DA VINCI PUBLISHINGMendelssohn and Mendelssohnians I

Additional information

Artist(s)	Christopher Howell
Composer(s)	Carl Reinecke, Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy
EAN Code	7.46160918273
Edition	Da Vinci Classics
Format	1 Cd
Genre	Instrumental
Instrumentation	Piano
Period	Romantic
Publication year	2025

Description

This series aims to present four composers generally associated with the Mendelssohnian world, bookending each of them with two sets of Mendelssohn’s own Lieder ohne Worte. Paradoxically, the result may show how little they adopted either the master’s tone or his methods.

Carl Reinecke studied with Mendelssohn from 1843, as well as with Schumann and Liszt, though he was less drawn to the latter. For thirty-five years (1860-1895), he was conductor of Mendelssohn’s former stronghold, the Leipzig Gewandhaus. This was considerably after Mendelssohn’s time, but Reinecke was notoriously a conservative. The earlier of the two works recorded here, the Fantasie in Form einer Sonate op. 15, was published the year after Mendelssohn’s death. Yet, whatever else it may be, a Mendelssohn clone it is not.

The first thing to strike us is the boldness – or foolhardiness – of the young composer in dominating his first movement with a motto theme that seems a timid echo, upside down and with chords added, of the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. The second impression is that the model, or at least the opening gambit, derives from Schubert’s final B flat sonata. Reinecke makes the same use of thematic cells separated by pregnant pauses. The music then bursts into impetuous movement, only to be interrupted by the motto theme. The repeated chords of the second subject are also Schubertian. It will have become evident by now, however, that Reinecke’s method bears no resemblance to that of Schubert, let alone Mendelssohn or Schumann, since he is relying, not on extended melodies or thematic development, but on brief, often highly memorable, melodic cells that are then juggled and shuffled to create a sort of mosaic. True to this idea, in place of the development section of the traditional sonata form, he writes a completely new theme, offering the first sustained paragraph heard so far. This extremely fine page is one of the moments where we can forgive Reinecke all his oddities. After a shortened recapitulation of the first section, the composer then brings back this “third” subject, with the triplets of the motto theme accompanying it. The chordal second subject, combined with further reminiscences of the third, is reserved for a coda.

If the first movement may arouse sympathy and perplexity in equal measure, the second must surely arouse no doubts. The pianist who regrets that Bruckner wrote no piano music might find solace in this gravely passionate movement. Here, at last, Reinecke gives us long, sustained paragraphs. After reminiscences of the triplet motto theme, the second subject is no less memorable than the first. Towards the end, the two are combined in a passage of exceptional beauty.

After two extended movements, Reinecke now contradicts our expectations by writing two extremely short ones. His Mazurka sounds as little like Chopin as a Mazurka can. Rather, if Mendelssohn had ever written a Mazurka, perhaps it would have sounded something like this.

The opening idea of the finale sounds like pure Schumann – replete with the Clara theme. This leads to a rising chromatic motif, suggestive of Liszt or even Berlioz, especially when Reinecke confronts it with its descending inversion in the development – though any attempts to brew up a Witches’ Sabbath quickly give way to a more lyrical continuation. The work ends with a delicate reminiscence of the Schumann theme.

In this Fantasie, Reinecke seems almost deliberately to invite ridicule. I can only say that the necessary time spent in its company to perform it from memory in the studio convinced me that the composer’s underlying sincerity makes it add up into a curiously personal statement, with a moving slow movement at its core.

Those unconvinced should find plenty to enjoy in the rather later (1878) Ländler op.152. While the title may lead us to expect a nostalgic look at Schubert, the effect, with its delicate waltz-inflections, looks ahead to Léhar. The seven pieces follow without a break, leading to a coda based on reminiscences of nos. 1, 5, 3 and 4. The second part of no. 4 recalls, whether consciously or not, the chromatic theme from the finale of the Fantasie. In the middle of the doleful no. 5, the pianist seemingly forgets he is accompanying dancers and embarks on a close cousin of Schubert’s E flat Impromptu. The quirky no. 6 is an inverted canon that might have amused Webern, while the second page of no. 7 has an augmented canon that, far from sounding academic, suggests a rapturous duet between soprano and tenor. A minor work, doubtless, but a very attractive one.

