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17,95 €

Richard Strauss
El burgués gentilhombre

REF.: PTC 5186060
EAN 13: 0827949006067
Si realiza el pedido hoy, este producto estará listo para ser enviado el lunes 17/08/2020



Daniel Sepec, Violin
Nicole Kern, Clarinete
Higinio Arrué, Fagor
The Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen
Paavo Järvi, Dirección


Richard Strauss

Suite for orchestra: Der Bürger als Edelmann op. 60
1. Ouvertüre (Overture) 4:00
2. Menuett 1:39
3. Der Fechtmeister (The Fencing-Master) 1:44
4. Auftritt und Tanz der Schneider 4:53
5. Das Menuett des Lully (Lully’s Minuet) 2:14
6. Courante 2:42
7. Auftritt des Cleonte  4:26
8. Vorspiel zum 2. Aufzug (Prelude to Act II) 3:19
9. Das Diner (The Dinner) 10:33

Duett-Concertino for clarinet and bassoon AV 147 *
10. Allegro moderato 5:57
11. Andante 3:14
12. Rondo. Allegro ma non troppo 9:07

Sextett from Capriccio
13. Sextett 11:22

1SACD - Multicanal
Total playing time 65:36

RESEÑA (La Quinta de Mahler)

It was to be a theatrical experiment: a playing with the “theater within the theater,” or better: the “opera within the theater.” The comedy Le bourgeois gentilhomme by Molière, provided with incidental music, as the framework for the opera Ariadne auf Naxos. The occasion was the fiftieth birthday of Max Reinhardt, whom one also wanted to thank for the successful premiere of the Rosenkavalier. The authors: the librettist-composer team Hugo von Hofmannsthal-Richard Strauss.
In Molière’s comedy, the nouveau riche draper Jourdain has let his affluence go to his head to such a degree that he desires to vie with the aristocracy. What he has overlooked is that those around him are really only out for his money. At an ostentatious dinner, he thinks that he is host to a Turkish prince. However, the prince is in reality the costumed commoner Cléonte, who is in love with Jourdain’s daughter. To impress the supposed prince, the host prepares a private performance of the opera Ariadne auf Naxos.
The premiere was originally intended to take place in Berlin’s Deutsches Theater, but because of a lack of space one had to fall back upon Stuttgart, where the first performance was staged in October 1912. It quickly became clear that the work would have a difficult time, since, as Strauss put it, “an audience that goes to the theater does not want to hear opera, and vice versa. One did not have a cultural appreciation for the pretty ‘hybrid’.” Yet the two authors did not give up. They were too fascinated by the idea of a fusion of the various elements of theater. The work was divided up. The “opera in one act, including a prelude” Ariadne auf Naxos was created, and experienced its successful Viennese premiere in October 1916 – a version that was ultimately to establish its place in the repertoire. A year later, Hofmannsthal rewrote Le bourgeois gentilhomme as a “well-formed burlesque comedy,” and Strauss provided seventeen incidental pieces. The Ariadne opera was no longer part of it. Yet this version, too, found only moderate approval at its Berlin premiere in 1918. For this reason, Strauss decided to make nine of the incidental pieces into an orchestral suite and at least in this way “save” his music for the concert hall. This suite was performed for the first time by the Vienna Philharmonic on 31 January 1920, and finally achieved for Strauss the longed-for success.
Molière’s play was originally a comedy with music by Jean-Baptiste Lully. Strauss, in turn, quoted it – as shown by the fifth movement, “Menuett des Lully” – as a sort of homage to the baroque master. Indeed, the gallant world of the seventeenth century shimmers through again and again, since Strauss did, after all, employ light, courtly music as his material, which in his score he charmingly elaborated with his own compositional means. The plot of the play can still be recognized from the titles of the movements. The “Overture” depicts the nouveau riche Jourdain with his ostentatious airs and graces. The “Minuet” is a dance lesson. The “Fencing Master” describes Jourdain’s inept attempts at fencing. In the following three dance movements and in Cléonte’s ceremonious entrance, Strauss plays with baroque patterns. In the Intermezzo and the concluding “Dinner,” he finally allows his humor free rein when he quotes from Wagner’s Rheingold and baroque tone-painting. The ensemble is relatively small: a chamber orchestra grouped around a piano.
Le bourgeois gentilhomme was not to remain the last work in which Strauss was to reflect upon the genre of opera. In September 1939, he requested support for a new project from the conductor Clemens Krauss. Strauss was seventy-five years old and had composed fourteen major stage works. What he was now thinking of was “something entirely unusual.” In 1933, during the rehearsals for the premiere of Arabella, Strauss had already discussed with Krauss the relationship between text and music in opera. And Stefan Zweig had called his attention to a text by Giambattista Casti that had been set by Antonio Salieri: Prima la musica, poi le parole. Zweig wrote a first draft based on this theme, but the political persecution of the Jewish author made a further collaboration impossible. The theater scholar Joseph Gregor stepped into the breach, but Strauss was not happy with his sample texts: “Not a trace of that what I was thinking of: a clever dramatic paraphrase of the theme: first the words, then the music (Wagner) – or first the music, then the words (Verdi) – or only words, no music (Goethe) – or only music, no words (Mozart) – to mention only a few catchphrases.” Krauss, who as a theater practician possessed a sure instinct for dramaturgical structures, knew what was to be done.
The action takes place in a castle “near Paris, at the time Gluck began his reform of the opera there. Around 1775.” The Countess is celebrating her birthday. A composer, a poet (both are in love with the Countess), a theater director, and others discuss the relation between text and music. The composer dedicates to the Countess a string sextet that is performed as a prelude at the beginning of the opera; the poet dedicates a sonnet to her. Finally, both want join forces to write an opera.
Strauss wanted this “dramaturgical treatise” to be understood as an “old man’s entertainment”: “theater of the rational, brains, dry wit.” Indeed, Capriccio is an opera of reflections – of reflections in the double sense of the word, since mirrorings and thinking about oneself characterize this work.
In her big concluding monologue, the Countess talks to her own image in the mirror, desperately asking it for advice as to whom she should choose: the poet or the composer, the word or the music. In vain she awaits an answer. The mirror only reflects her own ironic look. The whole composition is this sort of self-reflection. Full of self-irony, Strauss quotes from his operas Der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, and Daphne, but also composers such as Rameau, Piccini, Couperin, Mozart, Verdi, and Wagner. And not least, intellectual trends of the time in which the story takes place are also mirrored in Capriccio. Only one thing is not reflected upon: the time in which the work was premiered, the year 1942. An opera in which one made conversation about questions of musical aesthetics was composed in the middle of the Second World War. Strauss was attacked repeatedly because of it – and he was entirely conscious of the anachronism. Yet, Krauss urged him on, and Strauss finally replied: “Let’s just write it for ourselves and a few other people who have not yet gone mad.” The mirrors facing the outside world were darkened, but the mirrors facing inward polished all the more. With Capriccio, however, Strauss also held up a mirror to his audience, a mirror in which it was not intended for the audience to recognize the bestiality of its own time, but rather – as if from another world – intelligence, creative power, and spiritual existence. And he discussed fundamental questions concerning opera, or better, theater, as a whole, which – as Egon Friedell wrote – “is actually more than most people believe: not a colorful surface, not merely theater, but something that removes the seals and liberates, something absolutely magical in our life.”
The work perhaps displays its greatest magic right at the beginning when, completely unexpected in an opera, six string soloists strike up the passionately glowing string sextet – like an enchantingly melancholy farewell song: farewell to beauty, harmony, and Romantic tonal ecstasy in the music – a mirror of a long-past time, simultaneously beautiful and questionable. This Andante con moto in F Major experienced its first performance, independent of the opera, in the house of Strauss’ friend, the Gauleiter and art connoisseur Baldur von Schirach, and has since then repeatedly found its way into the concert hall as a sextet.
Two years after the Munich premiere of Capriccio in October 1942, Strauss celebrated his eightieth birthday in Vienna in grand style. His popularity was unbroken, but his heyday past and he himself an old, tired man. He lived in his villa in Garmisch and read Goethe, while after the failed attempt to assassinate Hitler the noose of National-Socialist terror continued to tighten. The bombing of the opera houses in Munich, Dresden, Berlin, and Vienna, in which Strauss’ operas had been performed for half a century, plunged the composer into a deep resignation. He wrote to his biographer Willi Schuh: “With Capriccio my life’s work is finished, and the notes that I am now scribbling as wrist exercises for my estate do not have any music historical importance.”
Calling the works that were written during this period – including his last instrumental concerto, the Duett-Concertino, but also the Metamorphosen, the two Sonatinas for sixteen wind instruments, the Second Horn Concerto, the Oboe Concerto, and the Four Last Songs – “scribbled wrist exercises” is typical Straussian understatement, considering that these works include several masterpieces in which Strauss picked up the thread of the early years of his artistic work: The musical dramatist again turned increasingly to “absolute” instrumental works that did not want to be anything other than skillful and seemingly light music. In doing so, Strauss had above all one goal: “to give pleasure.” He found his way to a classicistic late style that is characterized not by boldness of invention and tonal means, but rather by circumspect use of all his artistic experience, and that never makes an old-fashioned effect in spite of the conscious adherence to tonality. Time and again in these works he looks back. So, too, in the Duett-Concertino, composed at the end of 1947 for the small ensemble of Radio Svizzera Italiana. Not only with the formal structure, based on the three-movement concerto form, did Strauss conjure up the Viennese Classic he so greatly respected, but also with the blissfully indulgent high Rosenkavalier-parallel thirds at the end of the third movement, with which he managed to insert a double allusion: to the world of the rococo, in which the Rosenkavalier is set, as well as to his own past, when he found himself at the height of his fame. With the unusual instrumentation, Strauss – as Ernst Krause has shown – may have recalled a remark made in 1885 by Hans von Bülow, drawing his attention at that time to the Trio pathétique for clarinet, bassoon, and piano by Glinka. Indeed, in 1947 Strauss once again derived pleasure from the combination of two tonally opposite woodwind instruments – the velvety-smooth clarinet and the humorous bassoon – that he effectively allows to enter into a concertante dialogue with a string orchestra with harp, from which, however, he again and again sets off a sextet of soloists. That the old master, in spite of all wistful reminiscence, was still up to his old tricks is shown by the clarinet’s descending eighth-note motion with triplets right at the beginning of the first movement with which Till Eulenspiegel, cockily whistling to himself, once again seems to be sending his greetings from a distance.
