Issue 96

I was talking to Paul McGowan a week or so ago, and he asked again about how the song’s lyrics came about. This is as I remember it:

Originally, on Election night 1992 [November 3rd, Clinton was elected—for obsessives like me—Ed.], there was the usual Tuesday night gathering. By the time I got there, a song was well under way. David Baerwald, like an excited kid, yelled out “Dan! Country disco!”

Sure enough, everybody, the four guys with Sheryl, was engaged in playing some sort of country-ish riff with a disco kind of beat to it. Sheryl was singing something about an ex-boyfriend, which gave rise to the working title, “I’ll Still Love You”.

I grabbed a bass – my memory is that it was a ’70 Guild M-85 II – but waited until they were done before overdubbing the first bass line that popped into my head. In fact I think the only ones present when I did the bass line were Baerwald, sitting with me, and the engineer; everyone else was continuing in “party” mode upstairs in the lounge. And that was it: one night’s work.

Back in Copper #39 I wrote a piece on the unsung 4^th Symphony of the great 20^th Century Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich, and I hadn’t managed to cover a selection of the available recordings, or make a recommendation. So I decided to return to the subject for this column and finish the job. I have confined myself to those recordings I have in my personal Library, which means I have by necessity had to omit some highly regarded and notable performances, such as the original recordings by Kondrashin with the Moscow Philharmonic. But there are far too many recordings available for me to cover them all, and if I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere it must inherently be done in a somewhat arbitrary fashion.

A lot of these recordings are in DSD, or high-resolution PCM. But most are taken off CD. I have included sound bites from each of them, all in 320mbps MP3 format, converted by myself using in-house software. So they’re as good as I can get them, but that’s about as far as it goes. You would probably do best, if you have the option, of listening on headphones.

So, without further ado, let’s get the ball rolling:

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Andris Nelsons, Boston Symphony Orchestra, a live recording from 2018, 24/96 download. The recording is bright, airy and detailed, with punchy brass, sparkling strings, and forward percussion. He sets off at a brisk tempo, promising an energetic and forceful reading; but it is a politician’s promise. It sounds a lot like something we’d want, and might even look forward to, but such promises can be a lot easier to make than to deliver on. The problem is that the energy and tension in a classical music performance of this magnitude needs to build and release, build and release, build and release. So you don’t want to be summiting Everest for your opening statement. Consequently, by the time we get to the final movement we have to deal with feelings of “Where’s The Beef” that in all honesty are mostly unwarranted. Most of the parts of Nelsons’ recording are really excellent in isolation, and serve very well as exemplary snippets. Here is a passage that serves to illustrate it well. I call this passage the “swarm of locusts”, and in Nelsons’ hands it makes for exciting listening:

Unfortunately, this recording would make for a superb teaching case for how the whole can be less than the sum of its parts. The entire first movement is a mouthwatering feast for the auditory senses, and sets the table creaking with goodies. But movements 2 and 3 fail to deliver on the pre-election promise, and leave the listener feeling slightly cheated on just what could have been. There is a lot of frenetic playing that seems frenetic for its own sake, and a degree of frenetic sameness seems to take hold. But with repeated listenings it fails to gel as a cohesive whole. So, in summary, it has a lot going for it, but falls short of being a reference.

 

Yannick Nézet‐Séguin, Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra, December 2016, 24/96 Download. Montrealer ‘YNS’ is one of the hottest young properties in the classical music scene these days, having been appointed as James Levine’s successor at the New York Metropolitan Opera. I saw him a couple of years back performing this with Montreal’s Orchestre Metropolitain, and it was a riveting concert that left me quite breathless.

The problem here is that the Rotterdam Philharmonic, much to my surprise, seems to be somewhat short of the standards set by the OM, which itself is Montreal’s number two orchestra. In the live performance, YNS had a spectacular grasp of the arc and flow of the symphony, and the orchestra danced in his hands like a marionette. Here the Rotterdam Phil seems a bit lost, as in this passage from the third movement:

I can’t really get as enthusiastic about this recording as I would like to, given the generally stratospheric level of my regard for YNS.

 

Vasily Sinaisky, BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, Live at the Proms in 2000, CD. This was a CD giveaway with the BBC Music Magazine back in 2000, one of many which were of a quality waaaaay above what you would expect as a freebie. As a live Prom concert recording, the sound quality falls short of that offered by some of the outstanding recordings here, and the performance itself is also not going to win my top award, but both are worthy of a solid mid-pack listing. Sinaisky scores points for the air of mystery and understated menace which pervades this interpretation. Take this short passage from the first movement:

The sonorities of the BBC Phil are a mixed bag. The bassoon tone in particular, you’ll have noted, is smooth and rounded, and the drums and percussion are tight and accurate, but the strings are messy at times, and the lower four notes of the Celesta’s 8-note repeated pattern in the coda somehow gets lost in the balance. But despite its flaws, this is a recording I can happily come back to from time to time.

 

Bernard Haitink, London Philharmonic Orchestra, Recorded in 1979 as part of a complete symphony cycle, on CD. Haitink has always been one of my go-to conductors, but here with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, his effort also falls wide of the mark. There is an element of cacophony to the sound, and while that is undoubtedly inherent in the symphony, and arguably even desirable in an ideal performance, here it just fails to hang together. Try this passage, from the opening movement:

Is it the LPO’s unimpressive playing, or Haitink’s unconvincing vision of the symphony? Or maybe a combination of both?

Rudolf Barshai, WDR Symphony Orchestra, Recorded in 1996 as part of a complete symphony cycle, on CD. From beginning to end, this is a worthy symphony cycle, and the 4^th takes its place among them. Barshai’s phrasing and tempi are assured and commanding throughout this difficult piece, and indeed he makes a lot of its more difficult passages flow freely and naturally. This is an excellent recording for anybody looking for an introduction to this complex piece. In this excerpt he brings the first movement to a nervous close, simmering with an unresolved tension:

Not only is Barshai’s arc and vision assured and convincing, but the playing of his WDR Symphony Orchestra is absolutely first class, and the whole thing is rather well recorded. Even the second movement, a troublesome interlude which manages to trip up the most sophisticated of conductors is handled expertly by Barshai. And by the time the third movement starts, we know we will be in assured hands right through to the end. Well, not really, as it turns out. The climax is an epic disappointment. It is, if I may put it this way, a colossal premature ejaculation, in which the carefully controlled tension breaks, not so much in a controlled release, as a chaotic explosion which is suddenly over and has given way to the coda before you realized what has happened. It just doesn’t work – incredibly so – and ruins an otherwise impeccable performance.

