FRIEDRICH KALKBRENNER: Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Minor, Op. 85; Piano Concerto No. 3 in A Minor, Op. 107; Adagio ed Allegro di bravura, Op. 102 – Howard Shelley, piano & cond. / Tasmanian Sym. Orch. – Hyperion CDA67843, 68:41 [Distr. by Harmonia mundi] ****:
In his notes to this, Volume 56 (!) in Hyperion’s Romantic Piano Concerto series, Jeremy Nicholas shares some amusing anecdotes that demonstrate the self-importance of composer-pianist Friedrich Kalkbrenner (1785–1849). To be truthful, Kalkbrenner had lots to feel self-important about. In an age that saw the rise of the piano virtuoso, he was the most admired performer of his day, possessed of a technique that must have been nigh phenomenal on the evidence of his concerti, mostly written for his own use. That technique and the music he wrote to showcase it made him a wealthy man.
But back to those funny anecdotes. The best one concerns a certain Frédéric Chopin, new to Paris and soon to bowl it over with his music and playing. Kalkbrenner asked Chopin to play for him and was favorably impressed—but suggested that Chopin could improve his technique by three-year course of study under none other than Kalkbrenner himself. Chopin politely demurred and managed to make a name for himself without further instructional intervention. Kalkbrenner did, however, introduce Chopin to Paris, but even here there was an ulterior motive. As a partner in the firm of Pleyel et Cie, Kalkbrenner managed to make hay by sponsoring the debut of Chopin’s Second Piano Concerto and Variations on “La Chi darem la mano” at the Salle Pleyel—I assume Chopin played the house instrument on that occasion.
As Nicholas also points out, Kalkbrenner’s reputation as a composer has taken hits over the years. Noting the opus number attached to the Third Concerto, one must conclude that his reputation has never recovered, nor will it ever. Yet even if you may never hear Kalkbrenner in concert and will find only a smidgen of his large output on recordings, he’s of more than mere historical interest. The four concerti (the other two appear in Volume 41 of the Hyperion series) feature not merely superbly idiomatic writing for the piano but also a catalog of virtuoso tricks of the trade circa 1830, many of which Kalkbrenner himself introduced. Double notes in octave, machine gun–rapid repeated notes, swirling arpeggios at the speed of light—Kalkbrenner may have learned from the slightly older virtuosi of his own day such as Field and Hummel, but he set the bar even higher and thus influenced the next generation, including Chopin.
Speaking of Chopin, Nicholas maintains that like the orchestral writing in Chopin’s concerti, that in Kalkbrenner’s is mostly there to provide a “cushion” for the piano, but while Chopin’s concerti came early in his career, Kalkbrenner was a seasoned composer by the time he produced his concerti, and I think it’s clear that Kalkbrenner’s writing for orchestra is more accomplished. The musical structure and argument in his concerti is at least as strong as that in the Chopin concerti. The difference in exposure has to do largely with the Chopin name, but in fairness, Chopin’s concerti are melodically and, as a result, episodically more memorable. Nicholas quotes Mendelssohn’s mostly dismissive assessment of Kalkbrenner as a composer who dabbled in stock Romantic gestures. Of course, Chopin was the real thing. Yet as I note, Kalkbrenner manages to be very entertaining as well by the sheer audacity of the technical hurdles he throws at the performer. And there are other felicities to admire: the sturdy sonata-allegro first movements and sparkling (if shallow) rondo finales—evern an unexpectedly commanding Maestoso sostenuto introduction to the finale of his Third Concerto, a rondo that’s especially brilliant (if shallow).
So no great claims are made here for the undying artistic merits of Kalkbrenner’s concerti, but I submit that this is music whose sheer bravura and general cheery propulsiveness makes it more appealing than much of the music of the composer’s contemporaries. A great deal of credit for the success of this release goes to Howard Shelley, who knows his way around the music of the early Romantic era better than just about anyone recording these days. His technique is such a marvel that he makes this demanding music sound easy, which it must have when Kalkbrenner himself played it. I can offer no better endorsement than that. Shelley also conducts from the keyboard, and the well-drilled, robust-sounding Tasmanian Symphony responds with vigor. I snapped up the earlier Kalkbrenner release in this series and now heartily recommend the second and last installment.
—Lee Passarella
Anthony Collins: Complete Decca Recordings – Australian Eloquence *
A compelling sweep symphonic literature!