The sheer ubiquity of Mendelssohn’s Lieder ohne Worte – in the drawing room when amateur music making was common and in teaching syllabuses to this day – has tended to give the impression that they are in some way inferior products. By taking them for granted, we risk losing sight of Mendelssohn’s originality in creating pieces that sound vocal yet are not – you could not really sing many of them – and a piano idiom that is distinct from that of his contemporaries, even Schumann, with whom he had the greatest affinity. Or of his uncanny ability to suggest picturesque ideas and moods that cannot quite be pinned down. He did give a few of the pieces titles – mainly limiting himself to those that could be guessed at anyway, such as the three “Gondola Songs”. Victorian admirers rushed to fill the gaps and older editions may still be found with titles that risk being reductive – if “Fleecy Clouds” evokes that at all, does it evoke only that (Mendelssohn marked it to be played Sehr innig)? If a piece suggests “Consolation” or “Resignation” or “Hope” to one person, might it not suggest something quite different to another? Best, then, to set aside such images, or at least keep them for oneself, and enjoy the range of mood and invention on offer.

Mendelssohn’s combination of romanticism and classicism presents the pianist with a particular challenge. His melodies in themselves seem to call for a freely expressive rubato style, but they are more often than not accompanied by figures that require the steadiness of an Alberti bass. To remain with the pieces on this disc, the constant semi-quaver movement in op. 19 no. 1 has a hypnotic quality all of its own depending upon its Bach-like constancy. Likewise the triplet movement of op. 30 no. 1. Nor can the gondolier expect the waves of the lagoon to adapt themselves to the rubato of his songs. On the other hand, it would be unthinkable to straight-jacket these highly vocal melodies to a metronomic accompaniment. The performer must seek to make his speedings, his slowings and his hesitations sufficiently smoothly as to give space to the melody without interrupting the flow.

The idea has got about that Mendelssohn’s world is an essentially comfortable one, and some performers have preferred to smooth out his often abrupt and disturbing dynamic markings to fit this view. He can on occasion be emotionally disquieting. If the Victorians liked to call op. 19 no. 1 “Remembrance” – and its passions are expressed with a veneer of serenity – they might have called op. 19 no. 2 “Unforgotten”. Its spare textures and harsh unrest find no solution, but rather disappear into a black hole at the end. Op. 30 no. 4 hurtles to its minor key dénouement though op. 30 no. 2, as obsessive as anything by Rachmaninov for most of its length, bursts into the major key at the end. Op. 19 no. 5 is marked Poco agitato in most editions, though some have Piano agitato. The 1915 Schirmer edition “corrected” this to Presto agitato, which is how it is usually played, though the quaver undercurrent registers better at a less than breakneck tempo.

Two numbers in these two sets come closer to the pictorial genre piece. Op. 19 no. 3 is generally known as “Hunting Song” and this seems plausible, though ecologists may prefer to hear it is an abstract burst of exuberance. “The Rivulet” has stuck as a title for op. 30 no. 5, but would not “The Bumble-Bee” do equally well?

One Mendelssohnian-type has proved uncomfortable in the 20th and 21st century – the chorale-like piece enclosed by a rippling introduction and coda. A bowdlerized version of op. 30 no. 3 is actually sung as a hymn in some churches. One of the greatest 20th century pianists performed op. 19 otherwise complete, but omitting no. 4. These pieces reveal their depths if treated as personal meditations, free of religious trappings.

Artist(s)

Christopher Howell: He was born in London. After picking up a few rudiments from his grandfather, a piano tuner whose father had published a couple of marches in his youth, he had his first piano lessons from the resident teacher of the Caldecott Community, Betty Rayment. He conducted a composition of his own at the age of 14 and gave his first piano recital before leaving school. He also played the organ in the school chapel and has maintained an interest in the organ. Subsequent teachers included two professors of the Royal Academy of Music, Alexander Kelly and Else Cross. He obtained the L.R.A.M. and a B.Mus. with honours at Edinburgh University, where he studied piano with Colin Kingsley and composition with Kenneth Leighton and Edward Harper. In this period he appeared as soloist and chamber musician and formed and directed a small choir. He won a scholarship to complete his piano studies in Milan with Ilonka Deckers-Küszler and gave recitals in Italy and the UK. He has also appeared in Germany (Munich) and France (Nice). In 1993 he recorded a CD of piano music by Cyril Scott. He later recorded a CD of music by Harold Craxton and, with the cellist Alison Moncrieff Kelly, the cello sonatas of C.V. Stanford on Meridian. His compositions have been performed in Milan, Magenta, Turin and Munich. In 2009, at the Spazio Tadini, he collaborated in a homage to Gianandrea Gavazzeni, in which works for voice and piano by the maestro were interpreted by Denia Mazzola Gavazzeni.
Christopher Howell has recorded extensively for Sheva Collection including, with the leading Italian violinist Alberto Bologni, the complete music for violin and piano by C.V. Stanford. His recording of the complete works for solo piano by Stanford, in three double-CD volumes, has been widely acclaimed. His recording of the complete works for solo piano by Mackenzie, on three single-CD albums, has recently been issued, as has a CD containing five sonatas by Haydn.

