Monday, Dec. 22, 1980
Sounds for the Solstice
By JAY COCKS
A sampling of new releases for winter listening
The '80s are off and spinning with a glorious new Aida singing of passion and patriotism, a sinuous Donna Summer purring about loves lost and found, works by Vivaldi, Schubert, Stravinsky, Blondie, Talking Heads and Itzhak Perlman on the jazz violin.
Classical
Verdi: Aida (Mirella Freni, soprano; Jose Carreras, tenor; Agnes Baltsa, mezzo-soprano; Piero Cappuccilli, baritone; Ruggero Raimondi, bass; e van Dam, bass; Katia Ricciarelli, soprano; Thomas Moser, tenor; Vienna State Opera Chorus and the Vienna Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, conductor; Angel; three LPs). That old Ethiopian slave girl and would-be war bride finds a new and glorious incarnation in Mirella Freni, whose voice may not move pyramids but finds its way to the heart of the role. This is particularly true in the Nile Scene, where Aida tussles with her passion for Radames and her love of country. It is a surefire conflict that, after more than a century and countless productions, can easily turn into a theatrical and musical cliche. Von Karajan and his longtime protegee Freni make it new.
Maurizio Pollini: Piano Music of the 20th Century. Igor Stravinsky: Three Movements from "Petrushka. "Serge Prokofiev: Piano Sonata No. 7. Bela Bartok: Concertos for Piano and Orchestra Nos. I and 2. Arnold Schoenberg: 17 short piano pieces. Anton Webern: Variations for Piano. Pierre Boulez: Second Sonata for Piano. Luigi Nono: Music for Soprano, Piano, Orchestra and Magnetic Tape (Slavka Taskova, soprano, and the Symphony Orchestra of the Bayerischen Rundfunks, Claudio Abbado, conductor; Deutsche Grammophon, five LPs). Pollini's herculean fingering stands out even in that select circle of great young pianists to which he belongs. His Chopin Etudes may set a new standard for his generation; his performance of Schubert's difficult late sonatas is a triumph of athletic as well as artistic ability. Pollini is also a leading interpreter of the modern keyboard classics. He handles Stravinsky and Prokofiev like a diamond cutter, concentrating profoundly yet striking with passion; he negotiates the atonal mazes of Bartok, Boulez and Webern with thoughtful ease, and provides the emphatic keyboard punctuation for Luigi Nono's unearthly enchantment.
Antonio Vivaldi: Works for Flute and Orchestra Vol. Ill (Jean Pierre Rampal and Joseph Rampal, flutes, with I Solisti Veneti, Claudio Scimone, director; Musical Heritage Society). Admirers of 18th century Italian music are indebted to Scimone and his group for their part in rekindling enthusiasm for the Mediterranean treasures of the period. The Rampals, of course, have been outstanding influences in the current popularity of classical flute. The mechanical clarity they bring to Vivaldi's refrains is another in a long line of Rampal victories through air power.
Franz Schubert: Winterreise (Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau with Daniel Barenboim, piano; Deutsche Grammophon, two LPs). Schubert described his Winter Journey as a "cycle of gruesome songs." Early listeners must have thought so too. The work's simplicity and repeated tone of personal lament must have struck many as self-indulgent and morose. Schubert took his text from Wilhelm Mueller, a poet torn between romanticism and corroding irony. Fortunately Schubert's music transcends maudlin sentiment. Fischer-Dieskau moves from mood to mood with his customary agility and brilliance.
Elliot Carter: Symphony of Three Orchestras (New York Philharmonic, Pierre Boulez, conductor), A Mirror on Which to Dwell, Six Poems of Elizabeth Bishop (Speculum Musicae; Richard Fitz, conductor; Susan Davenny Wyner, soprano; Columbia Master Works). Carter's symphony was written for the U.S. Bicentennial under a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. John Philip Sousa would have been flabbergasted at the dissonances and Carter's restless harmonies that reach out like the tendrils of live undersea flowers. In A Mirror on Which to Dwell, the composer set six Elizabeth Bishop poems within an unmelodic structure. The song cycle requires exacting breath control to keep each line from slipping into eccentricity. Soprano Davenny Wyner keeps a tight line.
Luigi Boccherini (The Sequoia String Quartet, Yoko Matsuda, violin; Miwako Watanabe, violin; James Dunham, viola; Robert Martin, cello; Allan Vogel, oboe; Nonesuch). Although they never met, Haydn and Boccherini formed a mutual admiration society through the uncertain mails of 18th century Europe. Mozart thought enough of Boccherini's work to model his Violin Concerto in D after one of the Italian's compositions. Today Boccherini is still known mainly for his Cello Concerto in B Flat, but his hearty melodies and agile rhythms can be found in the Sequoia's splendid performance of these less frequently heard pieces.
A Different Kind of Blues: An Album of Jazz Composed by Andre Previn (Itzhak Perlman, Andre Previn, Shelly Manne, Jim Hall, Red Mitchell; Angel, Digital). Pittsburgh Symphony Conductor Previn and Jazzmen Mitchell and Manne have met before. The three teamed up in 1957 for Contemporary to play the great tunes from Pal Joey. Echoes of those sophisticated pulsations are heard in Previn's extracurricular activities. The pieces carry such titles as Chocolate Apricot, Make Up Your Mind and Who Reads Reviews. The surprise guest is Violinist Perlman, making his jazz debut for the record. His superb classical technique may not be appreciated by fans of the late pop fiddler Joe Venuti, but Perlman's adventuresome musical spirit is undeniable.
Pop
Bruce Springsteen: The River (Columbia). Four sides, 20 songs, a clarity and artistic ease and breadth of passion unequaled by any other rock record this year. Like Francis Coppola's Godfather, another great work of popular art, The River creates a whole world in an instant. Lives spring up and play out in the time it takes a Polaroid snapshot to develop, private and separate destinies all unite into a single truth. Springsteen's characters in these songs are the proud, hopeless dwellers on the ragged fringes of the urban landscape. The compassion in the writing will come as no surprise to anyone who knows Springsteen's work. What is new is the deceptive simplicity of the lyrics--what sounds at first like a classic rave-up, Cadillac Ranch, comes, on repeated listenings, to sound more and more like a jukebox thanatopsis--and the glistening energy of the music, played and produced with such precision that it almost seems to stand clear of the record. The sound is big, not forced, bold with out turning grandiose, and the playing of the E Street Band matches, to a man, the eight-lane grandeur of Springsteen's songs. It seems only fair: the best deserves the best. Ask Michael Corleone.
Stevie Wonder: Hotter Than July (Tamla). A scorcher. Stevie Wonder, who was out in the ozone all fitted out for a higher-consciousness Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants not a year ago, is back in his old neighborhood again. Effortless polyrhythms, funk stood on its ear, blues inflections, jazz riffs, R & B undertones all blend together into a kind of easeful aural mural. Hotter Than July, like The River, is about hanging tough, keeping proud and getting on. It contains Wonder's galvanic new single, Master Blaster (Jammin') and a song called Happy Birthday, which is dedicated by Wonder to the proposition that Martin Luther King Jr. deserves a national holiday of his own. The song is a declaration of independence and a celebration of pride, and it is one measure of Wonder's gifts that his music not only honors the memory of a great man, but enhances it.
The Eagles: Live (Asylum) and Randy Meisner: One More Song (Epic). Even a hard-core Eagles fan will have to admit they are not a great performance band. Consequently, a live Eagles album makes as much sense as an on-the-spot recording of a Jack Benny violin concert. Except, of course, that the Eagles are not as good for laughs. There are unexpected chuckles, however, and some surprisingly solid grooves on One More Song, a second solo album by ex-Eagle Randy Meisner. Meisner used to specialize in the kind of Southern California pop that turns to pap in a temperate climate, but the material here comes from strong sources (notably Writer Jack Tempchin), and Meisner's down-to-business vocals take care to keep things on the darker side of mellow.