All too often, critics want to see the Duett-Concertino merely as a routine work. Behind the lightness of the melodic writing, however, is concealed precisely that which can also be recognized in other compositions of this period: Strauss’ search for that unvanquished beauty that in reality no longer existed, a sort of musical escapism that reveals something about the composer’s relationship to society; this can be interpreted as an artistic echo of an outlook that, in view of his own entanglement in the atrocities of a dictatorial regime, only allows a wistful glance back or the drawing of castles in the air – like Strauss’ idea for an “opera museum.”
Already in 1944, after the premiere of Die Liebe der Danae, he had taken his leave of the official musical world – on the surfaceit was a move precipitated by old age, but one that seemed to the composer to be “synonymous with the end of German music,” as whose “crowning conclusion he, in all modesty, saw himself” (Albrecht Dümling). The concurrent destruction of Germany confirmed for him this view of history, which is so provocative that it has hardly been discussed up to now. Yet, if one views his last compositions against precisely this backdrop, it becomes clear why he no longer wanted to consign them to musical history. The sovereign manner in which he moves in pure tonality, in unshakeable aesthetic beauty over thirty years after the revolutionary achievements of Schoenberg’s Viennese school, as well as after the experiences of the Second World War, is hardly to be believed. Thus, these compositions are ultimately also a farewell to an art that cannot be developed any further, whose preserved masterworks Strauss considered, however, to be immortal. The determination and artistic skill with which he transformed his escapism into music makes these works important – important and suspect at the same time. It is this inscrutableness that also makes up the actual appeal of the Duett-Concertino. His magic is a broken onePaavo Järvi
Resident in the USA since 1980, the Estonian conductor Paavo Järvi studied at the Curtis Institute of Music, and the Los Angeles Philharmonic Institute under Leonard Bernstein. As a passionate supporter and emissary of Estonian music, he regularly works with the Estonian National Orchestra. He took up the post of Musical Director of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra in September 2001, and has also held positions on the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic and the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra.
In January 2004 he joined the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen as Artistic Director. The main emphasis of this collaboration will be the rehearsal for and performance of all of Beethoven’s symphonies.
Guest positions have conveyed him to numerous large orchestras including the Philharmonia, the London Philharmonic, the BBC Symphony, the BBC Philharmonic, the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra, the Orchestre de Paris, the Berlin and Munich Philharmonic, the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, the French National Orchestra, the Scala Orchestras in Milan, the Swiss Romande Orchestra, the Czech and Israeli Philharmonic and the NHK, as well as the Tokyo and Sydney Symphony Orchestra. In America, Järvi has appeared with the Los Angeles and New York Philharmonic Orchestras, and the Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Pittsburgh and Los Angeles Orchestras.The Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen
After the first SACD by the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen with its artistic director Paavo Järvi, the present disc is the second sound document of this musical collaboration. And as previously with Igor Stravinsky, Paavo Järvi has chosen seldom-performed works by Richard Strauss that are scored for small chamber music ensembles.
Paavo Järvi appreciates “his” Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen above all as an orchestra made up of outstanding soloists. With the solo violin in Le bourgeois gentilhomme and, above all, the clarinet and bassoon in the Duett-Concertino, which are each performed here by members of the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen, the truth of this statement is shown impressively. Principal clarinet Nicole Kern, principal bassoon Higinio Arrué, and the orchestra’s concertmaster Daniel Sepec appear here as soloists, accompanied by their orchestra colleagues.
The repertoire of the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen extends without a break from the baroque era to contemporary music, whereby the orchestra frequently collaborates with specialists for the individual epochs and stylistic trends – for example with Trevor Pinnock, Ton Koopman, Frans Brüggen, Jukka-Pekka Saraste, Heinz Holliger, and Pierre Boulez.
In addition, its unique and refreshing style of musical interpretation has helped the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen establish longstanding musical relationships to internationally renowned soloists like Viktoria Mullova, Christian Tetzlaff, Sabine Meyer, and Olli Mustonen. Paavo Järvi’s predecessors as the orchestra’s artistic director were Daniel Harding, Thomas Hengelbrock, and Heinrich Schiff. The musicians are all partners in the democratically governed “entrepreneur orchestra,” and make all decisions concerning artistic and financial matters themselves.“This lively and loveble disc of Stravinsky’s neoclassical and small ensemble pieces stands with the best available. The two Suites for Small Orchestra never have been better done… the Deutche Kammerphilharmonie is a world-class chamber orchestra, and it doe itself proud here.”

David Hurwitz, Classics Today.com

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