Like other second-rank
romantics, Louis Spohr pretty much dropped
off the concert radar in the twentieth
century. However, judging from W.S.
Gilbert's passing reference in The
Mikado, he kept his currency through
the nineteenth. His music is typical
of its time in its harmonic idiom, melodic
appeal and bold drama: a Schumann without
the neurosis (and with a better ear
for orchestral color and texture), a
meat-and-potatoes Mendelssohn. Uniform
surveys of his output have had to wait
for the digital era, but the odd recording
struggled briefly into the vinyl listings.
Here, Warner has revived three such
from, I assume, the Erato catalogue.
The Eighth Violin
Concerto falls into a standard-looking
three-movement pattern, but it is through-composed
in the style of a concert aria, as the
subtitle indicates. After the extroverted
"operatic" gestures of the orchestral
introduction - one really can't call
it a ritornello, since it doesn't
return in the conventional way - yielding
cadences smooth the way for the soloist's
recitative-like phrases, alternating
with gentler repetitions of the orchestral
motif. Rather like the opening of the
Bruch First Concerto, this whole movement
functions as an extensive introduction
to the central Adagio, with its
serenely spun, heartfelt melody. At
3:34 the character abruptly turns more
agitated, with the violin projecting
its theme in long notes over the orchestral
busywork. The finale offers minor-key
conflict, offset by some lighter passages,
but the orchestral windup following
the solo cadenza is too short - a structural
miscalculation, making for an unsatisfying
conclusion.
The Concertone
(double concerto) for violin and
harp doesn't reach the level of Mozart's
analogous work for flute and harp. Granted,
Spohr isn't quite Mozart, but neither
is the violin as suitable a partner:
in unison and octave themes, the instruments'
distinctive timbres stubbornly don't
mesh. As with the Mozart concerto, passage-work
in thirds works nicely. Elsewhere, the
harp finds itself relegated to a supporting
role, arpeggiating beneath the violin
- a natural enough use - or setting
the stage for it, as in the Adagio:
after the harp's opening chordal invocation,
it tacets and the violin takes over,
as in a solo concerto. The musical ideas
are pleasing enough, particularly in
the sprightly, buoyant finale.
Violinist Pierre Amoyal
makes a persuasive case for these scores,
with his clear, vibrant tone and sensitive
phrasing. He injects an appealing, impulsive-sounding
rubato into the filigree work, which
is full-bowed and immaculate. In the
long-breathed cantabiles, he
soars, even when the music doesn't quite.
(There is one nervous moment in the
Concertone, a vaulting flourish
to high E at 3:57 of the finale: the
tone noticeably thins, though the pitch
is true.) Marianne Nordmann's harpistry
is assured and unexceptionable. The
underrated Armin Jordan passes a few
bits of loose chording, but leads with
his customary acumen and commitment.
As a make-weight, Warner
trots out a 1967 account of a duet
sonata, originally composed in A-flat
for violin and harp. That version, had
it been available, would have been more
appropriate; what we're given is the
original publisher's cello-and-harp
reworking. Inevitably, the cello spends
much of the time playing on the higher
strings, with occasional dips into the
lower register providing a welcome change
of texture. The harp mostly accompanies,
either by arpeggiating or, sometimes,
using chords to drive the cello forward.
The Storcks sound fine.
The reproduction is
quite good in the Eighth Concerto, less
so in the Concertone. The engineers
boost the harp, understandably, but
they also cloak the violin in a disconcerting
cloud of resonance, which doesn't help
the blend. The Sonata sounds best at
a slight volume cut.
Stephen Francis
Vasta
Pierre Amoyal (violin) 
