ORFF: Carmina Burana – Detroit Symphony Orchestra/ Jader Bignamini – Pentatone

by Audiophile Audition | Jul 3, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews

ORFF: Carmina Burana (Scenic Cantata) – Chen Reiss, soprano/ Reginald Mobley, countertenor/ Andrzej Filonczyk, baritone/ Audivi, chorus/ Detroit Opera Youth Chorus/ Detroit Symphony Orchestra/ Jader Bignamini – Pentatone PTC 5187 519 (6/26/26) (61:06) [distributed by the San Francisco Conservatory of Music] ****:

 Some years ago, I aired (on “The Music Treasury”) the 1956 recording of Carl Orff’s scenic cantata Carmina Burana with Wolfgang Sawallisch leading the Cologne Raio-Symphony Orchestra, soloists and chorus, the whole enterprise supervised by the composer, who made a laudatory, short speech at the end of the Angel LP. Although a later (1960) performance on CBS with Eugene Ormandy appeared, it did not supplant the effect of the Sawallisch version.  The work, especially through its rhythmic vitality and the lusty nature of its texts, continues to compel attention, exploring the mercurial nature of fate, love, and worldly gratifications. Orff selected 24 poems from a collection of secular, Eleventh and Twelfth Century songs found in a Bavarian monastery, the products of Goliards and disillusioned clerics and ecclesiastics. The large orchestral ensemble and the diversity of choral elements assure a feast of color and often provocative perspectives on the human condition. Within the diversity of texts lies a degree of satire and pensive reflection on social convention and hypocrisy, realized in acerbic musical accents and witty orchestral textures, eschewing contemporary, chromatic harmony for a chaste simplicity in diatonic harmony and adjacent triads. 

The present performance, recorded 7-9 November 2025, captured by Pentatone producer Blanton Alspaugh and mastering engineer Mark Donahue projects the exuberance and lusty frictions of the score, the famed “O Fortuna” that frames entire concept and the individual, dramatic and lyrical declarations of pleasure and pain, amorous meditations and drinking songs. In three major sections: Springtime, In the Tavern, and the Court of Love, the “Fortune” motif provides a ritornello saturating the procession, while the immense orchestral hues owe debts to Igor Stravinsky’s Les noces. The bright panorama given us in the last of the Spring sequences, “Ecca gratum,” for instance, revels the diction of the chorus and the blazing battery of the DSO. The Bavarian dance that follows has seductive, rustic energies to initiate the “On the Green/In the Meadow” phase of the cycle, whose last two episodes, “Reie, Swaz hie gat umbe. . .” and “Were diu werlt alle min” enjoy a ravishing peroration.   

For many auditors, after the opening energy of “O Fortuna,” the real excitement enters with the “In Taberna” quartet of pieces, wherein intoxication has induced a new layer of cruel truth. Baritone Andrzej Filonczyk invites us to the mixture of pleasure and mortality with a weird tango filtered by the Dies Irae. Countertenor Mobley renders the anguish of a roasting swan on a spit, the melody line divided between whole and half steps. The chorus of drunken revelers sardonically toast the Pope and the King, all the while imputing sheer hedonism to their motives. The abbot of Cockaigne literally flails humanity in the combustible mix of DCO percussion. Orff indicates the musical dynamic as scastenato, unfettered, listing every possible human condition as being susceptible to the power of drink. 

A children’s chorus initiates “Th Court of Love,” no less a world of anguished contradictions. Soprano Reiss has oboe and flute to accompany her lyric response to the call of Amor. The baritone laments his uncertain, erotic fate, outlining the “O Fortuna” motif. A woman in red, sighing in a tango rhythm, muses on her own possibility for bliss. A baritone solo rife with flustered ambition and misery, sings a direct quotation from Stravinsky once more, his Symphony of Psalms, leading to the a cappella annunciation of scatological amorousness: “Veni, Veni, veritas” rings with erotic clamor, piano and percussion. The soprano invests a note of spiritual calm, “In trutina,” a moment of indecision between chastity and experience.  

