Romantic Piano Concertos Series Hyperion

[Brian]

Now here's something different! I had never even heard of Henry Huss or Ernest Schelling, but they were American romantics in the MacDowell era and they are so obscure that Hyperion gives their full names, including middle names, as if they were serial killers. Henry Huss studied with Rheinberger and wrote this glittering concerto despite being an awful pianist himself. Review: "The pianist (Mr. Huss, modest and cowardly) is quite inferior and can't even count." The reviewer is Tchaikovsky. 

Despite that deficiency, I...really liked this concerto? Sorry to traffic in stereotypes, but it combines a Brahmsian/European style with a certain American extroversion that reveals itself in the bright upward turns in some of the melodies. Actually, you can kind of hear Tchaikovsky's influence, too. It's in the unusual key of B Major, with a lovely E flat nocturne in the middle. The finale is basically a very fast waltz. While I think the first movement is the best and the finale overlong, this is a real find. Florestan and Kyjo would love it!

Ernest Schelling studied with Paderewski for four years (the teacher later called him "my dearest friend"), led the Baltimore Symphony, led the future New York Philharmonic's Young People's Concerts, and had a huge success with this Suite Fantastique. He played it under Mengelberg in Amsterdam and Moisiewitsch played it at the Proms.

This Suite is pure pops fluff, with a Hungarian movement and a homesick Americana finale that includes quotes of "Swanee River," "Dixie," and "Yankee Doodle." Schelling's original tunes are of similar cuteness and folksiness. The finale is like a generic version of Ives, and in general the whole piece is popsy/cute. Not something I will revisit much but again, I bet Florestan will dig it.

The BBC Scottish orchestra, which is practically house band for this series, does well in the Huss and merely OK in the Schelling. Near the end of the csardas scene, there's a poorly-written solo for either viola or cello; sadly, I can't tell which one it is based on the strange sound it makes. Might be the composer's fault.



Stephen Hough has recorded the Mendelssohn, Saint-Saens, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Rachmaninov, Dvorak, and Schumann concertos for Hyperion, but the first three composers are in the "Romantic Piano Concertos" series and the last four are not in the series. Why? Why?? Why?!?!

Anyway, my reference recording here remains Thibaudet, but Hough is good and he adds three ten-minute-ish stand-alone works for piano and orchestra, which makes this a comprehensive edition.



Two big, lavish, ornate late romantic monsters here. The Marx has been recorded in a Naxos series of the complete Marx orchestral works, but Marc-Andre Hamelin's superman-style pianism allows him to knock 4 minutes off the total time. It is a beast of a work, sort of a baroque ornate opulence but in romanticism instead.

The Korngold work is even more like that - more opulent, more melodic, more virtuosic - because it is Korngold, in his age-twenties prime. The orchestral colors verge on Walton or Hollywood, and the writing for piano is astonishing. Parts of it verge on psychedelic. This was the very first of Paul Wittgenstein's left-hand commissions, and although I had never heard it before, I'm astonished by what Korngold is able to get out of his one-handed writing. Hamelin, of course, is ideal for this assignment. The Marx is a curiosity, but the Korngold is maybe a masterpiece. Certainly I'd like to see it live from a vantage point where I can watch the pianist's left hand at work.



Another winner. Donald Tovey's youthful piano concerto, from before he gained a fearsome career as a critic, is like if Brahms had written a concerto in the manner of his serenades: light, bright, and bustling with surprising amounts of activity. (In fact, at times I thought more of Dvorak, or Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony.)

Mackenzie's "Scottish Concerto" - well, I was going to say that it's not super Scottish all the time, but then the booklet told me that I simply didn't recognize some of the tunes. All the big tunes are from Scottish reels, but the most famous (?) is the glorious one used in the slow movement, which is the glowing warm heart of the piece and an exceptional example of how a composer can deploy a world-famous tune and make it his own.

The BBC Scottish orchestra was already the "house band" for this series, so it wasn't a stretch for Hyperion to add probably the greatest living Scottish pianist.



Ignaz Brull was a friend of Brahms and, as a pianist, considered the leading interpreter of Brahms' solo works in their era. As a composer, he wrote for his virtuoso tours. Unfortunately, his two piano concertos don't date from the Friend of Brahms era - they date from ages 15 and 22, when he was just starting out. In sunny major keys and with the piano entering early, they have youthful energy and enthusiasm. The kid just wanted to spin some tunes and flex his finger muscles. A solo bit in the center of the First Concerto's slow movement sounds, for a moment, like the most famous of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodies. The Second Concerto's opening is memorably odd: like Beethoven's Fourth, the piano kicks things off, the orchestra jumps in, and then eventually the piano returns, but when it returns, the pianist seems stuck at the bass end of the keyboard. Then, when he escapes, waterfalls of notes cascade down.

The Konzertstuck, a two-movement work that lasts 16 minutes, is the only piece here from his maturity, written in 1902, by which time Brull was also friends with Mahler. It still has echoes of Mendelssohn and Brahms (compare 1:20-1:40 of the second movement to Mendelssohn's First Concerto), but takes more time for things like a Saint-Saens-ish flute solo.

This entry is definitely on the fluffier side, but very well-crafted and pleasant. Also, I have to say - I did not ever groan at 15-year-old immaturity on Brull's part. He was a skilled composer at a young age.

[Florestan]

Thanks for the rec, Brian!

i have the whole series, go figure, but listened to less than a quarter of it. I'm curious what you'll make of my man, Henri Herz (three discs).

The Marx stroke me as a hyper-Romantic, hyper-luscious extravaganza-to-end-all-extravaganzas. I don't remember the Korngold at all.

As for Schelling, it's my turn to recommend you this disc with solo piano music:



Salon music, no doubt, but in my book (and IIRC, in yours as well) the term is far from being a pejorative one.

