Erling Blöndal Bengtsson as a cellist of high renown turns heads
… and ears. He is best known as a student and friend of Gregor
Piatigorsky and having been conducted by Pablo Casals. He is the subject
of a statue by Olof Palsdottir erected in the entrance to Iceland’s
main concert hall. He made his debut at the age of four with Saint-Saëns’
The Swan, adding Popper, Nolck and Beethoven to his repertoire
at five and appearing as the soloist of the Tivoli Symphony Orchestra
at ten. Danacord’s in memoriam recordings of the great
Erling Blondal Bengtsson pay tribute to a man whose life was music.
When asked in an interview for The Strad about his early musical
memories, Bengtsson shared this story: ‘There was music in the
home but I don’t think he (Bengtsson’s father) influenced
my playing. When I was about three years old, my father brought me
a violin and showed me how to put it under my chin. Even though I
never had seen a cellist, I immediately wanted to put the violin between
my legs. I don’t know why. My mother was on my side, so my father
arranged to have an endpin put in a viola. A few months later, when
he saw that I was serious, he had a little cello made for me. Somehow
I just took very naturally to the cello.’
As soon as Bengtsson played the first few bars of Dimitri Kabalevsky’s
Cello Concerto No. 1 op. 49, I was won over. After a pizzicato
opening from the string section of the Iceland Symphony Orchestra,
Bengtsson enters arco with an affirmative and energetic melody. This
quickly soars into the upper register, kept afloat by the pulsing
orchestra. Unlike the opening march, the contrasting theme is beautifully
melodic and emerges with an unexpected aria quality. The brief cadenza
flaunts the cello’s infinite range of textures as double-stops
and deep, mellow vibrato prepare the listener for the B major folksong
melody in the second movement. During the dialogue with the horns
in this section, Bengtsson plays with untrammelled feeling and exquisite
sincerity. Written in dedication for fallen Russian soldiers, the
Largo molto espressivo gives the cello a solo voice. Again,
Bengtsson, by allowing the rests and swooning final melody to speak
for themselves, produces a captivating sound. Following the clarinet’s
lyrical melody - based on a well-known Russian tune - Bengtsson traverses
between soft and sharp. With chiaroscuro definition, he opens out
the contrasting dialogue between the understanding and agitated sensibilities
in Kabalevsky’s composition. With a fading trill picked up by
the clarinet, Bengtsson’s soft sensitivity adds to the range
of dynamics within this piece. Not perturbed by the alacrity required
of this final movement, Bengtsson is rhythmically tight and retains
characteristically precise intonation in the skittish, spirited passages.
In this recording the Iceland Symphony Orchestra under Jean-Pierre
Jacquillat offers sublime accompaniment.
With a demure opening, Bengtsson’s understated approach adds
intelligence and contemplation to Mendelssohn’s swooning melody
in the Cello Sonata in D major op. 58. Accompanied by the pianist
Anker Blyme, Bengtsson’s top notes are rounded so that they
fall back into the open embrace of the piano. Two lovers cajoling,
this piece leaves one with a skip in the step and a heart full of
merry cheer. Bursting with personality, the pizzicato opening to the
Allegretto scherzando is played with a quirky edge before giving
way to a wealth of sumptuous vibrato, only to return sneakily to jaunty
pizzicato and ricochet back and forth between laughing and loving.
The Adagio consists of a chorale in Bach-style, alluding to
Mendelssohn’s admiration for J.S. Bach. The arpeggios are played
with fullness by Blyme and their openness leaves space for Bengtsson
tentatively to enter with recitative passages. A little cough and
splutter in the final movement - and here I do not speak metaphorically
- shakes the listener out of the Bengtsson-trance. However, technical
ease and a determination to ‘play each piece as though it were
the first time’ shine through in the vitality of the Molto
allegro e vivace.
André Jolivet’s Suite en concert pour violoncello
consists of five terse movements. Between each piece there is a feeling
of strained tension. The silences and contrasts between pizzicato
and bowing, registers and volume result in a composition which forms
a shape and concept through texture and atonality. This is achieved
by contrast with the melodious re-emerging themes of the other two
recordings on this CD. Bengtsson plays this challenging set of five
interrelated segments with seriousness and wit, bringing out the percussive
attitude of the cello.
Lucy Jeffery
Previous review: John
France