 

Mariss Jansons, Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks, 2004, on CD. I have this CD because Maris Jansons is, if I may be so bold, among living conductors today, right at the top of the tree. His Shostakovich 7^th with the RCO is the best I have yet heard. So I had high hopes for this one. And it has a lot of Jansons about it. He is a man who understands how to make a symphony tell a story. Not in the Hollywood way, but in the musical sense, where everything just makes sense, and you come away with a deeper understanding of what the composer originally had in mind. Here is a typical example, which Shostakovich seems to be trying to summon some sort of demon from a Siberian mud swamp:

But somehow Jansons isn’t pulling ahead of the pack with this particular performance. He doesn’t even reach the level of the largest part of the Barshai recording. Sure, everything is there. The playing is up to the usual standards of the Bayerischen Rundfunks, but there is just a pervading element of politeness that kind of infects it. Everything is just a little bit too refined, too polite. Shostakovich was a soviet iconoclast and a very typically Russian non-conformist. Particularly with the 4^th. So we need to see aspects of a performance which are little less safe, a little more out there. And that’s not apparently in Jansons’ comfort zone. But the final climax certainly is. Jansons’ reading of the climax and coda are up there with the best, although, as we’ll read later, there are some other guys out there who will nail those final sonorities with style and precision.

 

Roman Kofman, Beethoven Orchester Bonn, 2006, SACD. This was one of the first DSD recordings of the Shostakovich 4^th I ever got hold of, and its sonics were of course seriously impressive. But Kofman’s recording fell further down the pecking order each time a new recording came along. He really doesn’t have a lot to say for himself with this repertoire. It plods along – in glorious SACD technicolor, it must be said – but it still plods along. Take this section from the second movement. It fairly sings – at least it should – but under Kofman it is yawn-inducing:

I really can’t be bothered to write anything more about it.

 

Neeme Järvi, Scottish National Orchesta, 1989, on CD. Neeme Järvi is another conductor with a pre-eminent reputation, and here he is on Chandos conducting the Scottish National Orchestra in another performance to add to the ‘meh’ pile. And while it would be easy to place the blame on a barely-heard-of-’em regional orchestra, the fact is that their playing is actually quite good. Check out this passage from the first movement:

No, the problem here is Neeme Järvi’s rather ‘meh’ interpretation, which doesn’t really say anything much about what the composer may have had in mind. It’s a bit of a conducting-by-numbers performance really. The recording by Chandos is clean and well balanced, and is a delight to listen to. The climax is powerful, and is something you might consider getting out when friends come round and need to be impressed. But at the end of the day, if this is your only CD of the Shostakovich 4^th, you’d be quite justified thinking it to be a rather immature work, and unworthy of Shostakovich’s stellar reputation as probably the premier symphonic composer of the 20^th century.

 

Simon Rattle, City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, 1994, on CD. This was recorded back when Rattle was just plain old Simon, and Claudio Abbado was the Maestro at the helm of the Berlin Phil. It was also just a few short years after I saw him conduct the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra on Paignton Pier. It was onward and upward for Sir Simon, who now helms the venerable LSO. And here we are considering this modestly competent romp through the Shostakovich 4. Here’s how he handles the heavy going early on in the third movement. Lots of excitement, but not so much as to break the tension going forwards:

It is a promising performance of the 4^th, with a lot to commend it. The CBSO is not the Berlin Phil; their string tone tends towards the brittle, and there is a noticeable want of refinement when the going gets tough. As we will see later, there are orchestras out there that will put them to shame. But they do give their best, and at the end of the day their best is better than many of the recordings reported here. Rattle’s interpretation is clear-headed and consistent from first note to last, but I think today’s more mature Rattle would be looking to make some significant improvements.

 

Esa-Pekka Salonen, Los Angeles Philharmonic, Live recording from 2011, on CD. Salonen, as is his wont, can be counted upon to conjure a splendid sonic picture of colors and textures from the orchestral palette, and his 4^th Symphony offers up an entire smorgasbord. It is a performance which is captivating to listen to from beginning to end. But Salonen too often finds himself at odds with the music’s more difficult passages. It’s as though he is pining for the more accessible classicism of a Tchaikovsky or a Sibelius. Listen to this difficult passage from the third movement, where he really doesn’t seem to know where he wants to go with it:

So, in broad strokes, we have a performance which is really quite promising in many places, with polished sonics and Salonen’s usual assertive dynamics. And many people are going to consider it a pretty decent performance of a pretty weird symphony. If your preference is to demonstrate to people how Shostakovich’s 4^th is a confused work from an immature composer who’s not quite ready for the Prime Time, then this is the recording for you.

 

Mark Wigglesworth, Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra, 2005, on CD. This performance was rather well received by the critics, and rightly praised for the English conductor’s vision of the work as a unified whole. It is a recording that rewards listening over and over, yet at the same time without offering up any true ‘signature’ moments. And maybe that is a hallmark of greatness. Yes, his tempi are a little on the slow side, and there is a question as to whether that is the best artistic choice for this work (but see Pletnev, Mikhail). But Wigglesworth does make it work. Listen to how deftly he handles this quirky passage from the 3^rd movement:

Whether this performance is for you is all down to whether or not you can live with the slightly lumbering tempi, particularly in the key opening and closing sequences. If you consider they convey gravitas and authority then you’ll be fine. But if you find yourself on your feet, trying to wave the baton a little faster, then maybe you’d be happier elsewhere.

 

Mikhail Pletnev, Russian National Orchestra, 2017, DSD64 digital download. What was I saying about slow? OMG, if you want slow, then this one has slow by the bucketful. Here, Pletnev seems to be channeling the likes of Celibidache, Bernstein, and Giulini. But guess what, it does kind of work for him! Much has been said of the fact that Shostakovich was inspired by Mahler’s 4^th symphony, and Pletnev’s measured tempi do much to emphasize the Mahlerian essence of Shostakovich’s offering. Check out this passage from the first movement:

One thing the Pletnev recording does have going for it is its truly first class recording quality from Erdo Groot and his redoubtable team at Pentatone. Downloaded in pure DSD from nativedsd.com, this is an epically gorgeous recording. In combination with those slow, measured tempi, it serves to just draw you in like a $10,000 overstuffed down-filled sofa. Where Wigglesworth’s slow pace makes you want to jump up and wave your baton, Pletnev’s hypnotic and mesmerising sound instead slows your world down to his pace. Enthusiastically, and unexpectedly recommended.

 

Valery Gergiev, Mariinsky Theatre Orchestra, 2001, SACD. This is one of two recordings of the 4^th by Gergiev and his Mariinsky Orchestra, the other being recorded in 2011. Gergiev plods through this one just like he does most everything he conducts. For a Russian conductor, he apparently has precious little to say about an important work from one of his country’s most famous Classical Music sons. His tempi are wildly inconsistent – too slow in places – and, having established a slowness of tempo, way too fast in others. In the passage below the introduction to the first movement has passed, and now it’s time to start setting the table. But Gergiev isn’t setting anything particularly attractive upon it:

The Mariinsky Orchestra (previously known as the Kirov Orchestra) has a stellar reputation, but you wouldn’t know it from the raggedy playing and the occasionally strident woodwind sounds. And the SACD sound does not compare at all favourably with Pletnev’s rich Pentatone recording. All in all, there is nothing in this recording to commend it, with so many obviously superior alternatives.

 

Gianandrea Noseda, London Symphony Orchestra, Recorded live in 2018, DSD digital download. This is another excellent release in the LSO Live series, recorded natively in DSD256 but only available thus far as a DSD64 download from nativedsd.com. It has a lot going for it, despite what sounds like a clumsy edit some 22 seconds into the first movement. I have always advocated for this symphony to be played with almost a reckless abandon, and this is what Noseda seems at first glance to be aiming for. Have a listen to the introductory bars of the first movement:

While Noseda is delivering what I was hoping to hear, at the same time there is a kind of holding back by the LSO players, a reticence to really let themselves give it a proper go. One almost wishes the whole orchestra could have indulged themselves in a decent skinful immediately prior to the recording session. But since it was a live concert recording, I’m guessing that was not on the agenda. Shame. It holds it back from getting the enthusiastic recommendation I was really wanting to give it.

 

Vasily Petrenko, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, 2013, SACD. Kent Nagano steps down as music director of the Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal next year, and Vasily Petrenko is the man I would dearly love to see get the gig. He has guest-conducted in the past…so who knows? If the selection committee is in any doubt, I would point them at this recording. From the first bars to the last, young Petrenko (unrelated to Kyril Petrenko, who succeeded Rattle at the Berlin Philharmonic) delivers a poised and assured rendition. Here we have the climax to the third movement, just before the closing coda. It pretty much screams like Axl Rose:

The RLPO delivers an assured performance with a thrillingly refined, yet youthfully exuberant orchestral texture. They provide the closest approach yet to my ideal of wild abandonment, yet when a sophisticated touch is called for they deliver a convincing impression of the Concertgebouw. Petrenko himself has a sure hand on the narrative arc of the piece, with tempi, dynamics and rubato all convincingly and assuredly delivered. And the sound quality, while not quite up there with the Pentatone, is still pretty darned good, with just a little bit more soft compression than you’d ideally like to see. But on balance, you really wouldn’t go far wrong with this one.

 

Dmitri Kitaenko, Gürzenich Orchester Köln, Recorded live in 2003, SACD. Released only as part of a 12-SACD box set, this recording can be hard to come by, but in fact the entire set is rather good. Maybe you can pick one up used at a good price. Compared to the very best here, the orchestral textures are rather thick, and the recording quality, while better than CD, is not quite at the level of the Pentatone. But Kitaenko coaxes a thoroughly respectable performance from the Cologne orchestra, and you soon find yourself paying proper attention. Consider this atmospheric passage from the first movement, played with delicacy, and a sure touch. It has you just closing your eyes:

In many ways Kitaenko’s is an old-fashioned interpretation, invoking impressions of Klemperer or Solti. His phrasing is generally melodious, yet thoughtful. For example, his wistful opening to the 3^rd movement is very convincing indeed, and builds with a sure touch. Yet this same wistfulness becomes a tendency on occasion towards lethargy and indecision. But all told, there are some real insights to be found in this performance.

 

Valery Gergiev, Mariinsky Theatre Orchestra, 2013, SACD. It’s almost as though Gergiev was embarrassed by his Shostakovich recordings of a decade earlier and set about putting the record straight. And put it straight he has. There is almost nothing of the uninspiring 2001 interpretation in this recording. Instead we have a performance of genuine character. Gergiev gives us a very Russian reading of a very Russian symphony. The recording quality is right up there too. Here is the entirety of the final climax, with its Mahlerian coda that closes out the symphony:

This is a sure-footed performance that deserves serious consideration. At no time does Gergiev lose his way, and the quiet passages and loud outbursts alike give way to each other naturally and progressively. The orchestral tones are suitably dark throughout. The woodwinds play really beautifully, the brass is powerful without dominating, and the strings are tight and disciplined, and that magical closing Celeste call is clean and delicate. There are times when the orchestral perspective seems a little distant, but overall the sound is superbly captured. This recording comes very highly recommended indeed.

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So in summary, do we have a winner? I’ll ask Mr. Collins represent the firm of Ernst & Young to hand me the envelope…

Before handing out the medals, let’s shout out a few honourable mentions. First to Andris Nelsons and the Boston Symphony. It sounds great, it’s exciting, and it may be just what you’re looking for. Also to Rudolf Barshai and the WDR Symphony. If you’ve been let down a lot in your life and become accustomed to it, perhaps you won’t mind this one so much. It’s really a perfect night out…right up until the moment she says no. Finally to Dmitri Kitaenko and the Gürzenich Orchester Köln. If your system uses Single-Ended Triodes, then maybe this nostalgic beauty is just the one you’re looking for.

Finally, if you’re still reading, here we go.

In third place, Vasily Petrenko and the Royal Liverpool Phil. A thoroughly modern performance from a dynamic young up-and-comer. This is the real thing.

In second place, and it could just as easily be in first, Mikhail Pletnev and the Russian National Orchestra. Pletnev has the vision, and the chops to deliver it in truly convincing fashion. I’m just not convinced it’s the right vision…at least until the next time I play it.

In first place, for the time being at least, Valery Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra. The 2013 recording, of course. It just has everything, and all the stars, for once, manage to line up for Gergiev.

The Beatles – Abbey Road – Anniversary Edition

When the Beatles Sgt. Pepper 50th Anniversary remix/remaster came out in 2017, I have to admit….I was, at the least, skeptical. Should we be messing with history like this? I mean, yeah, there was the Giles Martin/Beatles Love thing, which was pretty amazingly well done, but it was essentially a completely new experience for Beatles fans. But to go in and completely remix an absolute classic like Sgt. Pepper—that was darn near blasphemy, right? The rationale was that all the Beatles’ albums up to a certain point had been recorded basically with mono sound in mind, and that the stereo mixed LPs were essentially an afterthought. Here was an opportunity to correct for obvious mistakes in the stereo mix, as well as take advantage of making the new stereo remix really pop.

And it most definitely popped! I was shocked that the new remix was….as enjoyable as I found it to be, but the element of the remix I found most striking was the clarity that was now heard throughout. Most surprisingly, I found myself ultimately in complete approval of the new remix; at the very least, even if it didn’t replace the classic original, it would be an interesting companion to have in the library. And I mostly found that same sentiment to be true for the following year’s release of the remixed/remastered The Beatles (the White Album), which I had always felt was a bit congested throughout. The newfound clarity of the mixes struck me as very refreshing, and perhaps more true to the Beatles’ original intent—a modernization of the sound, if you will. The Beatles was the last album that EMI simultaneously released in both stereo and mono mixes, so that was probably it for the updated stereo remix rationale, right?

So imagine my surprise when the 50th anniversary edition of Abbey Road was announced—it was never released in mono—this might be a potentially slippery slope Giles Martin was now taking us down! And to add to my trepidation, before having heard a single note, Copper editor Bill Leebens had attended a release event featuring the new LP version on a cost-no-object analog setup. And roundly condemned it. Well, crap! Knowing that I definitely needed to hear this, I headed straight to the listening room where I was able to hear both the Tidal MQA Version (and later in the day) the Qobuz 24/96 version. I found both versions very similar in character, with nothing that I felt stood out significantly between them in terms of the overall sound.

What I did find was that I totally enjoyed the greater clarity of the new mix; I found it to be a really remarkable enhancement that made me want to lean closer into the mix to hear the newfound details. Example: on “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”, as the opening guitar signature fades into silence, on the original, you’re instantly met with the wall of amplifier feedback that’s almost constantly full-on during the first part of the song. In the new mix, the feedback’s still there, but just not as dominating of the overall sound as on the original. I know the feedback was probably completely consistent with Lennon’s intent, but I still prefer the sound of the new remix—it flows a bit better.  You then go from the heaviest Beatles’ song ever into “Here Comes The Sun”, and the increased clarity in Harrison’s guitar and vocal delivery is simply staggeringly good. The harpsichord accompaniment and Lennon’s vocal on “Because” also have an amazing clarity; the sound takes on an almost extradimensional character. All of the overdubbed vocals in the opening chorus now are more clearly defined in the space, giving the song a much bigger overall presentation—and that synth figure near the middle is absolute ear candy.

And when you get into the Abbey Road “medley”—which has always struck me as a tad congested—that newly imbued clarity is oooh so very welcome. The piano on “You Never Give Me Your Money” and “Golden Slumbers” emerges from a much blacker background; any noise that was present in the original is now nonexistent. Paul’s voice on “Golden Slumbers” takes on an almost magical character. Ringo’s drum solo on “The End”—the drum solo that launched the careers of a thousand would-be drummers—takes on a more dimensional, palpable character in the new mix. You can virtually see his drum kit sitting in front of you at the listening chair. And the mix of the voices near the end of the tune is once again, well, nearly magical. 

Some may call it blasphemy, but I have to give this one the full rubber stamp. Very highly recommended, and if you have the opportunity to hear the higher-res versions on either of the streaming services, by all means do so!

Apple Records/Capitol/EMI, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Tidal, Qobuz, Google Play Music, Apple Music, Spotify)

Sturgill Simpson – Sound & Fury

Michael Lavorgna turned me onto Sturgill Simpson’s album Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, and I’ve been a huge fan ever since. Sturgill Simpson presents himself as a sort of “I don’t give a damn what you think about anything” kind of artist who follows his own muse, and not any kind of trend that might be going on in Nashville or country music, and actually pretty much thumbing his nose at the country music establishment. Metamodern Sounds was filled with hard livin’/hard lovin’/hard partyin’ hardcore country classics, but also mixed things up outside the box, with the inclusion of an almost tender version of the 1980’s When In Rome classic “The Promise”. And the album’s closer, “It Ain’t All Flowers”, offered up a healthy dose of 1970’s psychedelia that could very easily have become one of the defining songs of the generation. The “hidden track” that follows, “Pan Bowl”, is perhaps the most honest and tender recounting of one’s childhood I’ve ever heard on record. His guitarist on the album, Estonian expat Laur Joamets—whose come to be known around country circles as “Lil’ Joe”—is one of the most exciting guitar players to surface in recent years in any musical genre. What’s not to love?

His next album, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth, followed in pretty much the same mold, but Simpson this go around added a horn section to many of the songs. Which left me with mixed feelings about the album; I didn’t feel the horns really worked on the recording. But I did see them live a couple of times afterwards, and the horn section was an incredible addition to the band’s live sound, lending a vitality and immediacy to the songs that was sorely missing from the album. Of course, Laur Joamets’ guitar was the runaway star of the show—he’s a truly talented and incredible player, and ninety percent of the reason I’d love to hear this band live again.

So when I recently found out about Sturgill’s new album, Sound & Fury—zow—I’ve gotta hear this! What, wait—Laur Joamets is no longer with the band? Whaaaaaaat? Yep, Lil’ Joe is now touring with nineties southern rockers Drivin’ and Cryin’, and Sturgill Simpson has taken on the lead guitar role himself. Bummer, but what the heck, might as well take a listen anyway!

Well, a bit of a listen is about all that it took for me. Simpson took a completely different path here, recording the entire album in Detroit, and commissioning a bevy of Japanese Anime artists to create an anime film to accompany the release. Again, whaaaaat? I’m now no longer seeing Sturgill Simpson as a revolutionary, but more as a control freak. This album is a complete freak show, having zero resemblance to country music of any kind, with more a seventies/eighties rock vibe complete with disco-ish pounding bass, heavy use of synthesizers, heavily fuzz-toned guitars, and all of Simpson’s otherwise earthy and authentic vocals are heavily processed. And sorry, Sturgill, but this album desperately needed Laur Joamets’ guitar to have any chance of pulling this off. I’d pass if I were you. This is one cacophonic mess of an album.

Elektra/NEK, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Tidal, Qobuz, Google Play Music, Apple Music, Spotify)

John Coltrane – Blue World

For the second year in a row, another “lost” John Coltrane album has surfaced that features the classic Coltrane quartet lineup with McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, and the irrepressible Elvin Jones on drums. Although this new release, Blue World, is much less of an album proper than other Coltrane releases. Somewhere between the recently completed sessions for 1964’s classic Crescent album and the recording of A Love Supreme, Coltrane had been contacted by French-Canadian film director Giles Groulx. Would Coltrane’s group have any interest in contributing to the soundtrack of Groulx’s upcoming release, Le Chat Dans le Sac? Apparently Groulx was completely enamored with Coltrane’s music, and felt his contributions to the soundtrack would be essential to his very French New Wave film. The film was still in the editing stages, and neither Coltrane nor any of the band members had seen any of the film’s footage, or knew much of what the film was even about!

The recording sessions took place at Rudy Van Gelder’s New Jersey studio, with Giles Groulx present during the recording. The entire 37 minutes of music was recorded in a single day, and Groulx departed the same day for Quebec with the tapes in hand. Eventually, only ten minutes of the music from these sessions was used in the film, and the film barely made a blip on the American filmgoing consciousness. Very little of the music here hadn’t already been recorded by Coltrane’s quartet in past years, and with the sudden celebrity of the rapidly approaching A Love Supreme, these sessions were essentially forgotten.

The album contains multiple takes of a couple of Coltrane standards, “Naima” and “Village Blues”, and also the title track’s clever reworking of “Out of this World”, which had appeared on the Coltrane album from a couple of years earlier. But what makes this album so desirable to fans and Coltrane completists alike is that the versions recorded here are mostly, fully-formed reworkings by Coltrane’s classic quartet. Performances that had all but been abandoned from the ever-forward-looking Coltrane’s live set list, and here’s a chance to hear several of them played by one of the great jazz quartets of all time! The two takes of the classic “Naima” (Coltrane hadn’t yet abandoned it from the live set!) are more lyrical and more perfectly played compared to the original on the Giant Steps album. The title track, “Blue World”, while at only a tad over six minutes, may pale in comparison to the fourteen minutes of “Out of this World” from 1962. But it contains a really great McCoy Tyner mid-section solo, and as the tune comes crashing to a finale, there’s a remarkable bit of blowing by Coltrane, simultaneous with one of Elvin Jones’ trademark, rapid-fire snare lead-outs to a crashing halt. It’s breathtaking, and alone worth the price of admission! And the seven and a half minutes of “Traneing In”—with a nearly three-minute Jimmy Garrison bass solo at the entry—is far superior to the Prestige label original from way back.

Probably since the material was so relatively short time-wise, they decided to include Rudy Van Gelder’s voiced intros to all the tunes; it makes the experience even more authentic. Yes, it’s not a fully-formed album as such, but if you’re a fan of Coltrane’s music—or just great jazz for that matter—it’s darn-near essential listening. I listened both to the MQA version on Tidal and the CD-quality version on Qobuz; I felt the sound quality was very good on both, with perhaps a slight nod going to the higher resolution tracks on Tidal. Highly recommended.

Impulse!, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Tidal, Qobuz, Google Play Music, Apple Music, Spotify)

Kim Gordon – No Home Record

Hard to believe, but Kim Gordon has been on the music scene—mostly in NYC—for thirty-eight years, and this is her first solo record. Those of you who are fans of the post/punk, alt-noise stylings of Sonic Youth will have plenty of room to rejoice here. And while this is by no means the rebirth of Sonic Youth—Kim’s made it clear that both Sonic Youth and her marriage to Thurston Moore are both over—there’s a lot here that rings with familiarity from that very fertile period of alt-noise history. When Sonic Youth crashed and burned, rather than hang around New York—where she was a post/punk cultural icon—she headed back to California, where she grew up. A new beginning, and this is very much a California album; much of the underpinning of this album feels like an earthquake is about to erupt at any moment.

First of all, I have the new, very cool Magneplanar LRS speakers in for review at my place (one of my other gigs); they’re very honest and truthful flat-panel speakers that cast an incredibly believable image of the performance in your room. I love them! That said, within two minutes of the start of No Home Record, I had to shut everything down and reconnect the Zu Audio Omens, so convinced I was that the mylar panels on the Maggies were about to be ripped from their metallic frames by this incredibly dynamic album! This record needs to be played loud to get the full impact. One of the things I love about No Home Record is that none of the songs fade out, they mostly come crashing down in a haze of static and metallic/electronic noise. All underpinned by Gordon’s subterranean bass thrashings; my REL sub has a 12-inch, long-throw woofer cone, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen (or felt!) as much bass extension as with this album.

This is an unpredictable album at the very least; the opening track, “Sketch Artist”, has multiple time signature and key changes throughout, along with plenty of complete breaks—keeping you guessing all the way. Gordon contributes guitar, bass, and drum programming chores throughout. And Kim’s voice alternates from very breathy, and almost whispery, to full-on, often heavily processed, sometimes with tons of reverb and other effects added. Often sung, and sometimes much more like freely associative spoken word. While some of the songs are drivingly propulsive, and often reminiscent of her work with Sonic Youth, much of this album has a totally hipnotic and trance-like feel to it that makes those comparisons pretty much a non-sequitur.

Highlights: “Sketch Artist”, “Air BnB”, “Murdered Out”, “Don’t Play It”, “Get Yr Life Back”. I like this album more with every play. Recommended.

Matador Records, CD/LP/Cassette (download/streaming from Amazon, Google Play Music, Tidal, Qobuz, Apple Music, YouTube, Deezer, Spotify)

“Dad, can you lend me $2000? I’m good for it.”

My son Ilan was a line cook in a New York restaurant called Casa Mono. He enjoyed the cook’s world: sixty-hour workweeks, minimum wages, screaming bosses, and the dangers of sharp knives and hot flames. It also came with perks: cooks and chefs getting together in the wee small hours, hanging out at restaurants closed to the public, imbibing unlimited alcohol and gorging on huge amounts of food, then returning home at dawn to sleep for a few hours, then going back to work. One day a friend told him that a new TV program, Top Chef, was having open auditions for its second season. He decided to try out, and true to form he arrived a day late. The auditions were over but one of the producers told him that they would accept a video of him cooking something.

He immediately went to Radio Shack and bought a camcorder for $500 on his/my credit card (video cameras were expensive in 2006). He took it home, asked his girlfriend to film him and as he cooked ramen noodles on the 2-burner gas range/refrigerator in his tiny New York apartment kitchen, he kibitzed with self-deprecating humor. Afterwards he returned the camera to Radio Shack. A few weeks later he received an invitation to a further audition in Los Angeles, which in fact just meant attending one or two meetings and otherwise being sequestered in a hotel room for three days. No one ever asked him to cook anything. Not long after returning to New York, he was flown back to LA for the taping of the show.

We were told that he was a contestant but were not informed where he was. We had an emergency number only and were advised not to call. In those days, Top Chef’s producers insisted on isolating the contestants so they couldn’t acquire recipes from the outside. During the weeks of taping (he told me later) Ilan was grouped with about 15 other chefs. Their access to the outside world was very limited: no tv, no walks without supervision, no phone calls, no newspapers. The only thing they were allowed was NPR. (They have subsequently relaxed these rules).

As viewers of the show know, Top Chef is a cooking competition: Ilan won the first challenge with a dish of baked escargot in the shell. His next win was in episode 5 with lobster, shrimp & mushroom paella and fried soft-shell crab dishes.

After that he started to strategize. He saw that many chefs wanted to show off but didn’t listen to the Judges. He then figured out what the judges like to eat and decided to follow their instructions and cook what was asked of the contestants. This seems simple enough but it took a while to sink in. After that he started to win or place in more episodes.

One of the contestants he met there was a man called Marcel. They both took an instant dislike to each other, like dogs that sniff each other, then bark furiously. Marcel would sometimes sabotage other contestant’s dishes to gain an advantage. Complaints were made to the judges but to no avail so some of the contestants, pissed off with Marcel’s duplicity and after drinking too much, decided it was time to teach him a lesson. Ilan and Elia (a good friend and contestant), their judgment impaired, shaved their heads and thought it a good idea to do the same to Marcel. Sensing trouble, the producers had given Ilan a hand held camera and were rewarded when Marcel was grabbed and held down in an attempt to cut his hair. He escaped and spent the night in the bathroom. Cliff, who had physically held Marcel down, was sent home. Senior judge Tom Colicchio had wanted to send all of them home but the producers, fearing an anti-climatic end to the show, let everyone else stay.

Although Top Chef swore him to silence, we knew that he was chosen to be in the finale and one day, a few months after returning from LA, he flew off to Hawaii for the contest. Judging from his request for $2000 I surmised that he had won but he was closed mouth about it and we had to wait until the show was broadcast on TV before we knew for certain. We decided to invite friends to the house to watch the broadcast finale. We had three televisions set up around the house and over 50 people showed up. One of his school’s principles and his old baby doctor arrived, as well as some journalists we know. It was a really jolly crowd and the wine and food enhanced the mood.

The climax of the show centered on the rivalry between Marcel and Ilan. The producers emphasized this animosity to get better ratings. It worked. Over four million people watched the final episode, the highest viewership Top Chef has ever had.

Ilan’s food was spectacular. This was the menu:

• First Course: Pincho of Pan Con Tomate with Angulas, Osetra Caviar & Tomatillos
• Second Course: Macadamia Nut Gazpacho with Pan Roasted Moi
• Third Course: Seared Squab with Foie Gras, Shrimp, Braised Leeks & Lobster Sauce
• Fourth Course: Braised & Grilled Beef Short Rib with Mushrooms & Romesco Sauce
• Fifth Course: Tangelo Soup with Hawaiian Fruit, Surinam Cherry Sorbet & Bay Leaf Fritter

When Ilan did win, our friends erupted in cheers. It was a flawless end to a perfect evening. Having our son win Top Chef was an experience which thrills us to this day.

Ilan’s prize was $100,000.00. He never did pay back the $2000.

Maybe you’ve heard about FOMO—Fear of Missing Out. It’s a disease I know, having caught it once or twice over the years. I was the first kid on my block to own a Bob Dylan LP (Freewheelin’, 1963), also the first to possess Miles Davis’s now-semi-classic Someday My Prince Will Come. It was fun to be first.

Now it may be time to coin another useful acronym, JOMO. That would be Joy of Missing Out, which has multiple uses. When you feel the urge to pull those covers up, assume the fetal position, and keep TV, radio, smartphone, and social-media purveyors far, far away, JOMO affirms that. It’s okay to stay alive by ignoring all the Crazy for a while.