The near-full complement of singers thus conspire in the momentous “Tempus est iocundum” to culminate the occasion, citing “totus floreo” as more than enough justification for carnal union. With “Dulcissime,” the soprano cedes her body to the call of Amor, culminating with a high D.  In “Blanziflor et Helena” the eternal consummation of the sexes has been certified by Venus and the Virgin Mary, at once. If Love does present an eternal paradox, the fact finds immanence in “O Fortuna,” the ouroboros, the full, mysterious, ostinato-laden circle that circumscribes our lives.

—Gary Lemco

Brahms Complete Violin Sonatas – Mark Kaplan, David Kaplan – Orchid Classics

by Audiophile Audition | Jun 29, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews

BRAHMS: Violin Sonata Nos. 1, 2, & 3 – Mark Kaplan, violin/ David Kapla, piano – Orchid Classics ORC 100454 (69:01) (6/19/26) [www.orchidclassics.com] ****:

Father and son duo Mark and David Kaplan recorded the three Brahms violin sonatas 14-16 June 2014, the fine sound of Mark Kaplan’s 1685 Stradivarius (“the Marquis”) and David Kaplan’s Yamaha piano captured by Producer Eric Silberger.  From the outset of the 1879 “Rain” Sonata in G Major, the gentle nostalgia of the opening Vivace ma non troppo projects a thin, direct nasal tone that often reminds me of the sound from Joseph Szigeti’s instrument. Both through-composed and cyclical in construction, the sonata ranks among the composer’s most rarified, lyrical compositions, always tender in affect, the passion subdued but intensely wrought. Balances remain the focus of the procession of themes, the violin’s leading but the keyboard in fine symmetry in its realization of the dotted rhythm and the ubiquitous, three-note melodic contour. 

Pianist David Kaplan takes a pregnant ritard in addressing the Adagio, and Mark Kaplan intones the main vocal theme with ardent introspection. Its aching expressivity will reappear at bar 84 in the last movement. The initial, martial rhythm assumes a processional quality, soon asserting itself with vivid earnestness. Solemn and intimate at once, the music soon adopts that “rainy day” filigree that often defines Brahms in his valedictory sensibility. He had paid homage both to composer Robert Schumann and his lamented son Felix, a violinist of future promise who died at age twenty-five. The last movement, Allegro molto moderato, alludes openly to songs from Brahms’s Op. 59, Nos 3-4, Regenlied and Nachklang, plangently reminiscent and expressively nuanced by painful memories. The Kaplans shape this music with tender care, the collaborators’ sympathy as palpable as the refined musicianship that realizes the composer’s bittersweet intentions. 

The so-called “Thun” Sonata in A Major (1886), like many of the works of young Mahler, relies on songs and lieder for much of its inspiration. The singer Hermine Spies, a talented alto, received creative attention from Brahms, and the lyricism of Wie Melodien zieht es, Op. 105/1 and Kommt bald, Op. 97/5 infiltrates the opening movement, Allegro amabile. Commentors have well noted the resemblance of the opening to Walther’s “Prize Song” from Die Meistersinger. The keyboard part enjoys a plastic and persuasive series of gestures; and while David Kaplan intones his part affectionately, few have ever realized the keyboard contribution with the same magic as Mieczyslaw Horszowski. A series of declamations closes the movement, a sturdy resolution.

The second movement, Andante tranquillo – Vivace blends a slow section and a scherzo into one concept. Much of the violin and piano texture cross and reflect upon each other, in the same register or serving as doubles. One is reminded of Edgar Allan Poe’s insistence on “unity of effect” for a successful narrative. Some fine pizzicato and broken chord gestures glide by before the variation of the opening refrain that sails with casual elegance to the striking coda. Both metric ambiguity and intervallic repetition (A-C#, A-C) dominate the last movement, Allegretto grazioso (quasi andante), a thoroughly integrated lyrico-dramatic concept. Whatever undercurrents of doubt or conflict exist in this piece, the merger of the two instruments guarantees a hearty, impassioned conclusion. 

The Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor (1888) likely meant to serve – as had the Double Concerto, Op. 102 – as a “reconciliation” piece, not for violinist Joseph Joachim but for conductor Hans von Bülow (1830-1894), whose advocacy for the music of Richard Wagner had alienated the two musicians. In four movements, this sonata offers a greater range of emotion than the more lyrically minded first two sonatas, with metric ambiguity and sudden dynamic shifts more aggressive than previously. Despite the violin’s sotto voce opening, the music soon explodes with emotion, a subito forte from David Kaplan asserting a sturm und drang dimension to this piece. So, too, the bariolage effect from the violin and sustained pedal point from the piano in the development maintain a distinct tension. The “circuitous route” through F # minor has had a disconcerting effect, until we pass, sostenuto, through modulations (including the major mode of D) leading back to a fragmentary hint of the music’s origin. 

A serene cavatina, the second movement Adagio proceeds in D major, a 3/8 quasi-nocturne n waltz mode, in which the keyboard remains subservient to the violin. Mark Kaplan establishes a leisurely nostalgia that soon achieves its own, poignant rapture, capped by a potent passage in double stops. The expressive modulation, especially those in C, adds to the hesitant groping for emotional certainty. A kind of mischievous scherzo ensues, in F# minor, Un poco presto e con sentimento. The dalliance suddenly becomes ardent and serious, moving briefly to D minor. The da capo has the piano in sotto voce expression of the main impulse, while Mark Kaplan plucks the strings in thirds, and the movement ends.

The last movement, Presto agitato, offers a 6/8 tarantella of muscular power and momentum. I well recall how the collaboration of Jascha Heifetz and William Kapell struck me for their sheer emotive vehemence. The Kaplans prove not a whit less agile and insistent in their interpretation, which does not lack for the Brahms poetry. Syncopation appears to be the means of the day, with modulations into the modes of F. When the musicians combine for the coda, the result proves compelling, a just closure to a work that had considerable significance for the original musicians, and as a farewell to the violin sonata medium of which Brahms remains a master.

–Gary Lemco

Mark Kaplan, David Kaplan — Brahms Violin Sonatas

Violin Sonata No. 1 in G Major, Op. 78
Violin Sonata No. 2 in A Major, Op. 100
Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Op 108

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SAINT-SAENS: Symphony No. 3, “Organ” – Park Avenue Chamber Symphony – Recursive Classics

by Audiophile Audition | Jun 29, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews

SAINT-SAËNS: Symphony No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 78 “Organ” – Paolo Bordignon, organ/ Maxim Lando and Keyi Wang, piano/ Park Avenue Chamber Symphony/ David Bernard – Recursive Classics RC 5230977 (7/10/26) (37:20) [Distr. Orchard/SONY] ****: 

What this present album lacks in quantity may compensate in quality, when we consider the aesthetics of the occasion. Saint-Saens’ Third Symphony (1886) offers a challenge in balances, given that the organ serves an obbligato function, along with duo-pianist keyboard, essentially brilliant, color elements. The symphony proceeds in two major sections after having established a theme that will operate organically along cyclic principles, reappearing in rhythmic and timbre variation. The examples Saint-Saens follows derive from both Liszt and Schumann, in symphonic poems and symphonies, respectively. Conductor David Bernard addressed the problem of a statically positioned pipe organ and the orchestra – and audience – in the same room was to utilize a digital organ with speakers strategically placed to surround the ensemble and the hall, “immersing” players and audience in the full spectrum of Saint-Saens’ epic orchestral effects. The performance, then, has become an organic document, “a guerilla concert” conceived rather from the “inside out” to include the spectators, thus realizing Bernard’s conviction that “the relationship between a great symphony and its audience is not fixed but discoverable.” 