Stephen Hough has recorded the Mendelssohn, Saint-Saens, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Rachmaninov, Dvorak, and Schumann concertos for Hyperion, but the first three composers are in the "Romantic Piano Concertos" series and the last four are not in the series. Why? Why?? Why?!?!

Indeed, I've always wondered myself why such glaring omissions.

[Maestro267]

Because the idea is to highlight obscure composers and/or works of the era. In the case of S-S and Tchaikovsky, they have one warhorse work apiece while the others languish in relative obscurity so they're legit contenders for inclusion.

[Florestan]

Because the idea is to highlight obscure composers and/or works of the era. In the case of S-S and Tchaikovsky, they have one warhorse work apiece while the others languish in relative obscurity so they're legit contenders for inclusion.

Well, the series is titled not "Obscure Romantic Piano Concertos" but "Romantic Piano Concertos". Including Mendelssohn's two concertos (both of which are widely played and recorded, thus not obscure at all) while excluding Chopin's (ditto) or Brahms's (ditto) makes no sense at all. Beside, the Dvorak is obscure enough to warrant inclusion. Even Rachmaninoff's First and Fourth might qualify for a certain degree of obscurity.

[Florestan]

Listened to this an hour ago.

The Huss is eminently enjoyable and eminently forgettable. It belongs to that vast majority of works written during any period, of which one is at a loss to remember one single melodic, harmonic or rythmic idea just five minutes after it's over.

The Schelling is quite different, its jocularity places it above the Huss in my book. The Hungarian flavor in the 1st movement is unmistakable, the Scherzo is quite Mendelssohnian all things considered, the slow Intermezzo is a nocturne which I felt like a clarinet's dream and the Finale is a romp built around that (in)famous Confederation tune whose name I can't remember right now.

Bottom line, would I listen to these works again? Definitely Yes to Schelling, probably No to Huss.

[Brian]

Now here are two really obscure names, both brought to life by Piers Lane's funny, vivid liner essays full of quotes - including insults - from the era. Theodor Kullak was a tough but fair teacher who withdrew from his concert career due to stage fright and ultimately taught Moszkowski, N. Rubinstein, F.X. Scharwenka, and Reubke, among others. Though quiet and hidden away in his school, he was highly respected. Alexander Dreyschock was the exact opposite. A traveling virtuoso showman who continued performing his compositions despite a cascade of negative reviews. He was so loud and rhythmically unstable that apparently Clara Schumann shouted "Hasn't this man learned the scales?" and Mendelssohn wrote "He plays some pieces so admirably you fancy yourself in the presence of a great artist, then immediately afterward something so badly you change your mind." Robert Schumann wrote, "What an expenditure in attempting to impose lack of talent on us!"

Lane himself can't help judging the two pieces on offer here, saying in the booklet that Kullak's concerto has Chopin-like "noble poignancy" but also warm humor, while Dreyschock's "is not particularly profound, but nor is it pretentious." That's about accurate. The Kullak has some C minor Sturm und Drang, too, and loads of virtuoso showing-off, but you can definitely sense Chopin and Weber around the corner. It definitely has its moments.

The Dreyschock isn't a total laugher, nor is it amateurish/bad, but it is definitely more on the campy side of things. Oooh, that would be a great thread. Campy classics!



I'm going to pass on this one temporarily because I've never heard the Busoni concerto and it is the kind of big, complex work where I need to start with the best available recording rather than choosing one at random(ish). Apparently the best one available is the newish Kirill Gerstein / Boston / Oramo, but recommendations welcome.



Almost all of Holbrooke's orchestral music is tone poems, in the most literal sense - directly inspired by poems and prose, and directly following the original texts. Thus the CPO series has multiple works inspired by Poe. This one follows a poem and comprises 22 tracks in 36 minutes; the poem is printed in the booklet with track numbers next to the lines, so you can follow exactly what is being described at all times. The poem is horrible. It's some sort of medieval fantasy battle poem but also with fairies so everything they do is invisible and silent?

For example, at "Blade that meets blade with never a sound / Hooves that shall leave not a print on the ground / Wounds that stand open, bloodless, and round", Holbrooke can't exactly depict "never a sound" ... so he unleashes the trombones, tuba, and cymbals 

Musically, the result is complete structural chaos, without repeated themes or traditional ordering. Holbrooke just had an idea after every line of poem, for either piano or orchestra or both, and wrote them, like a romantic-era stream of consciousness. It's entertaining, unpredictable, but ultimately another example of musical camp. Hurwitz calls it "trash." I'd settle for "silly." "Campy." "Deservedly forgotten."

Haydn Wood became famous after WWI for light music and popular songs, but in his 20s wrote this piano concerto. The conductors of the first three performances were Stanford, Mengelberg, and the other Wood (Henry). But this recording was apparently the first performance since the early 1950s. It's a Very Grand romantic concerto in D minor, and everything is suitably over-the-top: the excessive Sturm und Drang, the excessive cadenza, the excessive Big Tune in the finale, punctuated at its final appearance by bass trombone blatts and cymbal crashes. In a way, this is the structured, straight-laced version of the Holbrooke piece. Equally gauche, just in a pre-existing form. A disc for the morbidly curious, camp-loving, or addicted.



Another example of the "intriguing composer, youthful works" trend in the series. Vianna da Motta wrote these two concerto-ish works by his late 20s. The especially youthful Piano Concerto has an appealing sunniness in its first movement that's almost ruined by a very simplistic, trite, up-down-up-down secondary melody. The second movement is a theme-and-variations that doubles as the finale, and I don't find much to it, unfortunately.

The Fantasía Dramática is an odd work, concerto-shaped (three movements, half-hour total), but it starts as fresh, soft, and whispery as a sunrise and only becomes "dramatic" in the last few minutes of the slow first movement. ("Allegro moderato" this really isn't.) Only the finale is really a sustained fast/dramatic piece with a substantial dialogue between major and minor keys. (It starts with beefy brass fanfares that drop all the way down to tuba.) The big major-key tune is pretty cheesy.

Another whiff for my taste. The solo piano work included was Vianna da Motta's own favorite but I didn't find it too interesting either.



There's actually some competition in the world of Edward MacDowell; I listened to a Telarc recording of No. 2 a few weeks ago. Both concertos are about 27 minutes each and have clear ancestors in Grieg and Saint-Saens. The First starts with a dramatic, extended piano solo a la Saint-Saens 2. It's a somewhat lighter work than that opening promises, with a pretty nocturne and a dancing finale, though that finale and the piece in general are frequently interrupted by MacDowell's love of rubato-laden slowdowns for secondary themes. And the finale, especially, is so derivative of the Grieg that it's kind of funny.

No. 2 has the bones of Saint-Saens' Second Concerto - long slow first movement, bubbly scherzo - but the opening is more peaceful and pastoral rather than dramatic, and the scherzo has a brassy, even folksy American feel. (It's from 1885.) I think other pianists dig more excitedly into the scherzo and finale.

As a bonus, we get the solo Second Modern Suite, which is Very Serious and Germanic and a little bit funny because of that. It is not even slightly "modern." I think there are probably better single-disc MacDowell compilations out there.

[Brian]

Listened to this an hour ago.

The Huss is eminently enjoyable and eminently forgettable. It belongs to that vast majority of works written during any period, of which one is at a loss to remember one single melodic, harmonic or rythmic idea just five minutes after it's over.

The Schelling is quite different, its jocularity places it above the Huss in my book. The Hungarian flavor in the 1st movement is unmistakable, the Scherzo is quite Mendelssohnian all things considered, the slow Intermezzo is a nocturne which I felt like a clarinet's dream and the Finale is a romp built around that (in)famous Confederation tune whose name I can't remember right now.

Bottom line, would I listen to these works again? Definitely Yes to Schelling, probably No to Huss.

Glad I am 50% accurate on predicting what you will like 

[Florestan]

Glad I am 50% accurate on predicting what you will like 

Oh, you were 100% accurate predicting I will like both Huss and Schelling: so I did. The difference between them is that I liked the Huss while it lasted whereas the Schelling stayed in my mind long after it was heard no more, as Wordsworth would put it. It too faded eventually, but only the day after.

In this respect, see my signature line: Sir Thomas hit the nail in the matter's head.

[kyjo]

I'm sorry, were you on the phone when the finale's Big Tune appeared, after meticulous preparation, first lovingly on the piano, then taken up by the orchestra and then finally in that freakin' majestic peroration in the coda?   

I think that the "tuneless Rachmaninov" cliché has been debunked for quite some time now; I'm only ever reading it nowadays followed by "but it's not true". And even if some of the smaller pieces might be more Beethovenian/Brahmsian in nature (that is, it doesn't rain in-your-face tunes out of thin air), I don't think that the piano concerti fall in this category at all; they get both the Beethoven treatment and the big tunes.

Indeed - though Medtner may not have produced the sheer number of memorable tunes that Rachmaninoff did, there are some pretty glorious ones sprinkled throughout his output - I'm thinking particularly of the lilting, melancholic waltz-like tune in the finale of the masterful Third Concerto.

[kyjo]

Franz Xaver Scharwenka has always been a cult figure for romantic concerto lovers. Earl Wild has a barnstorming recording of the First Concerto with Leinsdorf and Boston. This premiere recording of the Fourth was followed by a one-off Naxos version (conducted by reliable Lukasz Borowicz, but slower in every movement). There is now also a complete recording of all four concertos on Chandos, which I need to make sure I downloaded because I think I got it from the Chandos web shop.

The Fourth is a good example of why Scharwenka's maintained low-grade popularity this whole time. It has catchy tunes (especially in the scherzo), a glittering extrovert piano part, and a decent handle on sonata form structure. The first movement is enormous, but the next three, at just 7 minutes each, never drag too long. A definite winner. The public premiere was played by the composer - and conducted by Gustav Mahler.

Emil von Sauer was more famous as a pianist - he was a student of Liszt, admired by Busoni, and teacher of Josef Hofmann - but he also toured with this concerto, including playing it with Mahler conducting. It's full of memorable orchestral touches, duets with piano and horn, and scherzo-like rhythms even in other movements. Another winner. Easy to see why Gramophone got a little carried away with the excess praise on the cover.

The liner notes are very well-written and interesting, even by Hyperion's high standard.



These are two quirky works by the Victorian romantics. Parry's piece is in F sharp major (!!), and Stanford's was meant as a light, happy counterpart to the heroic, questing minor-to-major-key journeys of most concertos at the time. Unfortunately, Stanford's sank into oblivion when it was premiered on a concert program after Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony and the Tristan prelude and Liebestod, thus dooming it to sound frivolous.

The Parry piece has a gentle English folk accent to some of its tunes, and the unusual key is ear-catching. I quite like the first movement; the finale is rather relaxed and low-stakes but overall, this is a nice hangout concerto. Like the concerto is your friend and you're sitting on the porch chatting.

Stanford's Violin Concerto is a true hidden masterpiece with an instantly memorable opening. The beginning of this piano concerto - with flutes intoning the main theme over piano accompaniment - is nearly as instantly engaging. There are later passages that are somewhat Brahmsian, and in the 8th minute, just before the recap arrives, a really strange menacing Jaws-like figure in the double basses. The slow movement is really well sustained and projects a graceful calm; the finale is the least interesting part.

Overall, I have liked all the Stanford concertos I've heard so far more than all the Stanford symphonies I've heard so far. Not an essential CD of forgotten masterpieces, but well-tuned to my personal tastes and preferences. Your mileage may vary but I liked these!



