(Dis)Arrangements 18: Miscellany

Grant Chu Covell

[March 2025.]

“Kammerkonzert: Music of Arnold Schoenberg.” Arnold SCHOENBERG: Piano Concerto, Op. 42 (1942; arr. H. Collins RICE, 2016)¹; Four Orchestral Songs, Op 22 (1913-16; arr. Felix GREISSLE, 1921)²; Song of the Wood Dove from Gurrelieder (1922; arr. SCHOENBERG, 1923)³; Chamber Symphony No. 1, Op. 9 (1906)⁴. Pina Napolitano^1,2,3 (pno), Christoph Filler² (bar), Ida Aldrian³ (m-sop), Wiener Concert-Verein^1,2,3,4, Michael Zlabinger^1,2,3,4 (cond.). Odradek ODRCD340 (1 CD) (www.odradek-records.com).

There was a time when in order to hear music, it had to be created real-time. Sometimes symphonies (Bruckner and Mahler, and Beethoven too) were offered in smaller forces. Centuries ago, listeners had a greater tolerance for hearing music arranged. Schoenberg was an active participant in this tradition: In 1918, he founded the Verein für musikalische Privataufführungen (Society for Private Musical Performances) to present new music to an interested community. Across the years 1919 and 1921, the Verein gave 117 concerts and presented 154 pieces. Programs were not announced in advance, applause was banned, and critics were discouraged.

This release normalizes three Schoenberg pieces, that is, a sprawling orchestra becomes smaller and more consistent. Hugh Collins Rice whittled down the Piano Concerto’s backing into a version for just fourteen players. Winds come to the fore. To my ear, nothing is lost. The best moment is the piano’s opening melody, lilting and inviting. A raucous coarseness pervades this Concerto, like newspapers spread out as picnic tablecloths.

The Second Viennese School were busy with songs, arias, cantatas, melodramas and operas. Yet beyond Wozzeck, A Survivor from Warsaw and perhaps Pierrot Lunaire, their vocal output may be less prominent. The rarely heard or recorded Op. 22 may leave a murky impression, the singer navigating one poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson (translated into German by Stefan George) and three by Rilke. The large orchestra for Op. 22’s four songs are compressed into flute, clarinet, violin, cello and piano. Where have we seen this combo before? This reduction could be programmed alongside Pierrot, although this voice is a baritone. Greissle’s format offers clarity and balance; the six clarinets in the first song are distilled into a solo, the overall energy is more focused.

Gurrelieder is also encountered infrequently. Schoenberg himself recast his oratorio’s top tune for a performance alongside Op. 9. Far less imposing than the original, this modest version retains the strange allure. The compactness leads to urgency, as if Schoenberg captured something just before it was forever extinguished. Perhaps it’s the twisting expressionistic harmonies that never quite settle. As with Op. 22, I find the singer plus small ensemble makes a more comprehensible package.

The First Chamber Symphony comes in “fourth” place and lands as a relief in this program. It is the most familiar piece here, but also the most unhurried and luxurious (the wood dove’s Song comes close, but its death message is gloomy and creepy). The Wiener Concert-Verein is the current iteration of the ensemble which performed the piece in 1913 at the so-called Skandalkonzert where insults and punches interrupted the music. No violence occurs here. Indeed, this is an exciting performance, and it is refreshing to hear Schoenberg’s original and intended thoughts.

“Metamorphoses.” Richard STRAUSS: Till Eulenspiegel lustige Streiche, Op. 28 (1894-95; arr. Franz HASENOEHRL, 1954 as Till Eulenspiegel, einmal anders!); Sextet from Capriccio, Op. 85 (1942); Serenade in E-flat major, Op. 7 (1882); Metamorphosen (1945; arr. Rudolf LEOPOLD, 1996). Le OFF. NoMadMusic NMN100 (1 CD) (www.nomadmusic.fr).

Here’s a refreshing way to listen to Strauss, from members of the Orchestre de Paris, calling themselves Le OFF. Strauss may have pushed the envelope at various moments, but now we look back and associate him with a tainted age’s desperate outpourings. The bucolic Serenade’s velvet harmonies appear quaint now, perhaps they were prime examples of traditionalism in Strauss’ day. Similarly, Capriccio’s intimate opening which launches with just six strings might have initially seemed intense and charming, but to me, heralds an old fashioned and tortuous climb.

Hasenoehrl’s pocket Till Eulenspiegel shakes off the dust and starts the blood flowing. The full orchestra is compressed to merely five (clarinet, bassoon, horn, violin and double bass), and the total duration shrinks from about 15 minutes to just under nine. Frankly, I didn’t miss anything. You might repeat this just to savor the mischief. Corresponding to opera’s score, the six strings carry Capriccio through the introduction, the rising curtain, and well into scene one.

