Georges Solchany and Hungarian String Quartet – Piano Quintets of Schumann; Brahms – Forgotten Records

by Audiophile Audition | Jun 13, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

SCHUMANN: Piano Quintet in E-flat Major, Op. 44; BRAHMS: Piano Quintet in F Minor, Op. 34 – Georges Solchany, piano/ Hungarian String Quartet – Forgotten Records FR2474 (66:57) [www.forgottenrecords.com] *****:

Hungarian Georges Solchany (1922-1988) has had scant revival in the CD format, so it is with particular gratitude that we consider Forgotten Records’ offering of the 1958-1959 collaborations with the Hungarian String Quartet of the great Romantic quintets by Schumann and Brahms from Les Discophile Francais. Born in 1922, Sochany studied at the native Conservatory, where at eighteen, Erno von Dohnanyi accepted Solchany as a member of his master class who soon earned the coveted Grand Prix Franz Liszt in1942. Solchany settled in Paris in 1946, and he soon attracted musicians of the highest order – David Oistrakh, Sandor Vegh, and Leonid Kogan – as fellow participants. Besides the Franck, Dvorak, Schubert, Schumann and Brahms quintets, Solchany recorded the latter’s piano quartets and the piano trios of Beethoven. Solchany recorded for EMI, but no assembled collation of his work has appeared. 

Robert Schumann’s Piano Quintet (1842) represents an innovation – excepting the infrequently heard piano quintets of Luigi Boccherini – the combination of piano and string quartet, since Mozart and Beethoven had combined the keyboard against the woodwinds. Schumann wrote in the throes of his “song year,” wherein the various keyboard compositions were meant to showcase the talents of the composer’s wife, Clara Schumann. Among my perennial, recorded performances was that by Clifford Curzon and Budapest String Quartet on Columbia (ML 4426), a mixture of emotional stamina and infinite tenderness.  Solchany, too, imparts (rec. 27-28 December 1958) bold strokes and intimate gestures in abundance, as the first movement Allegro brilliante proceeds in Schumann’s typical economy of means. Cellist Gábor Magyar imparts a rich counter to Solchany’s top voice, while the equally vibrant tone colors of Dénes Koromzay’s viola enriches the polyphonic episodes and unison passages. 

The familiarity of the eerie, C minor second movement In modo d’una marcia, un poco largamente, extends into its appearance (in orchestral guise)  in Edgar Ulmer’s classic movie The Black Cat, with Lugosi and Karloff. Schumann’s standard procedure introduces two episodes, here in a sweetly nostalgic C major a contrasting storm in F minor. The strings virtually growl under Solchany’s rapid figurations, especially Koromzay’s fine viola. The C major tune has first violin Zoltán Székely to thank, he the dedicatee of the Bartok Second Concerto. The buoyant Scherzo: Molto vivace proceeds in the manner of a steeplechase, the piano part both dainty and manically alert. Two trio interludes come forth: the first varies the content of the opening movement, while the second rather anticipates Liszt and his gypsy/Magyar folk reveries. 

For years, my model of for the fourth movement Finale: Allegro ma non troppo on records lay with Artur Schnabel and the Pro Arte Quartet. A whirlwind combination of sonata and rondo forms, the piece has each instrument add to the melodic richness and athletic vigor of the occasion. Fugal and canonic elements abound as Schumann demonstrates his inventive powers. The piano’s reflective moment precedes the fugue proper, taken perhaps a bit too quickly for some tastes. A grand climax leads to yet another polyphonic procession of resonant glory that again allows Solchany his reflective nostalgia. The coda, once initiated, enjoys a marvelous inertia, cyclically rounding off a work whose aesthetic closure continues to awe us admirers. 

That Brahms deeply admired the work of Franz Schubert finds ample testimony in the 1864 Piano Quintet in F Minor, Op. 34, a work that often confounded the composer with the medium to which it would best suited. Having long cherished Schubert’s C Major String Quintet, first tried (in 1862) the same arrangement, but violinist Joachin proclaimed the string parts too difficult to manage. When Brahms chose to recast the work for two pianos, the influence of Schubert’s C Major Grand Duo for 2 Pianos (1826) came candidly to the fore, given that the Brahms Op. 34b offers the Sonata for 2 Pianos.  The last movements of the respective pieces share melodic and rhythmic currency, a trait no less evident in the second movement, Andante, un poco adagio, which borrows heavily from Schubert’s lied, “Pause.”  One commentator noted that in the last movement Brahms approaches Liszt in having employed a melody using eleven of the twelve notes of the chromatic scale, an example of what Schoenberg dubbed “Brahms the Progressive.”

