It would be instructive
if Efrem Zimbalist’s premiere performance
of the Menotti Violin Concerto (Philadelphia,
Ormandy, 1952) had survived, as indeed
it would if the Albert Spalding premiere
of the Barber had been similarly preserved.
How would those two aristocrats of the
string world have responded to two such
powerfully romanticised works, so needful
of engagement and strong gesture to
make their fullest effect? We can guess
but never know for sure. The Barber
is now a repertory disc but with regard
to the Menotti, we’ve had a fair few
performances on record, from Spivakovsky
and Ricci onwards (the latter was indeed
coupled with the Barber) to Jennifer
Koh (Chandos) and Walter Verdehr on
Crystal.
It’s a work teeming
with operatic largesse and songful plenitude
and Ittai Shapira responds with equal
fervour, digging into the string and
extracting some gutty sounds. The lyric
second subject, announced by winds,
is tinged with baroque elements very
attractively harmonised. The violin
then takes up the songful material and
embarks on a soaring reverie of superb
warmth. Even high up Shapira’s intonation
stays firm and his tone doesn’t become
starved – sweetness is kept intact.
The later march rhythms are reminiscent
of Prokofiev though the second movement
has a warmth all Menotti’s own. He cleverly
runs the solo cantilena over more rhythmically
active orchestral figures, gradually
clarifying the two motifs with beneficent
winds and warm dappled strings. Lissom
and pert the finale has plenty of local
incident and colour; drum tattoos and
hints of Eastern Promise and quite a
bit else besides; diffuse, maybe, but
certainly characterful and very grateful
sounding material for the soloist.
The Cantilena e Scherzo
for harp and string quartet is an ultra
romantic piece written in 1977, and
one that contrasts song with dance in
its two short movements. The Five Songs
(1983) are recorded in a slightly too
resonant acoustic. Rather unforgivably
ASV has stinted on the texts, as they
have with the Canti della Lontananza,
and given that Christine Brewer’s
diction is none too crystalline that
causes distinct problems. Variously
lyric, whimsical and quasi-impressionist
these settings make considerable demands
on the singer and in such as The
Swing push the voice ungratefully
high. The Canti della Lontananza
consist of seven essentially melancholy
songs that take in stilled limpidity
(the second), pithy brevity (the third)
and passionate declamation (the sixth
– La Lettera). They were first
performed by Schwarzkopf. Brewer is
a powerful and imaginative singer but
I find her hard-edged and squally at
the top.
This is an attractive
bet for admirers of the Concerto. The
two song cycles are hampered by the
lack of texts and an occasionally brittle
performance. The actual recording of
the concerto is good enough, though
there’s clearly been some artificial
boosting of aural perspective when it
comes to some of the wind and other
solos. Otherwise the soloistic performance
is very acceptable.
Jonathan Woolf
Ittai Shapira (violin) 
