Respighi Piano

Respighi followed his famous orchestral set of Antiche danze ed arie (transcriptions from lute tablature), with some for the piano. He also transcribed others: the first by the Genovese, Simone Molinaro, Balletto ditto il Conte Orlando bears a strong resemblance to the first movement of The Birds, as does the Gagliarda by Vincenzo Galileo (father of the famous scientist). Of the other pieces, the Notturno from the Six Pieces has a distinctly Rachmaninovian feel. The F minor Sonata (1897–8) is a rarity, and it is difficult to imagine a performance that is more persuasive than this—at any price level. Konstantin Scherbakov is a pianist of quality, combining the highest musicianship with sensitivity and refinement. He is excellently recorded too.

Conservative in his musical style as in his politics – rightly or wrongly the whiff of Fascism hangs over his name – Ottorino Respighi is remembered today almost exclusively for the blazing triptych of Roman tone poems. He also, however, produced a corpus of chamber, keyboard and vocal works, not to mention operas and orchestral pieces, many of which are crying out to be rediscovered. Slowly they are finding their way into concert programmes and on to record, and this disc from the Ambache should bring three of them a well-deserved wider currency. The superb Piano Quintet in F minor occasionally recalls Franck (who wrote one in the same key), but its piano-dominated lyrical effusion is wholly individual. The substantial ten-minute first movement is inadequately balanced by a two-minute Andantino and four-minute scherzo-like Vivacissimo, however, and it is possible that a finale has somehow become detached.

There are two early works and one latish one on this disc. The brief Slavic Fantasy is obviously one outcome of Respighi’s period of study with Rimsky-Korsakov, but the piano concerto (even earlier) is of a more generalised late-romantic type, which is not surprising when one considers that at its date of publication Brahms was only five years dead and Dvorak was still alive. These pieces make no demands of the listener, but there is no reason to be supercilious about them.

Borrowing from the title of Proust’s great novel, the latest recital by Imogen Cooper features a collection of pieces that she learnt as a teenager in Paris, or in her twenties working with Alfred Brendel in Vienna, but none of which she has performed on the concert platform, or really played at all in the intervening years. Cooper studied in Paris from 1961 to 1967 with Jacques Février (who had known Ravel well), Yvonne Lefébure (who had known Alfred Cortot), and Germaine Mounier. She started to wonder about the messages from her teachers she would find on her scores, and about the nature of memory. She was also interested to see if the repertoire she has acquired since she learnt these pieces would change her view, or shed new light on them. This highly personal recital is an exemplar of Imogen Cooper’s outstanding pianism and musicianship.

Respighi’s colourful music could have been written with the clear, full-bodied Chandos sound in mind. Following on from where Geoffrey Simon began for the label in the Eighties, Edward Downes is now exploring the more symphonic side of Respighi’s output, showing there is more to him than the Roman trilogy (if not that much, qualitatively). The present disc includes two of his four concertante works for piano and orchestra, the extended Toccata (according to Tozer’s booklet note, the longest such work in existence) and the quirky Slavonic Rhapsody, with its humorous sideswipe at Dvorák. More characteristic of Respighi is the concert overture derived from his opera Belfagor, about the exploits of a Till Eulenspiegel/Don Juan figure, portrayed with suitably colourful sound-painting. All these, together with the Bachian Three Chorales, are played with marvellous verve and commitment – the BBC PO under Downes has a way with this out-of-the-way repertoire that few can equal. The sound quality on this disc is nothing short of stunning.

This is a live recording, made at a pair of concerts in May, and ‘live’ is undoubtedly the word for it. All the performances have an improvisatory quality, interpretative decisions seemingly made before your very ears. At the beginning of the Prokofiev it is as though Mutter and Orkis, realising that the audience in the Beethovensaal are already uncommonly silent and attentive, had decided after a quick glance at each other to begin the Sonata almost confidingly, with quiet tenderness and muted colour.

Martinu's alternately bustlingly neo-classical and genially lyrical Sinfonietta La jolla (named after the Californian town whose Music Society commissioned it) is otherwise absent from the CD catalogue at present, and this lively account is welcome. It is one of his most relaxed works, approaching light music at times, especially in the circus-like exuberance of the finale, but the lyrical element continually returns and before the coda a string chorale is heard that more than hints at the luminous simplicity of the finest late Martinu. Valta's is a very good performance, marred only by the rather forward placing and somewhat atmosphere-less sound of the concertante piano and by a certain lack of warmth (La Jolla is distanced from the Pacific by a degree or two of latitude) in the violins.