The soft Adagio opening to the C Minor Symphony – shades of Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony – suddenly explodes Allegro moderato 6/8 in a relentless flow of eighth notes colored by strings, brass and battery. The periods of the movement alternate dramatically, with hints of chorale figures in the midst of blazing polyphony. The sense of mortality makes an appearance via the Dies Irae motif from the Requiem Mass. Huge stretti layer the various impulses upon each other, adding a sense of monumentality to alternately dramatic and lyric figurations. The elongated coda bears a resemblance to ballet music, leading prior to the formal Poco adagio a sense of entr’acte. 

The organ pedal point provides the seque, attacca, to the hymnal Poco adagio, whose theme receives from conductor Bernard a broad sigh. A theme and variations, the music proceeds in soft cadential periods, still retaining allusions to the Dies Irae motif. Soft strings in counterpoint, with organ accompaniment, take up the melodic tissue, carefully etched by Bernard. The pizzicato motif itself becomes lyrically transparent, even transfigured, as various instruments alter the sonic atmosphere. 

The Allegro moderato – Presto movement, essentially a scherzo, reminds us of the score’s dedication to the memory of Franz Liszt (1811-1886), given the wizardry applied to the one keyboard by a pair of accomplished virtuosos. This scherzo opens what becomes Part II of the symphony, now in compound rhythmic tumult with tympanic explosions, employing passing dissonances urged by a panoply of orchestral colors. The woodwinds and strings still insist the Dies Irae make its presence felt. The strings hustle us to a restatement of the main idea with the tympany’s palpable aid, the woodwinds now in full fettle. Suddenly, the low strings and brass demonstrate their polyphonic capacities, moving to the strings, the tessitura ascending over the Dies Irae, as we enter, attacca, the precinct of the last movement, Maestoso – Allegro. 

Organist Bordignon does the honors with a huge chord, and the piano adds a distinctive sense of chimed harmony. The organ will itself indulge in a massive fugue, a specially of Saint-Saens the organ virtuoso. The potent fugato that ensues achieves a monumental texture, as brisk as it is learned.  Tremolo strings, triangle, cymbals, and scalar strings contribute while the Dies Irae refuses to quit. The chorale aspect of the music reigns supreme, another Saint-Saens artful gambit used in his Violin Concerto No. 3 and Piano Concerto No. 4. The heaving momentum indeed casts a Lisztian fervor about it, perhaps in memory of the famous Liszt Totentanz, but now headed to a stunning C major peroration, all the rising orchestral forces unleashed in a glorious annunciation of French symphonic mastery. 

The whoops that ensue seem a natural consequence of this “performance from within,” if you will, passing a firm, affirmative judgment on conductor Bernard’s experiment in blending the titular instrument’s presence into the living mass of musicians and spectators. For my money, I would still prefer a complementary work of some girth, say, Saint-Saens’ The Youth of Hercules. 

—Gary Lemco

This CD is available through Record Store Day

MAHLER: Symphony No. 3 in D Minor – Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/ Vasily Petrenko – Harmonia mundi

by Audiophile Audition | Jun 23, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews

MAHLER: Symphony No. 3 in D Minor – Hanna Hipp, mezzo-soprano/ Philharmonia Chorus/ Tiffin Boys’ Choir/ Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/ Vasily Petrenko – Harmonia mundi HMM 905421.22 (2 CDs = 1:36:12) (5/22/26) [Distr. by PIAS] ****:

 I well remember my first encounter with the longest, perhaps most cosmic of all symphonies in the classical repertory: Mahler’s Third, D Minor Symphony (1895-1896), led by James Levine with his Chicago Symphony Orchestra, whose first movement did not fit onto the RCA vinyl disc and had to be continued on the next side! And the music – a six-movement monolith devoted to a pantheistic or eschatological exploration of Nature and Being – as if Nietzsche and Spinoza had been coaching Mahler in the mystical direction of the late Beethoven quartets. In two parts, the work posits a procession from the first, martial stirrings of life, “Pan Awakes,” to a series of naturalistic and preternatural settings, from summer, to flowers, to animals, to Man, to Angels, and to (Divine) Love.  The ambitions of this composer invite warnings of metaphysical hubris: his audacious confrontation of the mundane and sublime, the banal and the transcendent. Mahler claimed his symphony realized “a world,” the One and the Many and its every permutation of contradiction. The coda must be Whitman’s “Barbaric Yawp.” When I heard Dimitri Mitropoulos conduct the same work, the intensity became an agonized rage against the diurnal world in spite of its immanent spirituality. 

