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Fanfare V.8 - V.2 Nos. 22-25-26 - Same Violinist and Orchestra VIOTTI Concertos, Vol. 8 • Franco Mezzena (vn, cond); Symphonia Perusina • DYNAMIC CDS 364 (72:44) Concertos: No. 25 in A; No. 26 in B♭; No. 10 in B♭

Unbelievable as it may seem, Viotti's influence as a performer waned even during his lifetime. There can be no doubt about his contribution to violin-playing; but John Huber's dissertation on the development of the violin at the turn of the 19th century reveals how difficult a time Viotti had of it (according to him, Viotti was himself very much a figure of his own time and pointed toward, rather than exemplifying, modern violin-playing). Although the hold of his compositions on students relaxed more slowly, today the parts to his concertos have become difficult to find (although the 22nd and 23rd remain in print). Now in its eighth volume, Dynamic's survey of Viotti's violin concertos is almost complete. It's building to an imposing climax, however, with some of the best coming at the end of the series. Danilo Prefumo's notes relate that 10 of the 29 concertos are in a minor key; so, then, should be roughly one concerto on every recording. Volume 8 appears on the surface of it to be an exception, but the 25th Concerto could as justifiably be identified as minor despite its major designation. (The notes state that the last movement is major; but its minor theme, which, perhaps inspiring that of Paganini's Second Concerto, dances to the accompaniment of a triangle—actually, it's the first movement proper, which really is in A Major, that must have earned the Concerto's key designation.) Except for its slow introduction, individual sections of that 25th Concerto might be mapped into the 22nd, which, despite Brahms's affection, hardly seems superior, if even equal, to it. In general, few shadows darken Viotti's concertos; minors frolic in as bright a sun as do majors. Some concertos, such as No. 26 in B♭ Major, may be more austere than others (although some cleverly piquant figuration enlivens its finale); but none is somber. The 10th Concerto, a more straightforward affair, nevertheless features Viotti's characteristic exuberant passagework. Nobody has ever projected the violin's tone more elegantly against an orchestral backdrop; eminent successors that owe their style of passagework to Viotti's include Beethoven (sublimed, of course) and Paganini (tweaked in an entirely different way). Once again in the eighth volume, Franco Mezzena proves a paradigmatic re- creator of Viotti. In fact, his cadenzas demonstrate just how fully he has assimilated the composer's lyrical and technical manners (the latter with an occasional added twist). His cantilena glows warmly; his passages, like old Fezziwig's legs in the dance, positively wink; and his elegant way with Viotti's melodies smiles ingratiatingly. The Symphonia Perusina, numbering only 27 even with the triangle, conveys the richness of Viotti's symphonic conceptions; and Dynamic's recorded sound, revealingly clear, focuses just enough on the soloist to show who's boss. One of the most appealing volumes in the series, the eighth deserves an even more enthusiastic endorsement—largely due to Mezzena's way with the striking 25th Concerto—than even the sixth and seventh volumes, both of which came "strongly recommended." Robert Maxham

This article originally appeared in Issue 24:6 (July/Aug 2001) of Fanfare Magazine.

VIOTTI Violin Concertos, Vol. 6 • Franco Mezzena (vn, cond); Symphonia Perusina • DYNAMIC CDS 238 (64:50) Concertos: No. 23 in G; No. 5 in C; No. 6 in E