Solchany and the Hungarian Quartet recorded the Brahms Piano Quintet 4-6 June 1959. The first movement establishes a unison entry in eight measures that immediately assumes a “symphonic” sonority, the mood tempestuous and emotionally taut. The series of expressive melodies unfold naturally, including pregnant ritards in the progress, Solchany’s part restrained in the pedal points that define the menacing periods throughout the Allegro non troppo. Although percussive, the keyboard part does not overwhelm the urgent strings, in which the violins, Szekely and Alexander Moskowsky, realize their parts most expressively.  The coda of the movement celebrats the power of the synchronous ensemble. 

The second movement proves especially tender, given the 34 bars that set the tone of a lyrically nostalgic lied. The violin and viola will take up the music in unison triplets for the secondary motive set over a strummed effect from Solchany, the music’s having become a troubadour’s song. The low intonations of the cello part exert a sense of deep meditation. The volatile Scherzo: Allegro, with its relentless syncopes and dotted rhythm, has always suggested to me a Bismarckian declaration of martial intent. A pregnant pause leads to Solchany’s rather muted expression of the march in more lyrical terms, though the development assumes a sterner hue. A third theme emerges that links to the restrained trio section before muted rhythmic germs once more release the furies insistent in their fevered pulse. 

The last movement evinces the most forward-looking harmonies, Poco sostenuto – in fugue format – chromatically adventurous outlines of the minor ninth.  We will meet these eerie impulses later in Brahms, in his Intermezzo, Op. 119, No. 1. The ensuing Allegro non troppo, clearly derived from Schubert, proffers both an energetic dance and an expressive melody dictated by the strings, especially the cello. Once more, tiny ritards introduce the main theme in variation, as lyrically affecting as it rhythmically propulsive, almost in the manner of a Hungarian Dance. The rhythmic inflections demonstrate their own cleverness, slowing down to evolve the coda, blending the dual themes in a propulsive and impetuously mad dash to a most forceful sense of learned, aesthetic closure.  

I heartily recommend that admirers of Georges Solchany seek out the remaing discs in the Forgotten Records catalogue.

—Gary Lemco

Frederick Stock and the CSO, Vol. 6 – Bach, Wagner, Dvorak, R. Strauss, Chausson – Pristine Audio

by Audiophile Audition | Jun 4, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

FREDERICK STOCK: Chicago Symphony Vol. 6 = BACH (arr. Stock): Prelude and Fugue in E-flat Major, BWV 552 “St. Anne”; WAGNER: Siegfried: Forest Murmurs; DVORAK: In Nature’s Realm, Op. 91; R. Strauss: Aus Italien, Op. 16: On the Shores of Sorrento; CHAUSSON: Symphony n B-flat Major, Op. 20 – Chicago Symphony Orchestra/ Frederick Stock – Pristine Audio PASC 771 (75:40) [www.pristineclassical.com] *****: 

Producer and Audio Restoration Engineer Mark Obert-Thorn concludes his ambitious revival of conductor Frederick Stock (1872-1942), whose 37-year tenure in Chicago bequeathed us a powerful musical legacy that well continues to reward listeners. True to his German training, Stock built his honed orchestral sound from the basses upward, and his lithe concept of music-making typically eschews the more turgid of “romantic” tricks of the trade in portamentos and glissandos. This Volume 6 provides the musical energies of two days in December 1941, 22 and 23, just weeks before Stock’s death. The “pristine” clarity of the restorations proves utterly engaging, even startlingly refreshed, with almost no trace of the shellac origins of the preserved performances. 

The program begins with Stock’s own transcription of J.S. Bach 1739 “St Anne” Fugue in E-flat Major, the fugue title borrowed from William Croft’s English hymn.  The composition abounds in Christian, theological symbolism, synthesized into Bach’s “Organ Mass,” in which the Prelude and Fugue serve as pillars on opposite ends of the colossal structure. The highly chromatic Prelude, constructed on the basis of the Holy Trinity, enjoys a lyrical resonance from Stock’s forces, immediate and pious. The 205 measures of this orison embody the Lord’s perfection, as flute and harp entries, accompanied by chirping woodwinds and strings, and finally brass, elevate the occasion to a thrilling, polyphonic unleashing of cosmic powers. Bach arranges his mercurial Fugue on no less “triadic” terms, setting the respective metrics in 4/4, 6/4, and 12/8. Albert Schweitzer, typical of his metaphysical rhetoric, defines this section as “the Pentecostal wind’s rushing in, roaring from heaven.” Combined choirs state the titular “St. Anne” subject, an aerial dance that exults majestically in a potent affirmation of irresistible faith. 

