In an age of cheaper
and cheaper reissues, the Virgin Classics
5-CD boxes have to come near the top
of anyone's list for sheer value. Partly
because they bring together some very
tempting and/or appropriately-grouped
repertory; partly because the Virgin
catalogue includes some outstanding
performances; and partly because - unlike
so much of Virgin's competition - we're
often treated to comparatively recent
recordings, which sound as well as any
brand new production. As here, in this
collection of music for cello and orchestra
by the prolific and gifted Norwegian,
Truls Mørk.
Some of these recordings
are as good as you can buy at any price.
Among them, the infectiously stylish
Haydn disc, which features star quality
accompaniments from Mørk's fellow
countrymen. With tremendously energetic
fast movements, and romantically expressive
slow movements, these performances dash
and linger in turns, involving you in
every phrase.
With the Russian music,
we're into repertory which Mørk
has made his own. The Shostakovich pair,
though worlds apart from the Haydn,
are every bit as captivating. Mørk
really has the measure of these pieces.
The First: free and extrovert, unencumbered
by any technical or expressive limitation.
The Second: perfectly encapsulating
its solitary sound world, its musings,
its melancholy. And both expertly accompanied
by an orchestra (and a solo horn) who
behave like life-long partners. The
Prokofiev is inhabited by mordant humour,
the weirdest sonorities and textures,
and rhythmic quirks galore. Again, Mørk's
completely on top of it. Likewise the
Miaskovsky, that wonderfully nostalgic
and elegiac favourite of all cellists,
whose directness of utterance and diatonic
simplicity ought (or so you would think)
to endear it to far more concert-goers
and CD-collectors.
With the Dvořák,
the competition’s a bit more of a challenge,
especially now the classic Rostropovich-Karajan
CD (with the same Tchaikovsky coupling)
has reappeared in the 'DG Originals'
series. Even so, it's an impassioned
performance, with Mørk's
bounteous tone, outspoken articulation
and phenomenal technique second to none.
Compared with (say) their electric Tchaikovsky
Symphony series on Chandos, I must say
I find Jansons and the Oslo orchestra
a fraction lightweight in terms of tonal
body, with wind and brass soloists perhaps
less characterful than some of their
more illustrious rivals. But that's
hair-splitting, and I wouldn't want
to put you off.
I do have some
grumbles, however. Firstly, the packaging,
which comprises two of those heavy plastic
cases (one containing 3 CDs, the other
just 2) we commonly encounter with opera
sets, with their big fat libretti. Cumbersome,
and hardly user-friendly, these aren't
nearly so appealing as paper sleeves
in a dedicated card box, which quite
rightly are becoming increasingly commonplace
nowadays. And Virgin's booklet - a short
essay on Mørk, with next to nothing
on the music - is minimal!
My other disappointment
and here I speaking on behalf of would-be
purchasers here, rather than for myself
concerns the inclusion of the Kernis.
If Virgin hadn't felt the need to promote
this as a Truls Mørk collection,
instead of a 'Cello Concerto Collection',
they could have included (say) the outstanding
Isserlis recordings of the Elgar and
Schelomo (with Hickox) or Don
Quixote (with de Waart).
That would have made an attractive bargain
into a truly formidable one, rendering
it almost 'complete' (in the sense of
everyone's short list of great cello-and-orchestra
pieces?) and far more suitable for what
I presume to be its intended target
audience.
Having said that, the
Kernis disc is thoroughly welcome. It's
good stuff, which stands up well even
in this exalted company! Let's hope
that, by packaging it in this way, folk
who don't normally give new music a
try will be encouraged to do so.
Colored Field
is a three-movement Cello Concerto (originally
for cor anglais and orchestra) in all
but name: and, at 40 minutes long, it's
a substantial piece. The first movement
juxtaposes and superimposes mostly simple
song-like lines on the solo cello against
fantastically busy, complex and detailed
material in the orchestra. With dense
clusters and hyperactive textures, it
is basically atonal, although tonal
landmarks are momentarily exposed, as
if by accident. It won't help you pinpoint
its stylistic territory very exactly,
but it could be said to occupy some
(surely-unfeasible?) middle ground between
Berg and Copland. The middle movement,
Pandora Dance, is a frenetic
scherzo, with noisy jazz overtones.
Initially, Hymns and Tablets,
the slow-moving finale, is every bit
as dissonant as its predecessors, albeit
less contrapuntal. But its moods swing
restlessly, with the cellist several
times left alone to speak, as if in
some kind of tense stylistic contest
with the orchestra. The peroration is
a tonal victory of sorts, with conflicting
material and emotions nervously reconciled
in what I can best describe as a harmonic
sunset. It really is a most involving
score. The much more conventional Musica
Celestis and Air are, by
comparison, peaceful and diatonic, recalling
Hovhaness: not nearly so original, nor
so demanding, but nevertheless beautiful.
In all three pieces, accompaniment and
recording are in the premier league.
If you're interested,
I can tell you that Philadelphia-born
Kernis was a pupil of John Adams at
the San Francisco Conservatory of Music,
and Elias Tanenbaum and Charles Wuorinen
at the Manhattan School of Music. At
Yale, he studied with Morton Subotnick,
Bernard Rands and Jacob Druckman. Among
his other work, he has written specially
for Joshua Bell and Pamela Frank: and
there's a Double Concerto for Violin,
Guitar and Orchestra, written for Nadja
Salerno-Sonnenberg and Sharon Isbin.
He has received the Stoeger Prize from
the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln
Center, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Rome
Prize, an NEA Grant, a Bearns Prize,
a New York Foundation for the Arts Award,
and awards from BMI and ASCAP. He's
worked particularly closely with the
St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, Minnesota
Public Radio and the Minnesota Composers
Forum.
By the way, the CD
booklet - a cut price affair, as I mentioned
earlier - doesn't even mention Kernis.
Unforgiveable.
Peter J Lawson
Truls Mørk (cello) 
