Serenades
Pyotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893)
Serenade for Strings in C major, op. 48 [30:17]
Sir Edward ELGAR (1857:1934)
Serenade for Strings in E minor, op. 20 [12:15]
Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791)
Serenade in G major “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” K525 [20:31]
Zürcher Kammerorchester/Daniel Hope
rec. September 2020, ZKD-Haus, Zurich
DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 483 9845 [63:11]
The Zürcher Kammerorchester, with violinist Daniel Hope as conductor, recorded this trio of “lollipops” (to borrow Beecham’s term) to celebrate its 75th anniversary. Recording such perennial favourites is of course to court comparison with countless previous versions, but the programme itself is alluring to anyone other than those with jaded palates. Nonetheless, no warhorse is more frequently trotted round the paddock than “Eine kleine Nachtmusik”, so any new recording has to be good.
The start of the recital, however, is not so auspicious; the opening to Tchaikovsky’s string masterpiece is heavily accented and lacking momentum; the orchestral textures are too rich and ploggy, making even Karajan’s sumptuous account sound lither and lighter, yet there is little difference in overall timings. There is no doubting the virtuosity of the playing but their affect seems wrong. Matters improve in their delivery of the scurrying, filigree second subject but the mood is still too heavy and emphatic; there is little lift or charm in such a resolute, remorseless approach; Karajan skips more blithely here. The forensic recording does not help; you hear every intake of breath and buzz of string. The intrinsic joy and momentum of the music carries it through but turn to a more sensitive version to hear the difference between this rather heavy-handed interpretation and a performance embracing more light and shade. With the advent of the waltz, I still feel as though I am being escorted rather than beguiled by the music; Karajan has a much better feel for rubato and the final bars drag unaccountably, as if the dancer had a wooden leg. The sublime Élégie is also too ponderous, with odd gaps between the phrases and strangely lugubrious manner; there is also a slip 27 seconds in, an entry ahead of the beat which should have been re-taken. The Andante of the finale once more starts very deliberately but we finally encounter more liveliness in the Allegro – it is surely difficult to play such vibrant music any other way, but I still miss some of the spring I hear in superior accounts.
The Elgar is pleasantly executed and enjoyable but in direct contrast to the Tchaikovsky, the first movement is rather perfunctory and hard-driven; there are performances with subtler, more affectionate phrasing from such as Barbirolli and Christopher Warren-Green. However, the lovely Larghetto sings and swoons as it should and this Swiss ensemble seems wholly in sympathy with Elgar’s very English idiom here; after all, music is music and crosses national boundaries as easily as migratory birds. The final movement is equally flexible and songful, making a wholly engaging conclusion.
Like so many people, I imagine, K525 was one of the first – perhaps the first - piece of “classical music” I encountered as a boy lying in bed with a transistor radio (remember those?) pressed up against my ear – yes; it was a while back – and the piece still works its magic, especially played as well as it is here. There is a lovely rich tone to the strings despite the leaner sound than traditional performances from Böhm, Keilberth and Karajan, all of whom play the famous opening Allegro faster than it is played here and perhaps sound a tad rushed. Here we can savour the music more fully. There is plenty of bass clout to bolster the rich harmonies, too and, despite the slower tempo, a nod or two towards period practice herewith minimal vibrato and some swelling on sustained phrases; there is a general glow to this account which must reflect the band’s own enjoyment of the music. There is considerable dynamic variety, too, to underline Mozart’s playful variations of=n the main subject. After such a sensitive, carefully shaped first movement, it is a pity that the Romance is so prosaic; there is little poetry in its foursquare delivery. The Menuetto is lively but heavily accentuated, lacking essential Viennese charm. The finale goes well but lacks something in fleetness and lightness of touch, as a direct comparison with the “traditional“ recordings above reveals.
A very mixed bag, then: the Tchaikovsky is disappointing, the Elgar generally pleasing and the Mozart only intermittently delightful. I will not be forsaking my old favourites.
Ralph Moore