In his liner notes, Obert-Thorn reveals that that the 22-23 December recording of Wagner’s “Forest Murmurs” from Siegfried, Act II had no release in the 78 rpm shellac format. It comes to us now from a vinyl test pressing, immaculate in its sonic presence. The hero Siegfried rests beneath a linden tree, and all Nature responds to the imminent release of Siegfried’s powers, given his calling to awaken Brunnhilde and redeem the honor of the gods. The sheer intensity of the CSO winds, strings, and brass rivals the live Mitropoulos performance from New York  that has set my standard for ages. 

Dvorak’s In Nature’s Realm, the initial part of his “Nature, Life and Love” symphonic-poem triptych, celebrates the rural ecstasies of his native Bohemia, going so far as to invoke the Czech hymn “Let Us Sing Joyfully, Praise God the Father” to solidify his pantheistic convictions. Also a product of the two-day sessions, 22-23 December 1941, this outpouring of Nature’s rhythmical and melodic bounty may sound a bit hasty in bravura style (11:58) compared to the reading by Vaclav Talich (15:44), which rather basks in Dvorak’s mellifluous gestures.  Doubtless, the 78 rpm medium dictated Stock’s approach, but he has captured the elastic inventiveness of Dvorak’s consistent “Nature’s call” motif.

Stock has a fine rendition of the Richrd Strauss Also sprach Zarathustra, included in Volume 4 of the Pristine collection, so his credentials as an exponent of the master orchestrator seems assured; a pity that this single movement from the early 1886 Aus
Italien, a suite inspired by the composer’s sojourn to various areas of Italy, where once more creativity thrived: “being inspired by the beauty of nature; in the Roman ruins. . .the thoughts just flew,” as Strauss stated to the score’s dedicate, Hans von Bülow. “On the Shores of the Sorrento” serves as the third movement of the suite, a serene intermezzo that permits conductor Stock’s CSO winds, brass, and strings to approach something of Wagner’s “Forest Murmurs.” Obert-Thorn comments that Stock’s “way with the graceful swooping birds over Sorrento makes one wish [RCA] Victor had recorded the entire score.” 

When we come to the Stock recording of the 1890 Symphony in B-flat Major of Chausson, we recall that the 78 rpm medium offered three fine interpretations: by Piero Coppola (1934), by Frederick Stock (1941), and by Dimitri Mitropoulos (1949). Chausson took Franck’s cyclic principle of symphonic construction to heart, even improving upon sonata-form development and instrumental color. When Stock passes through the dark introduction to the Allegro vivo, the effect startles then sooths us in the suave transitions of gesture. The orchestral definition and vibrancy adumbrate what Fritz Riener would accomplish with this ensemble an administration further in the future.

In the LP era, Charles Munch in Boston would surpass Stock’s achievement. Meanwhile, the D minor Lent movement echoes Wagner’s Tristan momentarily, staidly and sternly chromatic even in its lyrical passages. The second subject in B-flat derives from the man theme of movement one, moving to a glorious peroration in D major. Despite Stock’s penchant for classical literalism in his interpretations, he makes a decisive alteration in the tempestuous, 16^th-note-driven Animé finale, his having substituted an organ (at 8:00) for the brass utterance of a (trumpet) chorale tune, perhaps in homage to Saint-Saen’s Third Symphony. The intimate effect proves endearing, if eccentric. Some of the prior marcato passages in fact quote Franck’s D Minor Symphony, as if Chausson were announcing his fellowship of modern triumvirate, the French masters of the symphony genre. 

Kudos to Mark Obert-Thorn and the Pristine production team for this fine series to ensure our appreciation of Frederick Stock.

—Gary Lemco

From Pristine, Frederick Stock and the Chicago Symphony Orchsestra concert recordings of Bach Strauss, Wagner Dvorak.  Classical Music Review by Gary Lemco.

