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The name of Tor Aulin
(1866-1914) is much better known than
his music. Indeed, it is as a conductor
or violinist that one occasionally encounters
it in discussions of turn-of-the-century
Nordic music, whether as leader of the
renowned Aulin Quartet or as a conductor
and interpreter of the works of his
great friend (and greater colleague),
Wilhelm Stenhammar. In his native Sweden,
however, memories survive of his compositions,
whether his 1903 violin tutor, a set
of Aquarelles for violin and
piano or three violin concertos and
orchestral dances. There are other pieces,
including an early String Quartet, a
Violin Sonata (1892) and pieces for
piano, violin and piano and songs. Precious
little is available on disc, although
Sterling has previously issued his music
for August Strindberg’s play Mäster
Olof (CDS-1011-2).
Aulin himself did not
help matters with a somewhat imprecise
dating of his pieces, so that it is
often impossible to state when a work
was composed. Opus numbers, Publication
or premiere dates help, up to a point,
but there is considerable room for manoeuvre.
For example, confusion surrounds his
violin concertos, as Lennart Hedwall’s
note admirably details. Aulin is often
cited as having written three, plus
the G minor Concert Piece that opens
this thoroughly enjoyable disc. However,
it would seem that not a jot has survived
of a ‘Violin Concerto No. 1’ by Aulin
which, curiously, also happened to be
in the key of G minor and was reportedly
premiered on the same day in January
1891 as the Concert Piece. The balance
of probability, as Hedwall avers, is
that Concert Piece and Concerto are
one and the same, and that Aulin later
retitled his relatively brief (at 16’
34" here) single-span first concerto.
Yet it is not hard to see why he might
have been tempted to call the work a
fully-fledged concerto – the opening
section, corresponding to a first movement
builds from a fairly ordinary opening
rather impressively into a nine-minute
movement. It is succeeded, attacca,
by a brief cadenza and a final section
which functions as an extended, varied
recapitulation. It is this truncated
close, veering away from the full concerto
form, that renders his renaming apposite,
especially when set against the closely
contemporary Second Concerto, written
in 1891 or 1892, even though it is of
fairly modest proportions, playing here
for just over 23’. Indeed, it may have
been the examples of Nos. 2 and 3 (in
C minor, 1906) that persuaded Aulin
to demote the ‘First’.
Despite its unexpansive
size, there is a bigness about the Second
that is one of its most remarkable features.
As in the Concert Piece, the solo writing
is masterly and, unlike many concertos
written by violinist-composers, does
not sacrifice substance for display.
Aulin’s Second, for all that it is not
particularly adventurous or personal
in idiom, does what it does extremely
effectively. A pupil of Sauret – and
therefore a ‘grand-pupil’, as it were,
of Vieuxtemps and Bériot – there
is a Francophile refinement in the scoring
and expression that allies well with
the pallid Nordic tone of the melodies
(and I use the term ‘pallid’ purely
in its descriptive meaning, not as a
reprimand). But Aulin also learned well
from his playing of Mendelssohn’s E
minor and Bruch’s G minor concertos,
the influence of both of which can be
felt in the underlying structure, with
telescoped sonata structures in the
outer movements, as well as in the motivic
interconnections between the themes.
What is also undeniable is his melodic
flair, making this concerto worthy of
attention for all those enamoured of
the lighter side of High Romanticism.
Tobias Ringborg proves
a most sympathetic and sweet-toned advocate
of these (to my ears) unfamiliar works.
Aulin’s generally positive, outward-looking
style is in marked contrast to the violin
sonatas of his younger contemporary
Emil Sjögren, which Ringborg has
recorded very neatly for Caprice (CAP21500).
What I liked here about Ringborg was
his tone, full enough where necessary
to match the breadth of Aulin’s music,
but also not over-played: he never dominates
the music the way some virtuosi can.
Willén and the Gävle Symphony
Orchestra accompany close to perfection
in beautifully proportioned sound.
Conductor and orchestra
acquit themselves with equal distinction
in Aulin’s Gotlandish Dances,
Op. 28, an orchestration of three of
five dances for violin and piano (Nos.
1 and 2 being omitted) of the same title
that were composed as his Op. 23 around
1907-8; the orchestrations were completed
by November 1910 when the composer conducted
the premiere in Gothenburg. The three
orchestral pieces (one might say four
as there is a lively middle section
in the central Andante malincolico)
are a folk-inspired delight in which
one hears again, as if from across a
mountain valley, the air of Alfvén’s
Midsummer Vigil Swedish Rhapsody.
The quicker outer movements are more
straightforward, with a faint hint of
the Respighi of the Ancient Airs
and Dances Suites in the orchestral
textures.
The Gotlandish Dances
are to my mind something of a gentle
find and deserve wider currency. The
Swedish Dances are less immediately
attractive, though eventually make an
effective set to close this enterprising
disc. Once more these were a reworking
of a violin-and-piano set, Op. 32, written
probably in 1911 and orchestrated the
following year. At twenty minutes in
all, they perhaps err a little on the
prolix side – especially after the estimable
restraint of the Gotlandish Dances
– but are nonetheless full of charm.
It is to be hoped that Sterling will
bring us in due course the Third Concerto
and some more of Aulin’s gently exuberant
and affirmative art.
Guy Rickards
see also review
by Rob Barnett
Tobias Ringborg (violin) 