 The often dire, funereal harmonic motion of Part I finds some consolation in the allusion to the hymnal theme from the Brahms C Minor Symphony last movement. The shifting themes and emotional contours resemble more a Wagner operatic scene than a sonata-allegro orchestral movement. Hints of klezmer music infiltrate the march, a concession to the mundane embraced with the same optimism as Mahler’s penchant for rapture. Moments of desolation and doubt no less haunt the momentum, and a solo violin (then flute) offers brief solace, as do bird calls and mocking sounds from the natural world. String counterpoint confronts brass syncopations to invite another whimsical clash between mortality and humorous parody. The pungently mercurial character of the music anticipates both Ives and Shostakovich. If Pan has awakened, he has no less died, and it is the thought that “in the midst of life we are in death” that Mahler finds acceptance, Nietzsche’s Amor fati.

A long pause should ensue before the resumption of music for Part II, marked Tempo di Menuetto, a “carefree” excursion among the flowers of the field. The virtuoso execution by the RPO strings and woodwinds warrants the price of admission, persuasive and sensuous, at once. The bucolically languorous and rustic serenity endures, what Edmund Spenser would characterize as “a bower of blisse.” The second section, Comodo (Scherzando) invokes the dancing joy of the forest primeval before the advent of Man. An offstage posthorn announces the appearance of Humanity, and we hear echoes of La folia, appropriate enough as commentary for Man’s contribution to the natural world. A combination of perverse humor and riotous, polyphonic frenzy results from the extended notice of human invention and influence. Posthorn and tremolo strings urge us to the La Folia motif, and “the eternal note of sadness” sounds once more. The furor erupts in echoes of the original dance, but the mirth of the moment has been broken, the coda a whiplash thrust.

From the deeps of Night, we hear a voice, that of mezzo-soprano Hanna Hipp, intoning the words of Nietzsche, from his spiritual mediation, Thus spake Zarathustra, alerting Man that he must awaken to the mystery of life, which eludes all regret. A midnight nocturne, the episode offers consolation beyond dogma, the melody fraught with longing for a joy that denies nothing of existence. The dialogues of winds horns, strings and horns, cast an eerie serenity in “Eternity” that we Mahler acolytes know will haunt the last thoughts in Das Lied von der Erde. 

The “child,” the third stage of Nietzsche’s concept of spiritual evolution, appears in movement five, here as a chorus of angelic bells that send forgiveness as a Divine judgment on Man. The spiritual impulse, clearly Christian in nature, seems counterintuitive to the Nietzschean maxim that “God is dead,” meaning that Man must assume total responsibility for his existence without recourse to metaphysical consolations. Yet, here Mahler, via soloist and children’s and women’s chorus, promises Divine mercy. The melody, of course, will engender the “heavenly-feast” vision of the Fourth Symphony. 

The last movement, “What Love Tells Me,” seeks the same source for universal salvation, even quoting Wagner’s “Christ’s Suffering” motif from Parsifal. The initial impulse for the grand Langsam – Ruhevoll appears to derive from the slow movement Lento assai, cantabile e tranquillo of Beethoven’s last completed work (1826), his String Quartet in F major, Op. 135. Petrenko and the RPO maintain a crystalline transparency of texture throughout this sustained contemplation of Last Things, Mahler’s stunning, blazing, musical eschatology. Man, Nature, and God find a mysterious reconciliation of spirit, perhaps an exalted tocsin signaling a call to support and redeem the collective, uncreated conscience of our Divine planet.

An absolutely, previously silent audience emerges after the elongated coda, fully alert to Mahler’s call for a better world.

—Gary Lemco

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