MAHLER: Symphony No. 4 in G Major – New York Philharmonic Orchestra/ Bruno Walter – Pristine Audio

by Audiophile Audition | May 31, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

MAHLER: Symphony No. 4 in G Major – New York Philharmonic Orchestra/ Bruno Walter – Pristine Audio PASC 729 (53:14) [www.pristineclassical.com] *****:

I well recall my LP version of Bruno Walter’s 1945 reading of the 1900 `Mahler Fourth Symphony on CBS (ML 4031) with Viennese soprano Desi Halban (1912-1996), and my appreciation of Walter’s realization of this music’s songful sympathy both with Nature and childhood, dependent upon the collection Des Knaben Wunderhorn, the “folk” hybrid collection of poems substantially invented by Arnim and Brentano.  Given that Mahler’s score had been conceived “in reverse,” with the original “Das himmlische Leben” omitted from the 1898 Third Symphony, so that Mahler had to create a new three movements to precede it, the work depends upon the sustaining of Wordsworth’s “childlike wonder” at the joys and Heaven in their often contradictory impulses. Frankly, my real quibble with Bruno Walter’s reading lay with Halban, whose voice I found unsympathetic to the moment, while I found in Teresa Stich-Randall (1927-2007), the so-called “white soprano,” a perfect vehicle for Mahler’s phantasmic vision, though her conductor in the Epic recording, Willem van Otterloo, lacked the immense, poetical monumentality Walter accords the third movement Ruhevoll.  So this 4 January 1953 radio broadcast with lyric soprano Irmgard Seefried (1919-1998) proves most ingratiating, a collaboration transparent, mystical, and wise, at once.

Walter compared Mahler’s Fourth Symphony to a “Fairy tale. . .weightless and unburdened,” an epithet that does not quite accommodate the occasional shadows that appear in this score.  The first movement Bedachtig (well considered) offers a festival journey, beset with sleigh bells, Nature calls, and mountain-train whistles, that proceeds with fervor and insistence, rife with visionary passion. The New York Philharmonic trumpets and battery inject an alert, vivid presence to the occasion, the music’s often capturing the sense of maerchen, musical fairytales or allegories that marked the musical excursions of Ribert Schumann.  Played without exaggerated sentimentality, the performance enjoys a sober relish of Mahler’s inspirational forces, realized in that liberal, Viennese style endemic to his musical identity.

The juxtaposition of life and death becomes immediate via the second movement, in which the principal violin scordatura (“mis-pitched”) initiates a scherzo in which insinuates Death’s fiddle as dominant in a rustic, country dance shared by horns, winds, strings, and timpani. A breezy secondar motif embraces the dance to give it an unearthly, vaporous quality. A (Schubert-like) laendler in the winds imposes a graceful pulse; so, if Death hovers, he makes a casual, gracious presence. Mahler intentionally submits the genial, gemütlich quality as the rule. Suddenly, the expansive, luminous character of the occasion erupts, only to retreat into the quirky scherzo motif in the winds and solo violin. Pizzicato strokes and timpani herald a distorted vision and dissonant component to the music, compressed into in the winds’ aerial coda.

The New York Philharmonic cellos have rarely shone with the radiance they project for Mahler’s third movement, a gorgeous adagio suffused with an anguish quite ineffable. The horns presage the later explosion in E major that separates the Walter molds this music with ardent care, allotting it the same breadth Beethoven achieves in his slow movement to the Ninth Symphony, though without the double-theme-and-variation procedure. We hear the first violin amongst the interwoven patterns, intimations of mortality. The urgent pulse of the scherzo returns, voluptuous and nostalgic at once, but the momentum fails, turning the music into a darkly moody, polyphonic serenade with klezmer elements. These impish riffs dissipate into a cosmic ether that literally holds its breath in awe of some Eternal Truth. The E major unveiling occurs, in hammer blows to be revealed again later, in Symphony No. 6. Harp and strings insinuate the “heavenly” vision that initially impelled this music out of the Third Symphony.

We will eventually bask in the key of E major, where in Irmgard Seefried has depicted the child’s naïve configuration of a Heaven feast, wherein blessed events converge with animals’ slaughter.  Saints and martyrs somehow attend the festivities, the dancing and playful cavorting among the incongruous amalgam of chefs. Saint Martha, patron saint of cooks, presides over this grand grotesquerie, almost a forecast of one of Gatsby’s summer parties. The Pristine note mentions to the “decorative innocence” of the extended scene, enunciated with fervent clarity by Irmgard Seefried. The ravishing invocation of Des Knaben Wunderhorn could scarcely find more suitable collaborators, and Seefried and Walter invoke a storm of grateful applause.

—Gary Lemco