George Michael Biography

You might think that Handel's Water Music, HWV 348-350, arguably the most familiar piece of Baroque music (the Four Seasons of Vivaldi can give it a run for its money, but its popularity is more recent), has received every possible interpretation. And you would be wrong, as the musicians of the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin have shown in this Harmonia Mundi release, precisely recorded in Berlin's Teldex studio. You get a steady parade of innovations here, marked overall by, but not in the least restricted to, blisteringly fast tempos that turn the horn-dominated movements into tests of virtuosity. Unexpected dynamic contrasts and the unusual rhythmic treatment of the "Overture" to the Suite No. 1 (sample track one) are other novelties, but this veteran group is not out for shock value. The Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin operate without a conductor, and their coordination in these crisp prestos is worth the price of admission in itself. Their ability to act as one in really unusual shapings of each individual movement is remarkable, and the treacherous horn parts are near perfection in the hands of Erwin Wieringa and Miroslav Rovenský.

When, in 1931, Messiaen applied for his post as organist at La Trinité, he wrote to the curate to reassure him that he knew that ‘one must not disturb the piety of the faithful with wildly anarchic chords’. It is not known whether that curate was at La Trinité 20 years later, but it is hard to think of a more appropriate characterisation of the effect of Livre d’orgue than ‘wildly anarchic’, while Alexander Goehr has recalled how Messiaen’s organ-playing during the mid-1950s sounded like electronics. Michael Bonaventure’s playing may not have that effect, but he does get Messiaen’s music to lift off the page, even in the most rigorous pages of the Livre d’orgue. The organ of St Giles, Edinburgh, generally has the power and range of colour needed, with the fierce chords at the opening of ‘Les mains de l’abîme’ fizzing with tension. Slightly more power from the pedals would be welcome, notably in the dazzling central section of the fifth of the Méditations sur le mystère de la Sainte Trinité. Generally, though, this is a delight for the ears.

The G major Anton Rubinstein violin concerto is a fine and powerful work, quite as good as many a lesser-known Russian example in the same genre, and easily as deserving of wider currency as, say, the Taneyev Suite de Concert, which is just as rarely heard these days. Nishizaki gives a committed and polished reading, though you often feel that this is music written by a pianist who had marginally less facility when writing for the violin. Still, here’s a well-schooled performance, full of agreeable touches of imagination (the Andante shows Nishizaki’s fine-spun tone to particularly good effect) delivered with crisply economical urgency that makes good musical sense even of the work’s plainer and less idiomatic passages.