The Glazunov piano concertos are relatively popular and also available in the Serebrier complete symphony cycle, for example. No. 1 has an ingenious format: an allegro first movement, then an expansive theme-and-variations with slow, mazurka, scherzo, and finale sections. It does not quite deliver on the unique promise of that structure but it is always genial and pleasant.

No. 2 is a 20-minute trifle with a gentle, easygoing romantic streak and - given the 1910s dates - a nostalgia for years and styles past. In the unusual key of B major, it finally sheds its relaxed nature in the second half of the finale, which rises to one last, wistful Russian climax with glittering cymbals, triangles, and folkish tunes.

Alexander Goedicke was Medtner's first cousin, a pianist and mostly self-taught composer who had some classes with Arensky and Taneyev. Concertstuck is a kind of free-ish form fantasia where the pianist starts out, in the booklet's words, with a "decorative" part under a horn call, before a Tchaikovsky-like string unison melody passage around 7', scherzo, and rather grandiose finale (the amount of brass almost brings Nielsen to mind). Pretty interesting novelty. Live audiences would love it, if they ever got to hear 14-minute pieces.



I own a physical copy of this, but have put it into the "sell/donate" pile. For this project, I pulled it out of the pile, and this listen may have rescued it permanently.

My initial reaction to these Litolff concertos is that they're just so gosh-darned serious. They are capital-S Serious. In B minor and D minor, with brooding intros and grand symphonic four-movement structures, they clearly have profound ambition. But now, recalibrating my ears to take this as a quirk rather than a fatal flaw, I can hear how attractive and well-made the music is. Obviously it is not profound at all and poor Litolff had an inflated sense of what he was doing, but he still managed to make good music. I especially like not just the famous Scherzo in No. 4 but its slow movement, full of Brahmsian French horn and cello melodies.

So my initial vote was "pompous," but I now change to "endearingly pompous."



A true treasure, and one of the absolute essential discs in the series. Massenet's concerto has somewhat of a reputation among critics as tacky or overwrought, but I absolutely love it and so (iirc) does Sergeant Rock. So the critics can eat a bazooka! It's great stuff, with an utterly lovely slow movement and a "Slovakian" finale that doesn't really fit in with the rest (and is considered gauche by those fancy critics) but is an incredibly fun, catchy romp with some of the most skillful orchestration in this whole series. (Celesta! Klezmer trumpets that sound like Mahler!)

Hahn's concerto is even better, a magical work, the best concertante work to come out of French impressionism? (I think the Ravel concertos don't count, as they're too modern.) This is, amazingly, the first-ever complete recording, since the historic one had a bunch of cuts. Masterpiece!

The Scharwenka/Sauer and Massenet/Hahn discs are absolute winners and two of the highlights of the RPC series, IMO. The other three discs above I can take or leave.

[kyjo]

Now here's something different! I had never even heard of Henry Huss or Ernest Schelling, but they were American romantics in the MacDowell era and they are so obscure that Hyperion gives their full names, including middle names, as if they were serial killers. Henry Huss studied with Rheinberger and wrote this glittering concerto despite being an awful pianist himself. Review: "The pianist (Mr. Huss, modest and cowardly) is quite inferior and can't even count." The reviewer is Tchaikovsky. 

Despite that deficiency, I...really liked this concerto? Sorry to traffic in stereotypes, but it combines a Brahmsian/European style with a certain American extroversion that reveals itself in the bright upward turns in some of the melodies. Actually, you can kind of hear Tchaikovsky's influence, too. It's in the unusual key of B Major, with a lovely E flat nocturne in the middle. The finale is basically a very fast waltz. While I think the first movement is the best and the finale overlong, this is a real find. Florestan and Kyjo would love it!

Thanks for the rec, Brian. I haven't heard this disc yet, so I'll be sure to queue it up!

[Brian]

Litolff's Concerto No. 3 is probably the most easy to like of his cycle: based on Dutch folk tunes, it's bursting with energy, rhythm, and melody galore. At a tight, jam-packed 30 minutes, it could very easily still be on pops concert programs, or done by eager young virtuoso pianists with their college/community orchestras. The absolutely huge Big Tune in the finale is actually by fellow concerto composer Johann Wilms, and was a big patriotic tune (including sung in rebellion against the House of Orange). Very fun stuff.

No. 5 is more symphonic in scope. (They're all "symphonic" in that they're in four movements, but this one places the scherzo third and has a 35-minute wingspan.) If its C minor cast makes it feel more generically romantic than the Hollandaise of No. 3, that's fine: the slow movement has a surprise (its very loud final chord) and Litolff's genius for scherzos continues here.



The Saint-Saens concertos are a pretty amazing cycle of works that I love dearly. My reference recordings are now Louis Lortie's cycle on Chandos, though Bertrand Chamayou has a great single disc, Alexandre Kantorow is fun, and the classic Collard/Previn cycle is still a happy part of my collection.

Stephen Hough is a pianist I admire in a lot of repertoire for his straightforward, even blunt style, which tends to classicize romantic repertoire. His Chopin nocturnes, for example, are almost Mozartian. But to my surprise, his style just does not work for me here. He is metronomic, glossing over the tender little moments, turning the opening "cadenza" of No. 2 into a chilly, unFrench rush, and sapping much of No. 5's atmosphere and mystery. The orchestral accompaniment too is just not as good as Edward Gardner's or Andre Previn's characterful detail and playing. The recorded sound aggrandizes the piano and especially the treble keys.