JOMO can also reference your joy upon discovering semi-old (or really old) stuff that everyone else already knows. Technically that’s JOFO, Joy of Finding Out. But it’s almost always preceded by JOMO or simply MO. An example: until I was ushered into a certain mastering suite a couple of months ago, I had no idea that Joni Mitchell had once done an album with strings and Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock et al. in multichannel high-res sound. Once I heard a track or two, I was blown away. Also deeply embarrassed by my ignorance, but not forever. That’s how JOFO works. First your FOMO has to prove inadequate to its task, which (believe me) it will. Then, if you’re lucky, JOFO will lead you to an epiphany, which is this: your initial MO was a good thing. You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Back at the turn of the century, I wasn’t keeping up with Joni. In those days I listened to music mainly to find just the right 13th-century motet to study with my history students. That’s how I missed out on Both Sides Now. Fast forward: recently I was asked to write program notes for a performance of Maurice Duruflé’s great Requiem. I certainly knew of its existence. I had always meant to study it. Now I had no choice, so I got a score and James Frazier’s excellent Duruflé biography. I did the typical academic total-immersion thing. Here’s some of what I learned:

Celebrated French organist Maurice Duruflé (1902–86) was not a prolific composer. Intensely self-critical, he published only a handful of works during his lifetime, revising them repeatedly over the years. Even the 1947 Requiem, by far his most famous work, never fully met his own high standards. He wrote it during the Occupation years; historically it reflects the privation and sadness of that time. Stylistically, the Duruflé Requiem rests on dual foundations: Gregorian chant (plainsong), which has modal scales, graceful melodies, and liturgical roots; and on the other hand Ravel and Debussy, whose expanded harmonic language and sumptuously voiced textures make overt appeals to the senses. Between these poles, the composer found a middle path. His Impressionist textures actually encourage an aura of serenity, while the plainsong, enhanced by counterpoint and coloration, takes on a surprising sensuality. Who knew that could happen?

Central to Duruflé’s reconciliation of opposites was arabesque, the “capricious and sinuous line” Debussy found in plainsong, in Bach, even in Javanese gamelan. Every movement of this Requiem is based on its corresponding liturgical chant. (For what follows, you may find it handy to open a window with texts/translations.) Here’s how the opening “Requiem aeternam” sounds:

In Duruflé’s music, direct chant quotation is obvious from the beginning, which the chorus intones in the manner of a priestly celebrant. You’ll hear the choir men enter with the same tune as in the clip above. You’ll also hear the way Duruflé modifies or abandons that chant melody in the vocal lines, once the opening text is repeated. (A version of the chant continues in the orchestra.) In this way the composer achieves an expressive unfolding of the music while acknowledging its origins in church ritual.

In the “Kyrie,” Duruflé first treats chant phrases as in a Bach chorale prelude, offering imitative choral snippets before the orchestra repeats the melody in long notes. The succeeding, more freely treated “Christe” prepares the triumphant return of the “Kyrie” (marked sempre ff and emphasizing this chant’s long falling lines). Okay, let’s hear that chunk:

Unlike the pure, arabesque-y Gregorian chant it’s based on, this music goes somewhere. Not only that, it eventually gets there. That prompted Frazier to analyze it as “processional drive” with “a sense of destiny.” Throughout the Requiem, Duruflé uses the idea of procession to address human anguish, terror, and hope while suggesting ultimate arrival in a new dimension, one beyond human understanding.

As his predecessor Fauré had done, Duruflé omits most of the “Dies irae.” Nevertheless his “Domine Jesu Christe” provides a measure of drama, beginning with the organ’s gloomy chant paraphrase and continuing with cries for deliverance from “the pains of hell” and “the bottomless pit.” Only with the entrance of St. Michael’s holy light does serene, simple chant return:

Duruflé then reawakens tension by introducing the “Hostias” with a chant-derived—but crucially altered—organ motive, its orientalist contour emphasizing those primeval “sacrifices and prayers” in the text. Here’s the original Gregorian chant:

Sacrifices and prayers of praise to Thee, O Lord, we offer. Do Thou receive them on behalf of those souls whom this day we commemorate.

And now the altered instrumental introduction, with its twisted melodic contour:

For the “Sanctus” Duruflé turns again to processional drive, this time engineering a monumental climax at “Hosanna in excelsis,” then a brief Benedictus. (You can listen to the whole movement at 14:58 in the YouTube video below.) His unusual but utterly graceful treatment of “sanc-tus” emphasizes the second syllable, precisely as in the Liber usualis.

After the “Sanctus,” Duruflé offers “Pie Jesu,” the final couplet of the “Dies irae.” Set for mezzo-soprano (as in Fauré) and solo cello, it becomes the emotional center of the work, its vocal line brought achingly alive by dissonances in the accompaniment.

A continuous flow of chant animates the “Lux aeterna” with grace and energy, setting the stage for “Libera me” and “In paradisum.” Once again the horrors of the End of Days appear. After a dark, wary introduction, Duruflé accelerates to the fiery climax, God’s judgment “per ignem.”

Yet soon enough, the sopranos reassuringly offer the “Requiem” plainsong, using melodic figures heard at the work’s very beginning. We have come full circle. That which follows is surely meant as music from another world. Now the choral sopranos intone “In paradisum” with the peaceful detachment known only to angels. Others join them. Much as it began, the movement ends with soft, unresolved chords that vanish into infinity.

Three performing versions exist: one with organ accompaniment, one with organ and chamber orchestra, and one with organ and a full orchestra. The organ is indispensable to any performance; Duruflé was a master organist who “registered” the orchestra in the same manner one might choose specific stops at the keyboard. Indeed, some of the instruments—especially the trumpets—sound rather like stops on the organ (which is not to say they sound wrong).

You can choose from many recordings of all three versions. I used the first-ever recording of the chamber-orchestra version, from conductor Matthew Best and the Corydon Singers (Hyperion CDA66191), which is quite good. Ann Murray was the mezzo-soprano soloist, and she does an outstanding job. In any recording, balances may be troublesome, partly because Duruflé emphasizes mid-bass sonorities via divisi violas and cellos and similar organ registration, and because in a typical recording venue, e.g., a large church interior, the choir may sing too gently to project over active instrumental figuration. Best and company manage this well. Their album also features an attractive filler, Duruflé’s Quatre Motets sur des Thèmes Gregoriens, which includes Ubi caritas, among the most beloved of all 20th-century choral works:

Recently I heard conductor Robin Ticciati’s large-orchestra reading with the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, Berlin Rundfunkchor, and soloist Magdalena Kožená (Linn CKD 623). It’s recommendable too; some people will prefer its unusual coupling with Debussy’s Nocturnes, since that provides an opportunity to compare Debussy’s language with Duruflé’s. Ticciati is alert to the nuance and drama in these scores, and his people deliver skilled, engaging performances.