Composer(s)

Carl Reinecke: (b Altona, 23 June 1824; d Leipzig, 10 March 1910). German composer, teacher, administrator, pianist and conductor. He was given a thorough musical education by his father, J.P. Rudolf Reinecke (b Hamburg, 22 Nov 1795; d Segeberg, 14 Aug 1883), a respected music theoretician and author of several textbooks. From 1845 Reinecke travelled through Europe, from Danzig to Riga; in Copenhagen he was appointed court pianist in 1846, where his duties included accompanying the violinist H.W. Ernst as well as giving solo recitals. He was given a particularly friendly reception in Leipzig by Mendelssohn and the Schumanns, and Liszt, whose daughter was later taught by Reinecke in Paris, spoke of his ‘beautiful, gentle, legato and lyrical touch’. In 1851 he moved to Cologne, where he taught counterpoint and the piano at Hiller’s conservatory. He also gave concerts with Hiller, who recommended him to Barmen. There as musical director and the conductor of several musical societies between 1854 and 1859, he significantly raised the standard of the town’s musical life. He then spent ten months in Breslau as director of music at the university and conductor of the Singakademie.
By 1860 his growing reputation brought him an appointment to teach at the Leipzig Conservatory, where he became the director in 1897. By selecting capable teachers who shared his conservative views and by improving the facilities and the syllabus, Reinecke transformed the conservatory into one of the most renowned in Europe. Grieg, Kretzschmar, Kwast, Muck, Riemann, Sinding, Svendsen, Sullivan and Weingartner were all pupils there; and to this distinguished list could be added many other names of equal repute, showing how exaggerated was the reproach, made particularly in north Germany, that Leipzig was a hotbed of reaction (although this criticism had some justification after 1880). But it cannot be denied that Reinecke considered it his responsibility as director to perpetuate the example of the Classical composers; he was very conscious of his position as a representative and guardian of tradition, and also made it his business to foster the music of the pre-Classical composers, particularly Bach, even exploring as far back as Palestrina. He was a sympathetic teacher who firmly believed in the necessity of a thorough grounding. In Leipzig, he was also the conductor of the Gewandhaus Orchestra until 1895 (when Nikisch succeeded him); a stern disciplinarian, he achieved a high standard of virtuosity from his players by his insistence on clarity of execution. Reinecke became a member of the Berlin Academy in 1875, received the honorary doctorate in 1884 and became a professor in 1885. He retired in 1902, though his creative work continued until the end of his life.
As a composer Reinecke was best known for his numerous piano compositions, representing virtually every musical form of the time and, despite being influenced by Mendelssohn’s melodic style, was stylistically nearer to Schumann. The exercises for young pianists and the piano sonatinas have become classics because of their charming melodies, as have the canons and nursery rhymes which are highly inventive and totally free from bourgeois sentimentality. Reinecke was a master of the so-called ‘Hausmusik’ and of the simpler forms popular at the time. His chamber music is distinguished and, in the later works in particular, attains a Brahmsian majesty and warmth within a variety of forms. His sonata for flute and piano, Undine, is his most frequently performed work. His most successful concertos are those for flute and for harp, and the first and third for piano, which well display his pleasant melodic sense and his admirable ear for orchestration; the piano concertos avoid grand soloistic mannerisms, and his own style of playing, with hands still and fingers curved, reflected his belief in classical practice. Of his three symphonies, the first employs small forces, while the second is a cyclically organized work on a grand scale. His operas, despite their Wagnerian trappings, were not successful; his better-known musical fairy tales, based in part on his own texts (written under the name Heinrich Carsten), were composed in a tasteful folk-style. Gifted in many fields, he was also a talented painter and poet. His lucidly written books and essays contain many observations still of interest.

(b Hamburg, 3 Feb 1809; d Leipzig, 4 Nov 1847). German composer. One of the most gifted and versatile prodigies, Mendelssohn stood at the forefront of German music during the 1830s and 40s, as conductor, pianist, organist and, above all, composer. His musical style, fully developed before he was 20, drew upon a variety of influences, including the complex chromatic counterpoint of Bach, the formal clarity and gracefulness of Mozart and the dramatic power of Beethoven and Weber.

Mendelssohn’s emergence into the first rank of 19th-century German composers coincided with efforts by music historiographers to develop the concept of a Classic–Romantic dialectic in 18th and 19th-century music. To a large degree, his music reflects a fundamental tension between Classicism and Romanticism in the generation of German composers after Beethoven.