To check my own assessment, I put Lortie on again in Nos. 2 and 5. Lortie, like Hough, is a muscular player who fights through these pieces like virtuoso showpieces rather than treating them like perfumed salon stuff. His recording of No. 2 is just 50 seconds slower. But Lortie varies his touch and his tempi more fluidly, indulging in rubato that makes No. 2's introduction feel like a constant shape-shifting, showing you can use a wide range of contrast at a basically fast speed. Gardner gets a fuller string tone, a more prominent timpani, and accompanying phrases that are intoned more enthusiastically compared to the bland sight-reading for Oramo.



At first listen to these Stojowski concertos, I was turned off and greatly displeased. The second listen is somewhat better. No. 1's main problem is its relentless use of cymbal crashes, which are so frequent that the cymbal player here opts for less percussive "swishes" instead. If you took out all of them, I might even like the work, which is a somewhat campy melodrama.

No. 2 is more relaxed, beginning and ending quietly in sunny A flat. The first movement leads directly into a delightfully frisky scherzo that is somewhat like Litolff or Saint-Saens. The finale is a set of variations that goes on for 20 minutes, and though the theme isn't memorable, some of the variations are, like a tiny slow movement and the expansive last variation, which starts as a bassoon-led mini-scherzo that takes seeming inspiration from Dukas. But it gradually loses energy, dozing off into a dreamy final peace with duets between the piano and solo violin and cello.

So I don't like the First Concerto, but find the Second to be rather a gem and a keeper.



Moscheles was a touring virtuoso-composer with a very genial but traditional late-classical era style. The two concertos are from 1825, the "Anticipations of Scotland" from 1828. The title was honest: he wrote it before visiting Scotland, based on published folk tunes, and then he premiered it while in Edinburgh.

While somewhat plain, the concertos are well-made and should appeal to anyone who is a big nerd over the concertos of Ries, Hummel, and perhaps Weber. Perhaps the most interesting, least generic portion is the "alla polacca" finale of No. 2, which does indeed have a polonaise rhythm recognizable from later Chopin works. The "Anticipations of Scotland" piece is a five-movement 15-minute suite all based on tunes that, mostly, get so Germanified and romanticized that you can only recognize them by the occasional glint of folk sound. (The 70-second finale is where Moscheles finally, proudly dons a kilt.)

Not especially excited to listen to the other six concertos in his cycle.



The Russian romantic piano concerto is a spotty genre, but Lyapunov might be the most consistently good composer in that niche field. His style is decidedly Russian-sounding, his structures are eccentric (these two concertos are each in one big movement with a bunch of sections), his tunes are fine. He doesn't really have an individual voice - it's just that, say, Rimsky-Korsakov, Balakirev, or Borodin did not focus their very best, most colorful efforts on this particular genre. So Lyapunov gets his chance to shine here.

I remembered loving the Rhapsody on Ukrainian Themes at first encounter a decade ago, but unfortunately this time it seemed blander and less ear-catching. The Second Piano Concerto seems to nod a little more to Liszt and mainstream European tradition than the first, but both are quite Russian and also fairly concise. This is about average for the series: enjoyable, but not memorable.

[Brian]

P.S. Looks like I'm on track to finish this listening project (or at least catch up to the newest volume) by approx. January 28. 

[Brian]

Robert Fuchs was one of Brahms' closest friends, now best known for his string serenades but then quite well known in Vienna. Brahms loved this concerto and apparently secured the pianist for its premiere (after the original choice was unavailable). Since Fuchs was a modest introvert, Brahms needled him with the suggestion that he didn't have the personality to write a bold extrovert concerto. Fuchs responded with a dramatic B flat minor work of large scale - the orchestral intro is 4 minutes - and very, very Brahmsian in language. I found the first movement the most memorable; the next two were less attention-grabbing.

Friedrich Kiel was a teacher whose students included Paderewski and Stanford. His concerto is a little more old-fashioned and small-scale, with some allusions to Beethoven's Fourth Concerto (the first movement's second theme is a clear tribute) and Schumann. Ultimately, both of these are pleasant enough pieces but without genius or inspiration.



Moscheles wrote these three works from age 24-40, from 1818-1835ish, over the prime of his career as a touring virtuoso. They are all fairly modest - 18-22 minutes each - but with unusual structures; No. 6 is in a Lisztian single movement and No. 7 has no slow movement. 1 and 6 are fairly disposable fluff, but 7 is relentlessly tragic (in C minor and "Pathétique"), right up until the stormy ending. Still, this composer remains nothing special to me.

The recorded sound makes the piano sound a little bit thin.



This volume of Scharwenka's middle two piano concertos finds the composer in Sturm und Drang mood, with works in C minor and C sharp minor, each of them right around 40 hefty minutes. I agree with posters here that these are not as memorable as 1 and 4; my favorite part is the slow movement from No. 3, which has a certain stately grace. Its finale, however, is nearly as slow in parts, alternating between a Chopin-style polonaise and, well, a Chopin-style nocturne.



Pierné is a wonderful composer, but his piano works had struck me, in their Bavouzet recordings on Chandos, as fluffy miniatures rather than fully committed fun. The concerto is less than 20 minutes, and the three other works are one-movement shorts. The concerto is a little too obviously a copy of Saint-Saens' Second, with the overly dramatic, almost doomish first movement, light scherzo, and driving finale. (This performance of the scherzo could use more staccato rhythmic pep.)

Poëme symphonique begins in a mysterious D minor, and gradually twists itself into a major key triumph at the end of its 13 minutes. Like the concerto, it's a little self-serious. The Fantaisie-Ballet sounds a little bit like Saint-Saens again, and is a product of the composer's youth; there's an odd tarantella episode at the end that is colorful and entertaining, but doesn't much fit with the rest. The Scherzo-Caprice is more entertaining but ultimately, this is not Pierné at his best. (For that, try Cydalise or Ramuntcho!)