Of organ-only accompaniments, my favorite remains that of organist Nancianne Parella, who had assisted fellow organist Marie-Madeleine Duruflé in 1971 performances of the Requiem when Madame Duruflé toured North America with her husband. Conductor Kent Tritle and the Choir of St. Ignatius Loyola shape a superbly expressive interpretation, to which soprano Kaaren Erickson contributed an exceptional “Pie Jesu.” I especially recommend this recording (MSR 1141) to those who prefer the sound of a full-throated American professional choir; really, it’s hard to beat.

In a thoroughly unscientific survey, I found over a dozen new recordings of Bach’s Cello Suites released just within the past 12 months. That’s a lot of unaccompanied cello! Not that I’m complaining. These are some of the greatest works created by humanity. And see it from the cellist’s perspective: Who wouldn’t want to record these masterpieces, even multiple times?

This has not always been the case, by the way. As with many of Bach’s works, the six solo suites were ignored after the composer’s death. But unlike some of his pieces, especially those championed by Mendelssohn and other Romantic-era Bach fans, the cello suites stayed buried for a long time. They were considered too difficult and academic by most cellists in the 19^th century, and by the early 20^th century they’d been entirely forgotten.

We have the great Pablo Casals to thank for their revival in the active repertoire. The story goes that Casals found a copy of the score in a thrift shop when he was only 13, and he determined right then and there to master them. By 1939, he had become the first person to record all six suites.

In 2019, on the other hand, there are more new recordings than can be covered here. So I’ll focus on a few that you might not find written about elsewhere.

One of those is on the label Animal Music, a recording of the first three suites by Jiří Bárta (not to be confused with the Czech animator of the same name). As you can hear in this Courante from Suite No. 1, Bárta belongs to the Russian school of cello technique, producing a multi-dimensional, at times craggy sound. And while there’s an appealing wildness in his playing, there’s also a stateliness to it. He clearly understands the Baroque background of these dance-based movements.

The Sarabande from Suite No. 2 has an appropriately contrasting style, with Bárta presenting the typically mournful movement type as a deep meditation. He separates the phrases by breaths, as if he’s talking himself through some of life’s weightier puzzles.

In quite a different interpretation of Suites 1-3, Italian early-music specialist Francesco Galligioni released a recording on the label Fra Bernardo. In his work as scholar and teacher, Galligioni has focused on Baroque bowing techniques. The results are obvious in this solo recording. (There are multiple scores extant from Bach’s time that conflicting slurs over the notes, so bowing and phrasing are a point of central concern for these pieces.)

In the Prelude to Suite No. 3, you’ll hear patterns of accents, like the bow biting the string, that bring out a new and interesting shape to a movement meant to sound somewhat meandering and thoughtful.

The smaller sound of a Baroque cello as compared to the modern version gives rhythmically strict movements like this Gigue from Suite No. 2 an intense intimacy. Unlike some early-music players, Galligioni never lets his commitment to authenticity diminish his expressiveness.

Just out in September 2019, Marko Ylönen’s recording of all six suites for Alba Music makes a favorable impression for different reasons. It was my first experience hearing this Finnish cellist. His touch is buoyant, more of the French than Russian style. His interpretation is – if I may use this word to describe cello-playing – humble. There’s something reverent and self-deprecating in his meticulous phrasing and tone production.

This approach could have gone overboard and sounded twee, but because the intention is so earnest and well-prepared, it’s difficult not to be moved. And his cello itself is extraordinarily resonant, an instrument made in the early 18^th century by Venetian master Mateo Goffriller. I hope I get a chance to hear it live someday.

Here’s the Prelude to the first suite.

That’s the only movement on Youtube so far, but you can hear the whole album on Spotify:

httpv://open.spotify.com/album/5tox2cUBKzaZGueTipJE2a

2019 brought out the usual array of performances of the Cello Suites on other instruments. (For those who are curious, there is some evidence that Bach did not intend these to be played on the cello we’re used to at all, but rather on a violoncello da spalla, “shoulder cello,” which is sort of like a bowed guitar – and looks as awkward as you might imagine.)

Nowadays, violin and viola are the most common replacement instruments. Using her own transcriptions, British musician Rachel Podger plays all six suites on violin in a new Channel Classics recording. The Baroque period is Podger’s specialty, so it’s no surprise that she sounds comfortable and confident in this repertoire.

This thoughtful interpretation of the Allemande from Suite No. 1 has clarity and purpose. Podger is also a conductor, which may help her to comprehend the larger-scale motions in Bach’s work as well as his “implied polyphony,” the fancy name for a single instrument jumping around to different ranges as if there were multiple instruments playing.

She takes a lot of liberties with this gigue, not keeping to a steady 6/8 time but allowing each sentence to stand on its own. On the other hand, her phrasing is deliberate, never random or stalled out. It almost works, even if I’d need some convincing that it’s genuinely Baroque.

The most intriguing but least successful non-cello endeavor is Rodrigo Serrão’s recording of Suite No. 1 (on Kbranca Music) performed on the Chapman stick. That’s a 12-string electronic guitar, invented by American jazz guitarist Emmett Chapman in the 1970s.

It’s a fascinating instrument, played by slapping the fingers onto the fret rather than plucking. I have no objection to the sound of the Chapman stick for rendering Bach, but I object strongly to Serrão’s formless melt-down of all rhythmic structure. Except for the opening Prelude, all of Bach’s suite movements are based on rhythmically strict courtly dances, so amorphous self-indulgence negates much of Bach’s craft and purpose.

There’s way too much schtick on that stick. Bach doesn’t need that kind of help.