Viotti's concertos, complementing his own distinctive, joyfully singing passagework with the full resources of Haydn's symphonic orchestration, represented an epoch-making synthesis that rivals (dwarfs?) even Corelli's and Paganini 's in its influence on modern violin playing and the development of the solo . Unfortunately, only his 22nd Concerto has survived—and that, hanging by its fingernails—on the concert stage. And the 23rd, although still in print, has served principally in the classroom to consolidate musically the fundamental technique acquired from Kreutzer 's studies (Itzhak Perlman once confessed that he chose it for his audition at Juilliard because it was safer than the 22nd). Students who feel they've suffered inordinately in the 23rd Concerto's first movement solo may be surprised to hear how gracefully it intertwines with smaller groups within the orchestra, and what impressive staging the full-scale tuttis provide. Of course, all these lyric and dramatic effects lose their force if the soloist plays academically. Lola Bobesco's account of the 22nd and 23rd Concertos (Talent DOM 29013) sounded as unconvincing as the line "Viotti is good for you" dutifully written 100 times on a chalkboard; and in Fanfare 22:1,1 noted that, despite the advantages of its spright-lier tempos and warmer geniality, Mauro Ranieri's small-toned performance on Naxos 8.553861 ultimately lacked individuality. Even the notorious 23rd deserves better (there's some reason why, in its own time, the work was rearranged both as a flute concerto and as a concerto), and Franco Mezzena seems to be just the violinist to raise it to its proper level. Mezzena wrote his own cadenzas for Dynamic's sixth volume of Viotti 's concertos, and his exuberant commitment glows even through some (very) slightly uneven passagework in the 23rd Concerto's opening movement (he takes advantage of many opportunities, especially in repeated figures, to play "off the string"). The 23rd Concerto itself sounds both dramatic and unforced at those tempos, though (all the movements are faster than Ranieri takes them, the first reaching about MM = 145 in its passagework), and its slow movement sings convincingly. Mezzena is also responsive to the Fifth Concerto's charms, especially in a slow movement as piquant as any of Leclair's and a virtuosic finale, as well as to those of the more sedate but nonetheless demanding Sixth Concerto. His 1996 copy by Giovanni Osvaldo Fiori of a 1721 Stradivari (his own?) sounds commanding and brilliant in the upper registers, in which the finales of the Fifth and Sixth Concertos revel, and Dynamic's engineers have caught violin and violinist close up under the kind of spotlight that generations of students must have dreamed of as they struggled with the 23rd Concerto's passagework. The Symphonia Perusina generates plenty of excitement in these works, all of which explore the blander major keys (Viotti's minor keys sounded as cheerful as, although more nuanced than, his major ones). And, in the 23rd Concerto, they add wind highlights to the body of string sound bright enough to illuminate at last Viotti 's especially keen ear for instrumental combinations. No student who has played a measure of Viotti can ignore Mezzena's recreations of his barnstorming style, nor can general listeners fail to respond to the kind of breadth and energy the composer himself must have brought to these works. Compulsory for violinists and strongly recommended to everyone else. Robert Maxham

This article originally appeared in Issue 23:2 (Nov/Dec 1999) of Fanfare Magazine.

Fanfare Review: Rainer Dussmaul Nos. 19 & 22 VIOTTI Concertos for Violin and Orchestra: No. 19 in G Minor; No. 22 in A Minor. • Rainer Kussmaul, violin; Johannes Goritzki, conductor; Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss. • cpo 999 324-2 [DDD]; 60:48. Produced by Burkhard Schmilgun. (Distributed by Naxos.)

Giovanni Battista Viotti (1755-1824) was one of the most admired violinists of his time, an important teacher, and a highly influential developer of the concerto form. Viotti wrote to please, and the discriminating audiences he pleased were, in both Paris's Concert Sprituel and the Salomon Concerts in London, quite literally the very audiences that so admired Haydn's symphonies. Although as a composer Viotti was largely silent by the time of Beethoven, his influence can be heard in the disparate styles of Beethoven, Weber, Rossini, Paganini, and Spohr; Viotti's concertos (there are twenty-nine for violin) combine certain clichés of the Classical era with more than slight foretastes of early Romanticism, with their robust orchestration (in No. 19 he adds clarinets and flutes to oboes and horns, and No. 22 uses timpani most sensitively), overture-like opening tuttis that stomp around in the Weber/Paganini manner, loosened form (Brahms admired Viotti's simu- lation of improvisation), and Bellini-like slow movements. Viotti's concertos call for dexterity and elegance rather than brute power or the devilish virtuosity of Paganini, and his artistic preferences proved lastingly influential on the French violin school. The Viotti concerto that is best known is No. 22, one of his London concertos from 1794-95 (lavishly praised by Brahms; recorded by Stern, Grumiaux, Menuhin, and others); it and No. 23 are commonly used as teaching pieces today. Concerto No. 16 is sometimes performed because Mozart touched up the orchestration with trumpets and drums. Concerto No. 19 is a Paris concerto, so it dates around 1782. The opening two movements are perhaps something like what Mozart or Haydn could have written, had they chosen to write half-hour violin concertos in the 1780s, but in the quirky and almost “military“ third movement we suddenly get a whiff of Grétry or Donizetti and the early nineteenth century. Kussmaul masters this tricky and often charming writing with fine technical control, a light touch, and an attractively rich tone, and thus is preferable to the Dynamic recording by Franco Mezzena (Fanfare 16:3) where in spite of the soloist's warm Italian sound both soloist and orchestra betray a lack of familiarity. On the other hand, a reason for lack of preparedness (and the collector's dilemma) is that Mezzena added first recordings of Viotti's Concertos Nos. 1 and 2. Kussmaul's version of the Concerto No. 22 captures both the bel canto and vivacious (there is even a tarantella in the finale) elements very nicely, although I still long for a reissue of the nonpareil Grumiaux recording (I assume the energetic Stern performance will be reissued soon by Sony). The only other Concerto No. 22 that I have on CD is from Lola Bobesco on Talent (Fanfare 18:1); most violin fans will prefer cpo's CD for its smoother and more pleasing sound, and because Kussmaul is a cleaner player. On the other hand (that damn collector's dilemma again!) Bobesco is no slouch and she added the Concerto No. 23, which nearly anybody who has studied the violin will want. On its own terms, this release is a first-class introduction to Viotti's music and is recommended. Dare we ask for more Viotti from this source? David K. Nelson

