Nielsen’s Clarinet
Concerto, like Mozart’s, was
written towards the end of the composer’s
life, but while the latter’s work has
an air of serenity about it Nielsen’s
is much more restless and uncertain.
The concerto attracted some pretty hostile
criticism at the outset, indeed, eighty
years later it’s still not the most
forgiving or rewarding of works to listen
to. According to Knud Ketting’s liner-notes,
Nielsen – the ‘dodgy Dane’, to use Peterson-Berger’s
phrase – didn’t exactly endear himself
to the work’s early champions either.
The opening Allegretto
un poco is as tough and uncompromising
as anything I’ve heard from Nielsen.
The Swedish clarinettist Martin Fröst,
who gave the UK premiere of Anders Hillborg’s
Clarinet Concerto at this year’s Proms,
is an astonishingly agile player and
performer who easily tames Nielsen’s
unruly score. Occasionally he has to
work hard to make himself heard over
the orchestra’s martial outbursts, but
the close, bright recording ensures
he’s audible most of the time. Just
sample that solo passage beginning at
4:10 and you’ll get a flavour of his
dazzling technique.
There is a strong undertow
in this concerto – witness the somewhat
agitated dialogue that begins at 6:53
– but even Nielsen allows some moments
of repose thereafter. Fröst is
meltingly beautiful at the start of
the second movement – marked Poco
adagio – even if the very closeness
of the microphones robs the music of
any inherent warmth. But there’s no
real comfort zone in this concerto and
even here the snare drum disrupts any
attempt at reflection.
This is a tough-minded,
adversarial work: soloist and orchestra
warring fiercely with each other. Only
in the final movement is there any sense
of reconciliation, with a flowing passage
for clarinet and orchestra. The soloist’s
trills suggest a lighter, more carefree
mood and even the snare drum seems less
menacing than before. The ever-reliable
Lahti orchestra are worthy adversaries/accompanists
but it’s the soloist who really excels
in the extended cadenza-like passage
beginning at 4:34. Fröst’s tone
is secure and well projected throughout,
his playing warm and rounded in the
quieter passages.
No question this is
a feisty performance of a landmark concerto.
My only quibble is with the balance
– not normally an issue where BIS are
concerned – which is a mite too close
for comfort. That said, one could argue
this suits the work’s curmudgeonly character.
Peterson-Berger disliked
the Nielsen for its ‘cackling, crowing,
piping, moaning and groaning solo part’;
one wonders what he would have made
of Aho’s concerto which, although
much less abrasive than the Nielsen,
is just as virtuosic. As with his earlier
concertos Aho made a point of familiarising
himself with the solo instrument’s capabilities,
so it’s no surprise the Tempestoso
opens with some impossibly high blasts
on the clarinet, voiced above a stabbing
bass.
There is always a risk
when a soloist is asked to play in
extremis but Fröst produces
some astonishing sounds at the top;
just listen to the soaring solo that
begins at 1:14, mimicked by the violins
thereafter (reprised at 6:35), But it’s
not just about the clarinettist, for
Aho has provided some virtuoso material
for the orchestra as well. Colour and
rhythm dominate, as indeed they do in
Fröst’s lovely playing from 2:37
onwards. This is gorgeous music, superbly
caught in the ever-reliable acoustic
of Lahti’s Ristinkirkko.
After such a tumultuous
start the Cadenza, Tranquillo
proves to be just as athletic, albeit
at the lower, less exposed, end of the
clarinet’s range. Fröst’s trills
are very well articulated, maintaining
purity throughout. This continues into
the start of the third movement – Vivace,
con brio – which, as always with
Aho, segues perfectly with the end of
the preceding movement.
The composer is in
expansive mode in this movement, offering
a range of bold sonorities and rhythmic
flourishes – sample the section beginning
at 3:56, which grows into a powerful,
pounding passage for full orchestra.
Anyone who knows Aho’s Twelfth Symphony
will recognise this music is mixed from
the same palette. And what to make of
the soloist’s witty ‘dying falls’ at
6:13, just before we slip into the following
movement?
The Adagio, mesto
shows the composer at his most lucid
and transparent, the clarinet melody
rising above the hushed accompaniment.
Is there something of the autumnal radiance
of Mozart’s K.622 here? Quite possibly
this is some of the loveliest clarinet
writing you’ll ever hear, especially
from 5:29 onwards and into the concluding
Epilogo, misterioso. As always
Vänskä and his Lahti forces
provide luminous support throughout.
Fröst shines again
in this final movement – listen to the
birdlike sounds he produces from 4:22
onwards. Essentially, though, this music
majors on inwardness, the final pages
as seductive as anything Aho has written.
Of course the Vänskä/Lahti
partnership – recently ended – is the
bedrock on which the entire BIS/Aho
cycle has been built, and one can only
hope they figure as prominently in future
releases from this label.
As enduring as the
Nielsen concerto undoubtedly is, the
Aho could be a keeper, too. The latter’s
sound-world is chockful of delight,
and when the musical and recording standards
are this high the results are simply
glorious.
Dan Morgan
You may also
be interested in Dan Morgan's survey
of Aho's
orchestral music
Martin Fröst (clarinet) 
