I first succumbed to
flautist Sharon Bezaly’s spell on BIS’s
Seascapes disc, where she plays
Zhou Long’s The Deep, Deep Sea
(review).
I was struck then by her technique
and the generosity and warmth of her
playing. And she seems willing to take
on the most demanding pieces; at the
2008 Proms she tackled Nigel Osborne’s
fiendishly difficult Flute Concerto
which, despite her best efforts, was
less than memorable.
The good news is that
Bezaly is in fine form on this disc,
which contains flute pieces dedicated
to her. The first, a concerto by the
Kalevi Aho, is an intensely personal
piece. Written in 2002, when the composer
was coming to terms with the death of
his father and the long illness of a
much-loved spaniel, the work begins
with the gentlest of entries for harp
and flute. It’s quiet, reflective and,
as so often with Aho, it’s direct and
unpretentious.
More than that the
first movement – marked Misterioso,
adagio – is a lovely, tender piece of
writing, with little of the dynamic
swings we hear in his other concertos
– the ‘monumental’ Cello Concerto
comes to mind. These two works couldn’t
be more different in their mood and
manner. That said, at 6:38 there is
grief and turmoil, but the soloist soon
restores the air of quiet solitude.
Bezaly’s tone is warm and songful throughout,
but then this is the kind of music she
does best.
Aho admits he had been
reading the works of Swedish poet Tomas
Tranströmer and intended to write
a set of orchestral songs before deciding
on a purely orchestral piece. As with
the Chinese Songs and the Dayflies
music of the Symphonic Dances,
this concerto has a wonderful evanescent
quality that is carried through to the
Presto, leggiero. Bezaly’s limpid tone
is entirely apt here, just before an
orchestral crescendo gives way to music
of exuberance and vitality. Throughout
the composer maintains a marvellous
sense of scale, never losing sight of
the score’s more intimate, human dimension.
Osmo Vänskä
and his Lahti orchestra, the mainstays
of BIS’s Aho cycle, don’t disappoint
either. The now familiar Sibelius Hall
has a most grateful acoustic and the
engineers certainly achieve a warm,
natural balance that highlights the
‘hear through’ quality of Aho’s writing.
Even in the slow-burning crescendo that
begins at around 7:46 – now this is
the composer we know from the symphonies,
impassioned, powerful – Vänskä
remains in control of the music’s dynamics.
As the second movement slips seamlessly
into the Epilogue Bezaly enchants, her
long, singing lines simply spellbinding.
This is lovely playing and Aho gives
the soloist plenty to work with. As
so often with this composer the final
pages are surprisingly muted; in this
case they’re poignant, too.
The Icelandic composer
Haukur Tómasson is new to me,
and I see from the liner-notes that
he has won a number of prestigious music
awards at home. His Flute Concerto
No. 2 is cast in five interrelated
movements, the first of which is marked
Calmo. It’s a very different sound world
from Aho’s, although it shares the latter’s
economy of style and his penchant for
unusual sonorities. That said, Tómasson
seems to focus much more on specific,
repeated timbres and rhythmic cells,
the flute just one of several melodic
strands.
The second movement,
Scorrevole (flowing), has some very
striking rhythmic and percussive elements,
garlanded by bright, agile figures on
the flute. Perhaps this is music that
delights the ear rather than engages
the emotions but it’s none the worse
for that. In fact, when it’s as well
structured and essayed as this it’s
very compelling indeed.
There is a hypnotic
calm to the third movement, with its
mix of sustained passages and repeated
rhythmic patterns. And for the first
time the soloist is given more to do,
underpinned by simple, even stark, instrumental
interjections. Given the work’s provenance
one might be tempted to think of fire
and ice, such is the music’s mix of
hard and soft edges. The Iceland Symphony
play with real flair – as indeed they
do in the recent Chandos disc of d’Indy
pieces (see review).
In both cases they are very well served
by the recording engineers.
The final movements
– Scintellante and Ardente – are self-
explanatory, the former pointillist
in its drops of instrumental colour.
This really is an alluring soundscape,
full of unusual sounds and rhythmic
events. Even more appealing is that
this music, like much of Aho’s, is presented
in a refreshing, non-didactic way. The
ease and agility of Bezaly’s playing
makes a strong impression throughout.
As for Christian Lindberg
I have only encountered him as a performer
– he is the soloist in Aho’s Symphony
No. 9 for trombone and orchestra
– so I was curious to hear what he is
like as both composer and conductor.
The invented subtitle of this concerto,
The World of Montuagretta, is
loosely based on a documentary about
the so-called travesti (cross-dressers)
of Brazil, harrowing images from which
had a profound effect on the composer.
It’s not as grim or unrelenting as it
first seems, for as Lindberg explains
in his liner-notes the real story is
that of the young travesti’s
persistent humanity in the face of terrible
adversity.
The five movements
are given imaginary titles – Lindberg
is at pains to distance himself from
the tale, yet he has to remain involved
enough to tell it. It’s a highly unusual
conceit – and potentially a very awkward
one – but I’m pleased to report it works
rather well. The pure tones of the flute
– sounding suitably transcendent – rise
above the rough rhythms of the streets
and the sudden bass drum interjections.
There is much animation and high spirits
too, Lindberg and the Swedish Chamber
Orchestra articulating those Latin rhythms
with style.
It’s a strange juxtaposition
of real and imagined images but it does
add up to a convincing musical whole.
There are some wonderfully poignant
moments – just listen to the haunting
third movement, the flute dancing above
a sustained and muted bass line. I was
alternately moved and impressed by these
conflicting moods, all achieved with
an economy of style, all the more telling
for being so simply done. The end of
the third movement is particularly memorable
in this respect.
But even without this
subtext the concerto has much to delight
the ear. Certainly Bezaly despatches
the trills of the fifth movement with
consummate ease, before the final movement
starts with a burst of Latin heat and
light. The percussion is well caught
here and the amount of audible instrumental
detail is astonishing. The work then
moves into another of those haunted
phases halfway through the final movement,
with some ethereal passages before the
bass drum brings it all back to earth.
My main interest was
the Aho concerto but I’m delighted to
have discovered the Tómasson
and Lindberg pieces along the way. They
are all rather intimate works that suit
Bezaly’s expressive playing. Not major
works, perhaps, but highly individual
ones that should be more widely heard.
Dan Morgan
see also review
by Jonathan Woolf RECORDING
OF THE MONTH August 2005
The
Music of Kalevi Aho by Dan Morgan
Sharon
Bezaly (flute) 
