The indefatigable Leif Ove Andnes assumes the mantle of the late Edwin Fischer–quite literally, having adopted Fischer’s arrangement of Beethoven’s cadenza for K. 466–here recording (22-24 March 2007 in Jar Church, Oslo) two Mozart concertos while conducting from the keyboard. Perhaps the first quality to assert itself in the G Major Concerto is the sheer transparency of sound, the light hand that commits no false note nor ungracious gesture. The bubbly G Major, conceived as a fleet vehicle for the composer’s use as a touring virtuoso, achieves pearly, brilliant sonority as piano and bassoon, along with tumbling woodwinds and “antique” strings, urge the colorist affects forward. The scherzando elements, the shimmering strings and pseudo-martial and hunting calls, intricately weave a fascinating pastiche of colors; and before we quite realize how far we have come, Andnes’ cadenza (by Mozart) is upon us, all velvet runs and trills. Musical candy, only far richer and deeper than any mortal confectioner could have invented.
The Andante in C Major features period-sounding, dry violins as the woodwinds chirp, flutes and bassoons in lilted harmony. The broken style of the writing embraces several distant key modulations, to C-sharp and G-sharp Minor, an improvisatory fantasia of ardent hues. The cadenza might have been part of the Fantasia in C Minor, K. 475, for its somber, liquid beauty. The ingeniously flippant variations that end this infectious work might be improvisations based on The Magic Flute, with the eponymous instrument’s taking a leading voice in rippling, limpid proceedings. The third variant is a piano and wind quintet become refined to peerless measure. We suddenly shift modality to G Minor, a moment of deep psychological and metrical complexity that suddenly breaks off into Jovian pomp. The bumptious irreverence of the extended coda parodies the composer’s own style, often ushering in bantering forecasts of Papageno and Papagena. Engineering balances by Arne Akselberg convince me that Mozart had real talents in orchestration.
The D Minor Concerto begins a brilliant dramma giacosa in expressive terms that extend the tradition of C.P.E. Bach, only more passionate. Trumpets and drums announce the turbulence of the dominant affect we find in the more disturbed pages from Donna Anna and the Commendatore of Don Giovanni. The bubbling bassoon one third of the way through the syncopated first movement does little to alleviate the pathos of the moment, though Andnes’ alternately flowing and broken chords over a pedal sustain the sweeping tension of piece. The scherzando episode takes us directly into the development of the first movement, Orpheus singing in the midst of angry maenads. Fierce tuttis from Andnes, so we might expect, like Ashkenazy, Andnes to follow the guiding light of his baton. Anyone planning a radio tribute to Andnes might well program the cadenza alone, for power, beauty, and varied applications of touch to a ceaseless, melodic bounty.
The B-flat Major Romanze for Mozart lovers carries that ‘sweet mystery of life’ sentiment, countered by the most frenzied outburst in G Minor at the middle section. The apparent simplicity of the opening section melts us the pearly play between Andnes and his undulant strings in diaphanous harmony. Now, the bassoon adds to the anxious melancholy of the middle section, increasing at each sforzato to the intensity of confrontation with a personal abyss. The clouds dissipate, the bassoon relents, and the opening bliss returns, virtuosity transfigured into music. A startling D Minor rocket launches the last movement’s vision of chaos, unsatisfied by the solo’s attempts at accord. After the repetition of the opening materials, out of an empyrean blue, comes a D Major turn–bassoon induced–from opera buffa, maybe Cosi or Figaro. A rollicking coda whose four beats might speak to Beethoven, given to hilarity, where bassoon and clarinet and frolicking piano and horns collaborate in Homeric laughter. Well done, very well done.
— Gary Lemco
