Symphony No. 6

While the Symphony No. 6 in C minor, Op. 58, of 1896 by Alexander Glazunov is not the most personally characteristic of his eight completed symphonies – the optimistic Third or the Olympian Fifth are more typical of his confident symphonic aesthetic – it is arguably the most typically Russian of his symphonies. Part of the reason for this is the scoring – violins in octaves above massed brass at its climaxes à la Tchaikovsky and gorgeously colorful woodwind writing in its central movements – part of it is the themes – ardent and powerful with a yearning quality characteristic of fin de siècle Russian symphonies – but most of it is the furious tone of the opening movement.

Joachim Raff enjoyed the highest reputation in his lifetime but was later remembered only for his famous Cavatina, an attractive short piece that appeared in many arrangements. Encouraged by Mendelssohn and then by Liszt, he served the latter as an assistant at Weimar, orchestrating Liszt’s earlier symphonic poems. His own work as a composer started in earnest when he left Weimar in 1856, to settle in Wiesbaden and then, from 1877, in Frankfurt as director of the Hoch Conservatory, a position he retained until his death in 1882.

Previous reviews of Gouvy’s music in Fanfare have commented upon its echoes of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and those certainly are present here. The first subject of the symphony’s finale, with its rapid triplet accompaniment, immediately recalls the opening of the “Italian” Symphony, and the spirit of Schumann hovers over portions of the first movement, and also of the last two movements of the Sinfonietta. The early Brahms of the serenades also makes his presence felt in the second subject of the symphony’s first movement. Occasional phrases recall Bizet (one figure in the symphony’s scherzo is close kin to a smuggler’s chorus in Carmen ), Gounod, and Berlioz. Yet, in listening to both compositions, the music of a different figure came immediately and strikingly to mind—Max Bruch.

This disc, well recorded in 1986, is typical of the whole series of Dvorak symphonies. It offers performances that are lively, perceptive and which are presented in glowing sound also giving considerable detail in a natural sound-stage without spotlighting.

Adam Fischer writes: In the Düsseldorf Tonhalle in late February and early March 2020, we gave Mahler’s Sixth Symphony in three live concert performances which we recorded for this album. This date in the calendar had special significance: the first lockdown period due to the Corona pandemic set in immediately thereafter. The orchestra was playing in full line-up in front of a full house for the last time for a long while. The mood was ominous: we all felt something was amiss, and the next day everything had to be cancelled. We strongly associate those circumstances with our work on the Sixth, and with the foreboding we felt of a catastrophe that has since ruined the livelihoods of many musician colleagues and deprived us all of a meaningful period in our lives.

Few Russian musicians in the second half of the nineteenth century could match the eminence of Anton Rubinstein. As a piano virtuoso he was internationally admired, as a progressive educator he had profound influence, and as a composer he was both significant and successful. The Symphony No. 6 in A minor, Op. 111 was his last symphony, composed in 1866, and fully revealing those qualities of grace and energy, as well as clever scoring, that make his works so appealing.

Roughly half of this set is strongly recommendable—and even the half that isn't is still well worth hearing. Ferenc Fricsay was a pivotal figure in the rebuilding of German musical life after the war, primarily as conductor of the Berlin RIAS (Radio In the American Sector) Symphony Orchestra, which was founded in 1946, re-named the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra in 1956 and which is now known as the Deutsches Symphony Orchestra, Berlin. Fricsay's first international triumph was in 1947 when he took over from an indisposed Otto Klemperer for the world premiere of Gottfried von Einem's opera Dantons Tod.

Two musical orders meet in the programme of this album, both with reference to the most broadly conceived music history and to the universe of Krzysztof Pendereckis output. Apart from the opera, which holds its own separate place, they are the two largest-scale formal orders in the musical art: those of the symphony and the concerto, which represent two fundamental ideas: respectively, those of co-operation and of competition. Krzysztof Pendereckis symphonic writing is one of the most important elements of his output as a composer, and possibly the most fascinating one.

Suddenly, and not before time, the Sixth Symphony of Bruckner is riding high. And deservedly so since it is the tersest of his mature symphonies and the most openly exultant. Unlike the superficially more alluring Fourth, it needs a real musician to direct it, no mere master of orchestral ceremonies. What's more, it needs a Brucknerian with a passion for musical logic, a musical realist rather than a musical romantic. As such it is a work better suited to a Rosbaud, a Klemperer, or a Wand rather than someone like Jochum or Furtwangler however inspirational they may be at certain critical moments in the score.

Having won acclaim for his recent recordings of French repertoire, Robin Ticciati now turns to the music of Anton Bruckner. Ticciati is well suited to conducting Bruckner with an approach that is both "expansive and revelatory" (The Guardian). Having already performed this work with the Bergen Philharmonic and Vienna Symphony Orchestras, Ticciati returned to Berlin to continue his recording series with the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester.