There’s always a certain frisson with
the inauguration of a new series from
Hyperion. Hence the excitement over
volume one of the Romantic Cello Concerto
with its triptych of seldom recorded,
hardly ever performed concertante and
concerto works. The composers were born
between 1864 and 1881 and all of them
produced these works within the space
of five years between 1899 and 1904.
None is a first recording, not even
the d’Albert, which was captured off-air
in a performance by none other than
Emanuel Feuermann with the ever-questing
Leon Barzin conducting. It has seen
rather limited commercial service and
is surely due for a revival.
D’Albert’s
concerto dates from 1899 and is a largely
anti-heroic three-movement work that
tends to subvert assumptions about form
and motivic strands. The model here
is certainly not Dvořák’s recently
premiered Concerto with its grandeur
and pathos, still less the virtuosic
sheaf of concerto written for Friedrich
Grützmacher or David Popper; maybe
Schumann was more likely to have been
in the background. It, like the Dohnányi,
was actually written for an altogether
different kind of cellist, Hugo Becker,
associate and colleague of Carl Flesch,
Busoni, Joachim and Ysaÿe.
It’s a concerto notable
for the quiescent, almost speculative
nature of the solo line, which opens
with musing arpeggios and continues
in much of the same vein. The withdrawn,
opaque non-virtuosic writing adds its
own layer of introspection but whilst
there are some finely moulded wind and
horn passages in the first movement
as a whole it hangs fire. That talent
for verdant and lively wind writing
resurfaces in the slow movement, the
only places to disclose
any Dvořákian influence at all
– the reference point is to the orchestral
writing in Rusalka rather than to the
Concerto – but it’s only in the finale
that d’Albert’s fires are really stoked.
There is some fine hunting material
here and some more extensive
writing for the soloist. In truth the
concerto lacks memorability and there’s
nothing the admirable Gerhardt-Kalmar
team can do to generate much more excitement.
The Dohnányi
Konzertstücke is a rich and warmly
aerated work, much better known. Cast
with lyrical Brahmsian gestures and
Dvořákian winds to enrich textures
this is as big a statement (despite
its name) as the d’Albert but with considerably
more to say. The rocking figures of
the opening movement vie with changes
of colour for optimal interest
– the textures are ever changing and
constantly alive with Gerhardt proving
powerfully secure in both lower and
highest registers. Dohnányi is
not afraid to thin textures right down
– listen to the scoring delicacy of
the finale with its contrasting
big tuttis and the little Mahlerian
moments here. The work winds down with
delicious inevitability. Raphael Wallfisch’s
Chandos recording of this with Charles
Mackerras is still available and it’s
aptly coupled with the Dvořák;
there’s nothing between them
in respect of timings and general control;
maybe the more up-to-date Hyperion sound
will be a factor, as will the repertoire
but there’s otherwise little to choose.
The final work is the
Enescu, at once the most gauchely scored
and the most textually fascinating.
The soloist’s lines are long and the
writing fuses heart-on-sleeve expression,
proud processional marches (abruptly
interrupted) and folk-like clarinets.
Listen to Gerhardt’s appreciation of
performance style and his lightning
fast and highly evocative portamenti
around 9.35 in the opening movement.
His passagework is spot on as is his
intonation, especially in some of the
trickier positions. Try the florid introduction
to the finale – marked Majestueux
– and the brassy Elgarian-sounding peroration.
A shame that he protracts the ending
so unnecessarily. Still, this is a good
example of the young Enescu moving toward
his eventual orchestral mastery.
The performances are
highly committed and sound extremely
well prepared. Gerhardt is in control
of all nuances and complexities and
proves a worthy ambassador. I’m sure
cellistic mavens have their wish-lists
ready for this exciting new series.
Jonathan Woolf
Alban Gerhardt (cello) 
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