In Harmony (Sesame Street/Warner Bros.). Various pop stars make the playroom rock, gently of course. The idea --a good one--was to gather some songs for kids and about kids that wouldn't reduce Mom and Dad to a gibbering frenzy. Producers Lucy Simon and David Levine recruited talent as diverse as Bette Midler, James Taylor, the Doobie Brothers, Linda Ronstadt, Lindy Waldman and Carly Simon (the co-producer's sister), and let them loose in the realms of whimsy. The results--especially by Taylor, Midler, and Dr. John in a duet with Libby Titus--are easy to take and danceable at any age.
Monty Python's Contractual Obligation Album (Arista). The Pythons tear through assorted comedy sketches and raise their voices in songs of innocence and experience. Titles include Never Be Rude to an Arab, All Things Dull and Ugly, Farewell to John Denver and Sit on My Face. Ideal for Christmas caroling or breaking the lease.
Donna Summer: The Wanderer (Geffen/Warner Bros.). Donna Summer has ridden out disco, and she is just fine, thanks. This is her best album yet, with intricate melodies that sound like musical handstands and vocals that have the easy undulation of a water bed. The Wanderer is an informal concept album in which Summer's teasing sensuality is used as a point of departure. The album begins with a sexuality that is randy and raggedy at once, eases through various tales of love lost and remembered, and ends with a statement of faith and a hope for redemption. The range of the record is still a little too long for Summer's reach, but The Wanderer demonstrates that she's got the best shot at being the premier woman rocker of the'80s.
Arthur Blythe: Illusions (Columbia).
Just about the hottest alto sax around, Arthur Blythe synthesizes and consolidates the disparate approaches of his first two Columbia albums--the first experimental, following trails laid down by Ornette Coleman, the second closer to the Ellington tradition--and, using two separate combos, fuses them with the white hot heat of his horn. Illusions is a furious exercise in musical release. This man uses his sax like a blowtorch.
Blondie: Autoamerican (Chrysalis).
Catchy pop music of the sort you wish wouldn't catch you. Deborah Harry and the band have a sound that contrives to be both congenial and clammy, like a wet suede coat. In The Tide Is High, their current hit, they sound like a bunch of loaded reggae freaks who wake up in a Mexicali beer joint. As the title implies, this record is a machine-tooled product, but if Detroit had as keen an idea of its market as Blondie, there would be no need for federal subsidies.
Talking Heads: Remain in Light (Sire).
If partying inside a freezer and trying to boogie away the frostbite hold any kind of appeal, then this is just the record for the occasion. Talking Heads is one of the few bands to have survived the cresting and breaking of new wave rock, and if Blondie remains the commercial core of that dissipated movement, Talking Heads is its artistic conscience. Artistic is the operative word here. The Heads take themselves and their music with such self-evident and self-congratulatory seriousness that the dark ironic humors of their best songs assume all the depth of snide remarks at a gallery opening. Even dabbling in permutations of African rhythms, as here, the band sounds like a collection of hip grad school musicologists on a fund-raising telethon. The effect is alienating, in a way the band could not intend, and ultimately chilling.
Steely Dan: Gaucho (MCA). "Illegal fun/ Under the sun." Gaucho is a laid-back action painting of life on the L.A. fault line and just over the edge. Steely Dan is Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, who together write some of rock's most inimitable and elliptical songs, and who play assorted instruments when the spirit moves them. Often it doesn't, and Steely Dan becomes a free-floating association of ace studio musicians doing elaborate, jazzy arabesques around Fagen's vocals. The songs have a diabolical cutting edge, suggesting some collaboration between Roman Polanski and Joan Didion ("We'll jog with show folk/ On the sand/ Drink kirschwasser from a shell"). The lithe inflections of the Becker-Fagen melodies have a grace that is both sensuous and sinister, like a lazing snake coiled under the sun. Probably poisonous too.
--By Jay Cocks
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