Meh...part 2

After a couple fantastic string quartet recordings and a terrific orchestral concert from JoAnn Falletta, I’m back to a string of “meh” releases. It’s kind of like Netflix - a lot of new stuff which seems interesting at first, but ends up not being terribly engaging. So here’s a second roundup of some things I’ve been listening to.
 
Calidore String Quartet completes their Beethoven Quartets cycle with Volume Three, which is really volume one - it’s the early Opus 18 Quartets. I’m baffled why Signum Classics released these sets in reverse order, but whatever. At least the quartets themselves are laid out in numerical order. (And that can’t be taken for granted.) It must be noted, though, that their complete cycle is spread out over 9 CDs, where most are 7, sometimes 8. So there is a cost penalty with acquiring this set as well.
 
I found their previous set of the Middle Quartets mostly good - not up to the exalted standards of the very best, but pleasing and with mostly good recorded sound. I was hoping the early quartets would be even better, but right out of the gate, I knew they weren’t going to be. From the very first measures of the opening movement of #1, I hear just a bit of fussiness from the first violin trying to make something just a little bit “special” out of those opening phrases. (Beethoven’s writing is sheer perfection in its simplicity and doesn’t need help.) And as they settled into it and just played from the heart (and with natural instinct), a bit of routine sets in, which persists all through the set. It's almost as if they're trying to relate these early Quartets to the later ones rather than to Mozart and Haydn. Their playing is musical and warm, but somewhat relaxed and lacking the last bit of youthful invigoration - a dynamic, rhythmic precision and incisive articulation which would have gone a long way toward bringing them to life with real distinction. Ultimately, what I really miss in their playing is personality. (Just listen to the Dover Quartet play these to hear exactly what I mean.)
 
Though (mostly) well played and (mostly) well recorded, this set is a nonstarter which does not begin to displace the very best recordings of these glorious works. Perhaps now I can understand why they saved this one for last - for there really is no reason to acquire this, unless, like me, you just wanted to complete the set.
 
A really attractive purple cover caught my attention and enticed me to buy what turned out to be a real snoozer - Verdi’s “Complete Ballet Music” on BR Classics, conducted by a name new to me: Ivan Repusic. Repusic conducts a lot of opera, which should make him good at this, and the Munich Radio Orchestra must like him, because his contract extends through 2026 (which began in 2017). And he looks fairly young, so I was expecting some youthful zest from him. But (sigh) I was annoyed to hear this recording merely exemplifies today’s all-too-common orchestral standards - efficient, refined, homogenous, totally anonymous orchestral playing. This ballet music needs verve and panache to come to life, which it doesn’t get here. Though proficiently played, the musicmaking lacks energy and charisma. I can’t imagine a conductor being content with making Verdi sound so anemic. But here it is. The plush recorded sound is warm and pleasing, but lacks sparkle (even the piccolo sounds subdued), and thus matches these readings appropriately. 

For a much more involving, dynamic and thoroughly energized recording of all this music, one need look no further than the splendid, early 1970s set played by the Monte-Carlo Opera Orchestra (supplemented by the LSO), conducted by Silvio Varviso, on an expertly remastered 1994 Philips DUO. Along with his companion recordings of ballet music by Donizetti and Rossini, Varviso was second to none in this repertoire. 
 
Speaking of efficient, de Falla’s The Three Cornered Hat makes an appearance in a new recording from SOMM of the complete ballet conducted by Jac Van Steen. The Ulster Orchestra is excellent and the music exhibits a decent amount of characterization (which is all but guaranteed given the irresistible, enchanting score), but it lacks a certain flair and elan to make it distinguished. The mezzo-soprano is really good though - and so is Nights in the Gardens of Spain, where Van Steen seems energized when joined by pianist Clelia Iruzun. I find this curious, given the piece is intrinsically rather laid back and dreamy. But this reading has all the life and forward momentum the ballet conspicuously lacks. It really is an excellent performance, complemented by vivid, colorful recorded sound. 
 
A few months ago, a CD arrived unannounced in my mailbox. I didn’t order it; I wasn’t interested in it; and no one had notified me they were sending a review copy (which I rarely solicit or accept in any event). But an Orchid Classics title mysteriously appeared - Dvorak’s Cello Concerto, coupled with the ubiquitous Tchaikovsky Rococo Variations (yawn), played by John-Henry Crawford and the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra conducted by Martin West.
 
Well OK. I was mildly intrigued. I don’t mind the concerto (although it’s so overplayed and over-recorded, I really have to be in the mood to bring myself to listen to it), and I usually like the Orchid Classics label. So one day I decided to give it a try. Well, it didn’t take long before I began to question why this recording was made. I had skipped the Tchaikovsky (which comes first on the CD) and went straight to the concerto. And right from the beginning, that very long orchestral exposition gives plenty of opportunity to fully assess this orchestra’s abilities (and try to justify why a ballet orchestra would be employed for a concerto recording). First, it sounds small-ish (to be expected, being a pit orchestra) and just a bit rough around the edges. Second, the recorded sound isn’t natural, or even flattering. It sounds like there are lots of microphones placed very close to individual players, presenting the orchestra in a flat, airless, 2-dimensional plane, and ruthlessly exposing a slight lack of refinement in their ensemble and blend. (This was recorded in a Skywalker Sound studio rather than a real hall. And it sounds like it.)

But all that might be overlooked until the initial cello entrance comes thundering in with the cello ridiculously spotlit by the microphones. The orchestra was already too close, but the cello sounds practically in your lap! And the soloist makes no differentiation between the first phrase of his opening theme, marked forte, and the second phrase of it, marked fortissimo. They're both just loud. And soon thereafter, the playing doesn't sound quite settled. Those first sets of 16th-note flourishes sound a bit rushed and insecure in articulation. So I’m put off before it hardly begins. And as it goes on, as soloist and conductor get a bit more comfortable with one another, a sense of routine sets in and the entire affair lacks something in spontaneity and sophistication. This sounds decidedly studio-bound, with little sense of a live performance. There has to be something special in a recording of this piece for me to enjoy it, and I just couldn’t take much of this one and turned it off. (The Tchaikovsky might well be better, as it is less reliant on the orchestral contribution, but I didn't try it.)

I'd love to hear Crawford in a more natural, realistic setting. He sounds big and bold here, but I can imagine he plays with more finesse in real life. So the real question is - why would this promising young cellist get hooked up with this conductor and a ballet orchestra to record a concerto in an ill-suited film studio with inept engineering? I can’t imagine why Orchid Classics would record this.