I was first impressed by Herman D. Koppel’s music on a Da Capo
CD which has the flute, cello, and complete piano Concerto No.2
with the Odense Symphony Orchestra. The collection for this review,
the fifth in a series which has already been covered on these
pages (see reviews of Volume 1, Volume 2 & Volume 3 and Volume
4), also contains examples of Koppel’s touch as a piano soloist
both with and without orchestral backing.
CD 1 has the first
of Herman D. Koppel’s piano concertos in a live radio concert
performance, which has one or two cracked and split notes to
add character to its otherwise powerful performance. This work
has a shadow of Stravinsky over its musical content, but is
none the worse for that. The first movement has a great deal
of drive and rhythm, and is energetically championed by its
creator, 50 years after the fact. The second half of the work
is introduced by an Andante quieto which has some hint
of Nielsen in its undulating shapes and harmonic relationships.
This is directly followed by an Allegro, introduced by
a kind of hammering interruption from the piano. This piece
has all the energy and optimism of a work written by a younger
composer, and while there are numerous identifiable influences
and an arguable thinness in some of the thematic ideas this
is a work which can be savoured as a kind of wake-up call.
The Piano Concerto
No.4 was recorded in 1963 in glorious mono, and is another
live concert performance. There are some strong echoes of Bartók
in the first movement, helped along by the addition of percussion
– from gentle brushstrokes like the notes of a soft cymbal or
sparkling triangle, to full-blown storms. Indeed, it is this
rather pictorial element which allows Koppel to break away from
Bartók, though not for long, to my ears at least. The Andante
tranquillo has that very strong sense of a nocturnal atmosphere,
with the 12-tone origins of the musical material providing a
sense of tonal free-drift. A jaunty, scherzo character infuses
the final Vivace, which has some nice touches of subtlety
in the orchestration, though these are somewhat indistinct in
the balance of the recording – the entire orchestra being well
hidden behind the raised piano lid. I have no doubt that this
must have been recorded elsewhere with more clarity, but couldn’t
find anything currently available. That this recording inspires
one to seek further says enough about the quality of the music
– it may not be to everyone’s taste, but has plenty of intricacy
and interest and is never dull.
After the mono of
the previous work, the Mantovani strings and percussion which
open Paw in glorious stereo hit one like a seventh wave.
This is an orchestral suite from a children’s film of 1959,
and has plenty of impressionistic and exotic colour which no
doubt reflect the nature of the film. These are descriptive
miniatures, and charming enough. Like the other work of film
origin, Palle March, these pieces are about as representative
of Shostakovich in film mode – certainly effective, but not
particularly memorable.
Disc 1 ends with
a two piano version of the third movement of Koppel’s Piano
Concerto No.2. Again, the spirit of Bartók is revived, and
enhanced by the two-piano sonorities in this version. This is
pretty unrelenting stuff at times, and may hold some clues as
to why the work was less well received than some of Koppel’s
other concertos. As a virtuosic concert work it does however
have an unstoppable and spectacular character, and the players
certainly seem to be relishing every note. This may not inspire
you to seek out the aforementioned Da Capo CD, but with piano
v. orchestra the roles are of course far better defined, and
as a complete piece I would still recommend this as one of Koppel’s
more powerful works.
CD 2 is dedicated
to Herman D. Koppel the pianist, and opens with a work by Thomas
Koppel, son of Herman D. The title Visions fugitives is
of course related to Prokofiev’s collection for piano solo,
but the idiom of Thomas Koppel’s work could hardly be different.
The unorthodox orchestra, with double winds, brass and percussion
pitted against eight string players creates a strange atmosphere,
at once symphonic and overwhelming, but with the ability to
revert suddenly to corners of restless intimacy. The music has
a certain aleatoric character, not with quite the sense of abandon
created by Penderecki, but with a comparable dramatic flavour.
Anders Koppel, younger
son of Herman D., shows another entirely different approach
in his Concerto for Piano, Strings and Percussion. There
are relationships of the antique and the modern which call Schnittke
to mind, and elements of the jazz, folk and popular which dilute
the drama and often give the score a directly cinematic feel.
This sense of passing imagery is in a way confirmed by the composer’s
inclusion of extra-musical associations such as gunshot effects
and whistles in the wild-west train journey of the final fifth
movement, ratchets, car horns et al. This is however not superficial
music, and works a strangely compelling spell, or at least it
did on this listener. There is an attractive Nordic honesty
in the melancholy of many of the melodic lines, approaching
but not falling into some of the more syrupy writing of someone
like Nino Rota.
Bernhard Christensen
was a lifelong friend of Koppel, and The Twelve Tones relates
somewhat to the jazz-inspired works the two of them created
in the form of oratorios for schools. The jazz elements are
clearly present in the rhythmic syncopations and harmonic progressions
in the piece. These sometimes tend to poke through coyly rather
than turning the piece into a ‘standard’, and elsewhere are
given freer rein. The work is subtitled ‘Passacaglia (variations
on an ostinato bas built on twelve tones)’, and this cyclic
feel has a sense of eternal sequential undulation. More fun
than profound, this work does however have some serious working-out
of interesting ideas, and the technical demands clearly make
maximum demands of the pianist’s octogenarian hands.
Per Nørgard was
a piano pupil of Herman D. Koppel while studying composition
at the Royal Danish Academy of Music. His Nine Friends can
be played in differing combinations, but are presented here
in ascending order, with the general difficulty of the pieces
increasing as the work as a whole progresses. In this way one
might see the works as a sort of mini ‘Mikrokosmos’ or set of
studies covering various aspects of piano playing. Not that
the lower numbers are particularly easy, but the textures and
expressive demands increase, and the final four pieces are demanding
in the extreme. Herman D. Koppel’s reputation as a pianist is
established, and is in no way tarnished by these recordings.
I know Nørgard’s work quite well however, and would expect a
bit more life and bounce in some of these pieces if looking
for a definitive rendition. If, however, I was able to play
the piano as well now, as opposed to in my late 70s as Mr. Koppel
was when this recording was made, then I would consider myself
thrice blessed.
Once again, Danacord
has produced a fascinating and otherwise inaccessible record of
one musician’s remarkable achievements. There is a variability
in recording quality, but in the main these are good recordings.
Live blips and a bit of tape hiss are never a great problem in
my book, unless the opposite is promised, and even the balance
problems of the Piano Concerto No.4 are well compensated
for in terms of energy and atmosphere. The booklet notes and additional
photos are all well written and filled with plenty of detail and
insight. Onwards! – as is the title of No.7 of Nine
Friends – to volume 6!
Dominy Clements