Henri Herz was one of those composer-pianist traveling virtuosi who were immensely fashionable for a time, and then fell out of fashion so hard that their reputations have never recovered. Parisians liked him better than Liszt and even Chopin; Schumann wrote of his rage at how well Herz was paid for his salon music publications. But, like an airport novel, Herz sold lots of tickets for a short time and then fell into total obscurity, his music so disposable it did not even survive his lifetime.

The booklet note writer, Jeremy Nicholas, is so fond of Herz that he even makes Schumann a straw man, blaming the good composer for a romantic attitude that "only music produced by suffering and misery is worth anything," and saying Herz's problem was that he "was clearly having the time of his life."

These concertos span 1828 to 1873 but sound, stylistically, like they span 1828 to 1838. In the First, the piano part has so much showing off that its solos halt the momentum. Music gets going...stop! Time for the pianist to do some tricks! In general, these three concertos are harmless fluff, with short Chopin-ish slow movements. No. 8 is only 14 minutes long. So at least they don't wear out their welcomes. Pure background music, but nothing to pay real attention to.

[Florestan]

The booklet note writer, Jeremy Nicholas, is so fond of Herz that he even makes Schumann a straw man, blaming the good composer for a romantic attitude that "only music produced by suffering and misery is worth anything," and saying Herz's problem was that he "was clearly having the time of his life."

Yes, I noticed that when reading the booklets, long time ago. That is of course nonsense, unless he can cite, chapter and verse, where did Schumann write that. But in fairness it must be said the image Schumann created of Herz, that of a brainless purveyor of trash, is equally unjust. Herz never pretended to be a profound composer concerned with matters of life and death; he was a Frenchified Austrian-born who provided the French, or more specifically, the Parisian audience with exactly the type of music they wanted to hear --- and the fact that it didn't met the Germanic, or more specifically, Schumannian criteria of good music does not mean it was completely worthless. Beside, far from being brainless, he was a witty, cultured and inquisitive bloke, with a keen sense of humor and a generous and tolerant mindset ---as witnessed by his book Mes voyages en Amerique (My Voyages to America), which is among my favorite books written by a composer.

As for his piano concertos, I agree they are short, harmless, Chopin-ish "fluff" --- and so much better than any number of long, challenging, Beethoven-ish "profundity" which Germans and their imitators worldwide provided in scores during Herz's lifetime.

[lordlance]

I enjoy reading your reviews, @Brian, because they help me in figuring out which of these discs are worth listening to. And yes, Moscheles wrote very busy but entirely unmemorable piano Concertos.

[Brian]

Nos. 4 and 5 are Moscheles' most substantial concertos at 25 and 30 minutes, but they're in sunny major keys (E and C) and without any attempt at grandeur. There's also a substantial bonus in the 15-minute Recollections of Ireland. The concertos remain generically fluffy and pleasant, with no memorable episodes or tunes. Background music to the max. The Irish work only rises above that level because of the Irish folk tunes used, some of which are still extremely popular.

There might be something wrong with Qobuz' upload quality as the recorded sound is very poor - muffled and distant even when turned up - and it does not match the rest of the series.



Eduard Napravnik was Czech and moved to Russia to start his career. He stayed there for good, conducting the Mariinsky Theater opera for 45 years, leading premieres of operas by Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Mussorgsky. Stravinsky admired his rigor, despite Napravnik's conservative tastes. Napravnik composed but was too modest to promote his works. He wrote four symphonies, four operas, a bunch of chamber music, and the two concertante works on this disc. (Pianist Evgeny Soifertis writes the booklet notes.)

The Concerto starts with a few lightning-bolt tutti chords and then an immediate piano entry. The first movements' moods vary fairly widely from that energetic beginning to a more Tchaikovskian sweeping major key second subject. The BBC's blaring trumpets help add extra Russian flavor. After a fairly plain slow movement, the finale begins with startling horns braying like donkeys and a glittering Russian folk dance theme (with too much triangle). There is a secondary theme that sounds like "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." This isn't a masterpiece, but it is quite interesting and is well above average for the series. I'll probably revisit it.

The two short one-movement pieces on the CD are on a similar level. Felix Blumenfeld is best known (to me) for his solo piano music, which is really good. This 14-minute Allegro, including a cadenza, is somewhat Lisztian and engaging all the way through; there's a classic Tchaikovsky string unison melody near the end. Then we're back to Napravnik for a straightforwardly nationalist Fantaisie russe, starting with a very square orchestral utterance of the "Song of the Volga Boatmen" accompanied by stern piano chords. (Glazunov's treatment of this tune in Stenka Razin is more engaging and creative.) The piece then cycles through some really fun episodes based on more folk tunes, with an especially good finale. Pure pops deliciousness.



Well, this CD is practically legendary by the standards of the Romantic Concertos series. It's right at the top of the list. The Scharwenka concerto is a ferocious event with no slow movement, and the Rubinstein was firmly fixed in the mainstream repertoire until Rachmaninov came along to knock it out. Scharwenka's piece is a 28-minute tornado of energy with a glorious scherzo and a finale that ends in the same stormy, fierce B flat minor that began the piece. Between Hamelin and Earl Wild, this has two really great recordings.

The Rubinstein is a real masterpiece and was Rachmaninov's template. I think most people in this thread know it at least a little bit. I will only make one comment. In the finale, from 2:19-2:37, there is a passage where the piano plays the same phrase over and over, which is answered by a different instrument in the orchestra playing one note each time. Sometimes this passage gets stuck in my head, and the instruments playing the one single interrupting note get increasingly outlandish. I'll imagine tubas, kazoos, slide whistles, and then the passage becomes a never-ending M.C. Escher staircase from which it is impossible to escape. Try it, if you dare!



It's funny to hear Frederick Delius in full-on romantic mode, from the turn of the century, writing a stormy and genuinely dramatic C minor concerto. The piano is involved from the start. It's quite a likeable piece, though I have to confess here that I don't usually like Delius so I am a different kind of target audience.