This article originally appeared in Issue 20:1 (Sept/Oct 1996) of Fanfare Magazine. VIOTTI Flute Quartets, op. 22: No. 1 in B♭; No. 2 in c; No. 3 in E♭ • Viotti Qrt • BRILLIANT 95645 (52:10)

The Classical period, as well as the Baroque, was awash with virtuoso violinists, a fair number of whom achieved significant reputations as soloists. Thanks to the 17th-century Italian violin school (and makers, of course), the instrument became the most prominent feature in concertos, and even in the 19th century its only rival was the heavily upgraded pianoforte. It was not only the solo repertoire that evolved during this time, but parallels in the world of , in particular the quartet, abounded. This brings us to one of the arguably most adept of the violinist-composers of the late 18th century, . Born a year before Mozart, he passed away in 1825, only two years before the death of Beethoven, and thus his long life (for the time) saw much of the development in the range and depth of music for the violin. As Mozart was to the fortepiano concerto, so Viotti was to the violin concerto, each writing over two dozen works for these instruments. Moreover, if one explores the chamber music, Viotti was also quite prolific in his string quartets, calling some of them quatour concertante, or with a prominent and often extremely challenging first violin part. But he was more versatile than this, and here Brilliant Classics expands its 2019 set of four discs of the complete quartets with his op. 22 Flute Quartets. These three works were part of a set of pieces created for his friend Philip Cipriani in London, who happened to be a decent flutist. When they were published, however, he also hedged his bets by making the violin as an alternative to the flute. In any case, their publication about 1806 makes them contemporary with his late concertos, which means that special attention is focused on instrumental display. The format of these quartets is rather unconventional. The first two have the common three movements of the Italians, though they vary in terms of content. The first is the most conventional, with a sprawling first movement, including a slow introduction, and shorter, less intricate succeeding ones. The second, a moody C-Minor piece, has no slow movement, but rather a minuet in the second position, and an operatic finale. The third quartet has only two movements, the second of which is a moody work entitled “Il pastorella.” Compared with the normal sorts of chamber pieces, these works are eclectic, even perhaps more dramatic than one might suppose. In the first quartet, the opening is quite genteel, though the second statement of the introduction has a bit of minor mode, lending it a somber mood, before a more lyrical theme emerges. The remainder of the movement is quite French in substance, with sections of contrasting virtuosity and lyricism. The second movement is a soft and liquid lament, where the solo line literally floats gracefully above the strings. There is a bit of the folksong in the finale, with an easy tune that trips lightly about. The second quartet, however, is more somber, with a line that meanders with a darker mood before the dotted rhythms cautiously intrude, and the main section in relative major is brighter and more cheerful, though the flute does not have much in the way of virtuoso acrobatics. The minuet has a spare beginning, with a quick motive before the main section, which is more waltz than minuet. The finale is agitated and stark in comparison. The short final quartet seems to be harmonically more advanced, though when the flute plays it is almost as if it is the non-vocal aria one finds in opera of the time. If one will excuse the non-sequitur, it is Mozart meets Beethoven, though not precisely like either in texture, harmony, and lightness of mood. The Pastorella is a rollicking 6/8 that begins after a harmonically complex introduction that seems far more modern than the beginning of the 19th century. There is even a hint of a Scozzese in the rhythmic and melodic structures. These quartets are striking, some in terms of their progressive nature, and others where the Classical period forms and style are taken to what can be seen as a logical conclusion. Given the individuality of these quartets, it would not be surprising that someone such as Beethoven would have seen them as good progressive models (though there is no evidence that he even knew them). As for the original English musicians for whom they were probably written, they must have been on their toes to have managed both the musical challenges and the appropriate moods evident therein. They are wonderful examples of how the Romantic period began to develop at the turn of the 19th century. As for the performance, the Viotti Quartet does a splendid job. Their style is finely phrased and well-paced. The intonation is excellent, and especially flutist Stefano Parrino makes easy work of the flute part, which while not especially virtuoso, still requires considerable flexibility in tone and detail. This is an excellent disc, and one that should be in a collection to see what Beethoven’s models sounded like. Highly recommended. Bertil van Boer