In 1990, drafts for a different scoring of Metamorphosen were discovered in Switzerland. Written for two violons, two violas, two cellos and double bass, it appears Strauss worked at the septet and the version for 23 strings concurrently, the ultimate formation satisfying Paul Sacher’s commission. The more common, larger design may swell and thunder, but with the petite ensemble, the argument stings just as poignantly.

“The Complete John Cage Edition, Volume 54. The Works for Piano 11.” John CAGE: Swinging (1989); Cheap Imitation (1969); Perpetual Tango (1984); Cheap Imitation (1969; arr. Morton FELDMAN, 1980); All sides of the small stone for Erik Satie and (secretly given to Jim Tenney) as a koan (1978). Aki Takahashi (pno), Margaret Lancaster (fl, pic), David Shively (glockenspiel). mode records 327 (1 CD) (www.moderecords.com).

Though obfuscated, Satie is right here, at the center. Perhaps Cage appreciated the cult surrounding Satie, but more practically, Cage probably recognized Satie’s neutral melodies and sometimes awkward rhythms in his own early work. In 1969, Cunningham devised a dance to Cage’s two-piano arrangement of Satie’s Socrate (1917-18), but Satie’s publisher denied Cage’s legal use of the music. With Cunningham’s dance complete, Cage salvaged his music, erasing harmony and leaving a single line (not always the principal melody) which he then modally transposed and altered. Rhythms and phrases would be recognizable to the dancers despite new pitches. Thus Cheap Imitation is the unexpected result of a publisher’s authority (Cunningham called his dance Second Hand).

Such leanness and bluntly melodic material would have been astonishing in the late 1960s and early ‘70s. Like the Satie original, the work does wander. Takahashi maintains focus with what could prove tedious in lesser hands. For his trio arrangement, Feldman uses flute (alto flute and piccolo), glockenspiel and piano, the same combination for Why Patterns? (1978). Feldman’s instrumentation is unusual, but considering he had certain players in mind, quite understandable. Evidently something in the Satie-Cage connection clicked. Feldman’s transcription recalls the opening of Webern’s Bach Ricercar (1935), in that the melodic line’s single pitches are tossed from player to player. As the work progresses, players take on more sequential notes as if solos. Did Feldman tire of his initial pointillism?

Likewise, shapes and rhythms from Satie’s Sports et divertissements (1914) hide behind Cage’s short Swinging and Perpetual Tango. Perhaps they were both created for Cunningham’s use as dance music, although they don’t quite swing or resemble a traditional tango. This release’s lagniappe is All sides of the small stone for Erik Satie and (secretly given to Jim Tenney) as a koan which is attributed to Cage, and was found posthumously in Tenney’s papers. It’s hard not to hear it as an updated Gymnopédie.

“Beethoven for Three: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 5.” Ludwig van BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 36 (1801-02; arr. Ferdinand RIES, 1806); Symphony No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67 (1804-08; arr. Colin MATTHEWS, 2020). Leonidas Kavakos (vln), Yo-Yo Ma (vlc), Emanuel Ax (pno). Sony Classical 19439940142 (1 CD) (www.sonyclassical.com).

In this day and age, few listeners would expect to hear the great, esteemed Beethoven’s music in any format other than what the master originally intended. Symphonic recordings are plentiful and commonplace, and live performances are ever frequent. (Whereas for Schoenberg, another great but far less popular, we’ll take what we can get.) Liszt’s piano transcriptions of the symphonies are curiosities, occasionally heard (though Yury Martynov’s series on Alpha merits attention).

No. 2 lends itself to a piano trio somewhat readily, the bubbly scherzo particularly. The last two movements excite more than the first. Ries does not give the cello much to do, possibly reflecting the supporting nature of lower voices in that period. No. 5 takes getting used to. In any format, this symphony is something we do not actually hear because it has taken on such outsized reputation. In Matthews’ clothing, the opening just barely approaches a parody. Repeated listening lessens the awkwardness. Perhaps the scherzo makes slightly more sense now, and with three players the finale never grows excessively grandiose.

Sampling these trio rewrites puts us into the presence of three leading performers. Would we listen with the same admiration and eagerness if this weren’t Kavakos, Ma and Ax? If this were a less star-studded group we’d focus on this repertoire’s unusualness. But these performers add gravitas and validity to the project. Are we running out of piano trios? Are the seven plus that Beethoven wrote not enough? By my count, this group has recorded Nos. 2 and 5, No. 4 (arr. by Shai Wosner) with the Archduke, and No. 6 (arr. Wosner) with Op. 1, No. 3 (Nos. 5 and 6 have been bundled together). This represents four-ninths worth of symphonies and two-sevenths of trios. Perhaps they have a commissioning project going: The trio has apparently played Wosner’s No. 1 arrangement. I admit I am quite taken with Martynov’s Liszt solo-piano No. 9 and would be curious to hear how the “Choral” could be modified for three.