John Ireland's Legend moves past the romantic era into the mid-20th century, and has a spooky, epic musical language that does indeed conjure up medieval legends. It's pretty wonderful. (According to the Qobuz review, the Ireland works count as "romantic" since he was in love with the pianist he wrote them for. Thus the big love-sounding melody around 8:20.) The piano concerto is, again, not really romantic, but suffused with love, and with a delightful catchy finale. It's also well-known territory; there's a very good Naxos recording and I also have one with Kathryn Stott. Piers Lane and David Lloyd-Jones are expert guides, too.

A winner.



Like the previous Herz volume, this is pure fluff meant to please the fashionable crowds of 1830s-40s Paris with its gentle lyricism and empty, flashy piano playing. No. 3, in D minor, is nominally poetic and pathétique, and its slow movement melody sounds a little like a Christmas carol. A battery of Turkish percussion appears suddenly, without warning, 3 minutes into the finale for a jovial march episode. It's the kind of silly, campy touch that might objectively be "bad music" but makes the listening experience more fun anyway.

No. 4 is in E Major and bucolic/pastoral, with a very sappy, cloying slow movement theme that was the 1800s version of easy listening muzak. The finale also has a novelty percussion instrument (clochettes) for needless decoration. No. 5, in F minor, is a tight 16 minutes, but otherwise it sounds exactly the same as the others, with, again, a cheesy slow movement (this time copying Mendelssohn's First Concerto pretty closely). Derivative.

[Florestan]

It's the kind of silly, campy touch that might objectively be "bad music" but makes the listening experience more fun anyway.

Why, exactly!

Herz didn't write his music for posterity to objectively (over)analyze it --- but for his audiences to experience (and hopefully enjoy) it in their here and now. In this he was more an 18th century bloke than a 19th century one and incidentally, so was Moscheles too. Actually, they both belong to what Jim Samson termed "post-classical pianism" See https://urresearch.rochester.edu/fileDownloadForInstitutionalItem.action;jsessionid=8D70F47ADD792F052F82F976358838DD?itemId=24911&itemFileId=76477 pp. 36-43; for a contemporary, reasonable and convincing (at least for me) defense of this aesthetics, see Ibid., pp. 43-48. In the same source, Carl Czerny is quoted with a summary of the matter to which I subscribe wholeheartedly:

To look down contemptuously on those works which have acquired a universal popularity f[ro]m their light, pleasing, and harmonious character either betrays concealed envy, a narrow mind, or a want of genuine talent.

(Ibid., p. 50)

Incidentally, Alexander Stefaniak's very interesting Ph.D. thesis (which he later developed into a full book which is not in the public domain, but we may safely presume it's not essentially different from the thesis) is also a good refutation of Jeremy Nicholas' outlandish claim which we discussed a few posts ago, namely that Schumann single-handedly convinced the world that "only music produced by suffering and misery is worth anything"*. Recommended reading.

* Schumann himself produced lots of high-quality music, both solo piano and Lieder and orchestral, which did not stem from any suffering or misery

[kyjo]

Now here's something different! I had never even heard of Henry Huss or Ernest Schelling, but they were American romantics in the MacDowell era and they are so obscure that Hyperion gives their full names, including middle names, as if they were serial killers. Henry Huss studied with Rheinberger and wrote this glittering concerto despite being an awful pianist himself. Review: "The pianist (Mr. Huss, modest and cowardly) is quite inferior and can't even count." The reviewer is Tchaikovsky. 

Despite that deficiency, I...really liked this concerto? Sorry to traffic in stereotypes, but it combines a Brahmsian/European style with a certain American extroversion that reveals itself in the bright upward turns in some of the melodies. Actually, you can kind of hear Tchaikovsky's influence, too. It's in the unusual key of B Major, with a lovely E flat nocturne in the middle. The finale is basically a very fast waltz. While I think the first movement is the best and the finale overlong, this is a real find. Florestan and Kyjo would love it!

Ernest Schelling studied with Paderewski for four years (the teacher later called him "my dearest friend"), led the Baltimore Symphony, led the future New York Philharmonic's Young People's Concerts, and had a huge success with this Suite Fantastique. He played it under Mengelberg in Amsterdam and Moisiewitsch played it at the Proms.

This Suite is pure pops fluff, with a Hungarian movement and a homesick Americana finale that includes quotes of "Swanee River," "Dixie," and "Yankee Doodle." Schelling's original tunes are of similar cuteness and folksiness. The finale is like a generic version of Ives, and in general the whole piece is popsy/cute. Not something I will revisit much but again, I bet Florestan will dig it.

The BBC Scottish orchestra, which is practically house band for this series, does well in the Huss and merely OK in the Schelling. Near the end of the csardas scene, there's a poorly-written solo for either viola or cello; sadly, I can't tell which one it is based on the strange sound it makes. Might be the composer's fault.

I recently had much pleasure in discovering these concertante works by these two virtually unknown American composers. I was initially rather skeptical of the Huss concerto, but it ended up exceeding my expectations. Unlike you, Brian, I enjoyed each movement more than the previous one - the finale is a wonderfully tuneful and glittering romp on par with a number of more famous Romantic PC finales, I'd say. The unusual key of B major gives this work a uniquely bright, luminous quality. The Schelling suite, is, as you say, "pure fluff" (in a good way)! The first three movements seem to be based on Scottish/Irish folk tunes, while the finale is obviously based on American ones. While that finale occasionally creeps into "cringe" territory for me, I enjoyed this work very much overall. The performances by both soloist and orchestra struck me as first-rate, as per usual with this series.  I'd definitely like to hear more by both of these composers!