This article originally appeared in Issue 44:3 (Jan/Feb 2021) of Fanfare Magazine.

VIOTTI Violin Sonatas, op. 4 • Felix Ayo (vn); Corrado de Bernart (pn) • DYNAMIC S 2002 (55:26)

What more likely candidate for revival by Dynamic than Giovanni Battista Viotti (1755-1824), even though no centennial is imminent? A violinist's violinist and profoundly influential as the father of modern violin playing, Viotti enshrined his technical and stylistic individuality in compositions that bear the unmistakable imprint of his strong personality—one or two measures are all that are needed to establish his musical identity. Viotti's concertos may be enjoying a sort of revival, but his sonatas remain little known. Even Abram Loft, in his two-volume survey of the violin and keyboard duo repertoire mentioned them only in passing, referring to an encounter with an edition from 1800 of six sonatas of op. 2. What he said of those sonatas is true in fact, if not in spirit, of the first four of the six sonatas from op. 4, included by Felix Ayo and Corrado de Bernart in this first volume of a projected set of the complete Viotti sonatas. They're "violinist's pieces," to be sure. But his suggestions that they are more notable for length than for musical significance and that they will appeal mostly to those who care for a good violin part seem more like judgments of a researcher than of one who has played or listened to them (unless the sonatas of op. 2 he examined are very different from those of op. 4). The excellent but brief notes by Danilo Prefumo tell it all: the sonatas, conceived for violin and continuo (but presented by Ayo and de Bernart in a most natural- sounding instrumentation of violin and piano), are impressively virtuosic and concertolike. Paul Stoeving remarked how perfectly suited the passages in Viotti's concertos were to the violin's expressive capabilities, and the corresponding passages of the sonatas feature the same sweetly brilliant détaché, repeated trills, and soaring cantabile that stamp the composer's signature upon the concertos. The violin is, to be sure, soloist rather than partner, but that need be no musical stigma—in an era not so long past, violinists performed concertos with piano accompaniment on recital programs; and Heifetz even tried to commission a concerto for violin and piano. The sonatas are all in three movements, with some degree of motivic similarity in the opening measures of each within a sonata (a unifying device at least as old as the sonata da camera). Even the most unsympathetic listener will find in these convincing performances by Felix Ayo the same kind of sunshine that smiled on Brahms and Joachim in their readings together of Viotti's celebrated A-Minor Concerto. Ayo's tone flows with 100% pure juices of sun-ripened Mediterranean fruits, and the reverberant studio recording places him no farther forward than the violin's prominence suggests he should be. Recommended to all, but required for violinists, who need no longer rely on close encounters of the first kind in libraries to form a judgment of these alien but strikingly idiomatic works. Robert Maxham

This article originally appeared in Issue 21:4 (Mar/Apr 1998) of Fanfare Magazine.