor Volkmar Andreae, Brun secured a conductorship at Berne, which he maintained for three decades until 1941, when Brun retired to devote himself exclusively to composition. He wrote ten symphonies between 1901-1953, and his personal syntax is tonal, albeit influenced by Schoeck and Honegger. The Eighth Symphony on this disc (4 October 1946) is performed by the composer with an ensemble often associated with another musical visionary, Hermann Scherchen.
The A Major Symphony (1942) has a kind of program in sonata-form, as each of the four movements suggests a period of a twenty-four-hour day: the Allegro vivace, midday; the Andante, based on an old Bernese folksong, evening; the Notturno, a late-night, lunar landscape; and the Allegro non troppo, the cheerful morning. Whether the opening violence of the first movement’s main theme carries any impression of the World War is anyone’s guess. The brooding second subject gloomily moves with dark energies we hear in some Bartok and Franz Schmidt. The heavy periods hint at Bruckner’s influence. Brun claims the movement captures “the vibrant bustle of a town.” Whether this makes Brun’s A Major Symphony the modern Swiss counterpart of Vaughan Williams’ “London” Symphony remains a matter of taste. Various trumpet declarations imbue a heraldic character to the music that softens temporarily; the varied mix of turbulent emotions in rather brassy, chromatic colors has a lurid relation to the music of Nielsen.The last notes of the coda sound like Berlioz’ Rakoczy March.
The second movement Brun derives from an old folksong, “Schoenster Abestaern,” most-lovely evening star. Of Brucknerian length and sectionalized along that same composer’s “tape worm” (Brun’s phrase) or “boa constrictor” (Brahms’ term) principles, the melodic tissue becomes increasingly stratified, with that “Wagner horn” sound we know of Bruckner, soon followed by broken riffs of laendler. The music intensifies as it becomes more episodic, the musical threads alternately anguished, strident, nostalgic--and to my ears, somewhat random. Nineteen minutes of ersatz Bruckner adagio make me testy. The Notturno finds its inspiration in a painting by Ernst Morgenthaler, a lunar vision from a terrace, with friends drinking in both wine and a vision of the Milky Way. Some jazzy timbres make their way into this brew, shades of Richard Strauss, with bass clarinet, flute, con sordino strings. A Mediterranean spirit reigns in the form of sighs, warbles, and breezy riffs that hint at Milhaud’s La Creation du Monde. The clarion last movement proceeds, over a thumping tympani and bass pedal with serpentine themes, “to bring in the morning. . .the musician’s workshop. . .the kind and benevolent Tessin sun.” Grofe did all this in fewer notes for the Grand Canyon Suite! So, another verbose Brucknerian ride may find some auditors nodding off. The last two minutes attempt a wake-up call, a march in a lighter--or at least Richard Strauss-lighter style. A cross between Ein Heldenleben and An Alpine Symphony, Brun’s A Major, despite its apparent sincerity, is too derivative of Bruckner to warrant my return to its sentiments.
The 1944 Variations (rec. 25 January 1946) with Adrian Aeschbacher (1912-2002) and Paul Sacher (1906-1999) prove more direct and compelling than the Symphony. The original theme is followed by eight variations of varying densities and tonal coloration. The spirit of Franz Schmidt seems nigh, as well as the darkly modal contours we associate with Frank Martin, whose work Paul Sacher both commissioned and championed. Aeschbacher’s gracious palette does much to sell the concertante part, while the Zurich strings make their own points, often leading the progression of motifs. The individual variants are quite terse, a pleasant trait after the prolix symphony. Variation VI caught my ear, likely due to its sounding like Schumann by way of bravura Bartok. The longest of the variations is marked Largo (espessivo), two-thirds of which is pure string serenade; the piano adds a dry recitative then a few, disparate, major-key arpeggios to a viola and violin duo. The last variant smacks of the Prokofiev C Major Concerto finale, only smaller-scale; it proceeds to some modal riffs and runs that culminate in a syncopated chorale.
Note: a bonus track gives us the 78 rpm shellac Variation VIII in its un-edited, pre-remastered form, just to show off what modern, digital processing can accomplish.
--Gary Lemco
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