[Brian]

Friedrich Kalkbrenner was the most popular pianist in Paris when Chopin arrived - and promptly stole his spotlight. He reportedly told Chopin, "After my death or when I stop playing, there will be no representative of the great pianoforte school," an amazing example of a brag that is also an insult. Chopin nevertheless dedicated one of his concertos to Kalkbrenner, one of many examples of the pompous fellow's brushes with true greatness (as a youngster he spent time with Haydn, Beethoven, Hummel, and Clementi).

The concertos illustrate quickly how Chopin was able to brush the once-great man aside. Kalkbrenner's music has more Germanic seriousness than Herz, suiting his pomposity, but once the stormy minor-key beginning is over, it's all piano fireworks and precise virtuosity all the rest of the way. Hurwitz finds it engaging and fun (a 9/9 score), but I find all the constant up-and-down pianism a little tedious and tiresome.

No. 4 is 28 minutes long instead of 30, which makes it 7% better. Once again, the sonata form structure is overwhelmed by the weight of so many episodes of pianistic showing-off and the main themes go forgotten by the end. The finale at least has a slight polonaise flavor so it's not a total loss - there is even a minor-key section around 5' that gets genuinely exciting. But ultimately I'd rate this volume among the very lowest in the series.



After so much generic music, it's nice to turn to the really distinctive concerto by Alnaes, which I've known since checking this CD out of my college campus library 15 years ago. It's quite an eccentric concerto. The melodies have unusual shapes - Nordic, we could say? - and the first movement has a triumphant ebullience that is usually reserved for finales. There is a cyclical element in that a particularly memorable (if somewhat sentimental) tune from the first movement returns in the slow movement, and there is certainly an element of early Hollywood to some passages. (Alnaes died before Hollywood scores took off; the booklet does not say when the piano concerto was written, except that it was after 1900.)

This piece is so distinctive and so much tremendous fun that even the less successful bits are forgiveable. And I haven't even mentioned the delightful waltz finale. In a weird way, I feel like Alnaes concerto fans and George Lloyd symphony fans should be a mostly overlapping circle. The big tunes, splashy orchestration, overall optimistic worldview, and vague feeling that maybe this should be a guilty pleasure, like eating a rich dessert instead of your vegetables...

The Sinding concerto is in a similar key (D flat instead of D), similar mood (also jovial), and has a similar but slightly less strong whiff of Nordic folksiness. Its tunes are a little less distinctively/oddly shaped, and as a result the concerto is more conventional. There's a nice big cadenza in both outer movements, and the slow movement starts with an unusually scored, long introduction highlighting the trombones and bassoons. It also builds to a big, super-romantic, rhapsodic climax with sweeping string melody and drumrolls. Fun!



William Sterndale Bennett was a young Englishman who, from age 20 on, studied with Felix Mendelssohn in Leipzig. This concerto was written in that time and premiered by Bennett (at piano) with Mendelssohn conducting. It's no surprise, then, that it is basically a new Mendelssohn piano concerto. Though lacking that composer's easy genius for melody and counterpoint, this one is pretty darn good too. It's not too pretentious or grandiose - just enough for its F minor key - and has a nice central barcarolle.

His own student, Francis Bache, died of TB just before turning 25 years old, leaving behind a concerto in E major that, in turn, bears the mark of his studies with a friend of Mendelssohn. The piece has an easygoing flow (the three movements transition very well) and the piano part has a virtuosity that always feels natural, unlike Kalkbrenner's. A gently likeable mid-romantic curiosity, though it does not hint at a tragic lost genius.

The disc ends by turning back to Sterndale Bennett and his Caprice, originally titled L'hilarité. It is not necessarily hilarious. Instead it's jaunty and breezy, with more Mendelssohnian pleasantries and a scherzo-like energy.

Nothing to rewrite the history books, but a very pleasant disc and likely Florestan bait.



Henryk Melcer came up in the 1890s and did well in composing competitions with these two piano concertos - or rather, 1.67 of them. The Anton Rubinstein competition required a one-movement "konzertstuck" rather than a concerto, so Melcer submitted the last two movements (which play without pause) and omitted the first. Among the judges who awarded these pieces were Nikisch, Reinecke, Widor, and Asger Hamerik. The concertos are actually the only surviving orchestral works, a symphony being lost.

Both are at their most interesting and exciting in the finales, which are lively, rhythmic affairs full of Polish folk rhythms and percussion. They're tremendous fun. The rest of the works are merely OK in a late romantic way, but those finales are definitely good enough to put this in the top half of the series. Plowright and orchestra are in top form, too.



I was starting to dread Howard Shelley's appearances in this series. He is a good pianist, and I love his Clementi solo recordings, but he seemed to be assigned all the most boring possible music. Luckily this is only really true of the first concerto of this threesome.

Ferdinand Hiller was a student of Hummel and good friend of Chopin in Paris. He outlived Chopin by quite a lot, making it to the mid-1880s. The First Concerto is a teenage work and has the advantages and drawbacks of such a youthful piece: high-energy themes, somewhat clunky transitions, lots of virtuosic piano writing meant purely for showing off.

The Second Concerto was written at age 32 and is a concise 20 minutes in F sharp minor. The first movement is as stormy as the key suggests, and the piano's virtuosity is more about generating atmosphere than showing off. This piece reminds me a lot of Mendelssohn's concertos, with the very tight arc to the brief, concise, convincing happy ending.

The Third Concerto was composed 30 years after the Second, in the 1870s, and is the longest piece here at 30 minutes. It's also the most relaxed, almost pastoral. The piano enters almost immediately and then the musicians all spend the rest of the time hanging out. There are dramatic episodes, but overall, it is very accomplished background music.

Concerto No. 2 is a step up from Moscheles, Kalkbrenner, and Herz, while No. 3 is more like a mild-mannered, directionless version of Brahms' No. 2.