Customer Reviews

Paul Creston: Janus Violin Concerto No. 2; Symphony No. 4

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Thanks in part to Albany Records' ever-so-lasting enterprising initiatives, the music of Paul Creston is making something of a comeback. Victimized by the fashion/trendy oriented critics of the 1960s and beyond, more and more listeners of today are realizing the true value of Creston's work in American music. This album does a wonderful justice to his musical art with the playing by all involved that's quite immaculate, vital, sympathetic, and not at all unfeeling from start to finish.

Commissioned by the Association of Women's Committee for Symphony Orchestra, Janus (1959) demonstrates Creston at his most imaginative. The beautiful yet dramatic prelude is spellbinding for its enigmatic rhetoric that reminds me of Barber and Hanson but also, strangely perhaps, of Janis Ivanovs (Latvia's foremost composer of the Twentieth Century). There's something mysterious in the articulacy of the strings and oboe solo that penetrates the listener. The dance, however, brings out more of its Bernsteinian outgoingness and paganism, with the instrumentation that has plenty of verve and some exotic coloring. And it is that sense of coloring and keen imagination that forms the very appeal to Creston's Second Violin Concerto. Composed in 1960 and premiered by Sir Georg Solti and the Los Angeles Philharmonic that same year, the concerto is a delightful piece. Its first movement begins calmly, with its material that is arrestingly laid back and introspective. The ensuing development heats up though, permeated with bits of outbursts and a good deal of virtuosity. The violin writing is especially ear-catching and I admire the orchestral panache that accompanies it. The andante second movement is ear-catching also and I'm awed of how concentrated the writing is, particularly of the cadenza. The lustre in the writing remains strong throughout this movement and the finale, where I cannot find a single dull moment. The idiom of the concerto may not be contemporary or avant garde, but it's the piece that illuminates even the heaviest of moods.

Creston's Fourth Symphony (1951) is the earliest work recorded here and it's very invigorating throughout. The vitality of the piece remains strong particularly in its first movement that just springs up joyously from the start. The development keeps the spirit going and the close is as rambunctious as ever. But for me, the heart of the symphony are the middle movements. Have you ever heard such a beautiful movement as the second (andante pastorale)? There are plenty of slow movements that have such a spellbindingly exquisite effects: muted strings, woodwind and horn solos, etc. that has so much of that magic, flair, and elegance (think of Bax, Vaugh Williams, Rorem, Barber, or even Myaskovsky and Lyatoshynsky). But this one must be ranked as one of the best. The distinctiveness of the movement is of abundance here and I love the playfulness in the middle section before dying down to this mystifying, sun-rising, early morning yet brightening mood this music brings forth. I only wish (as I did in reviewing Rorem's symphonies under Naxos)what Creston did more with that wonderful musical material of his. But some compensations are paid in the scherzo, which is adorably flamboyant with its strings pizzicati and some tantalizing horn writing. The ostentatious finale doesn't disappoint either, if short of eliminating some of the redundancies in the development.

Much of the spotlight goes to the David Alan Miller, the Albany Symphony Orchestra, and Gregory Fulkerson as violin soloist. The orchestra's refinement may not be absolute, but the playing have plenty of spirit and commitment. Miller approaches the scores with the insightfulness and imagination that brings the works above the commonplace of early to mid modern American music; thus, demonstrating how uncommon and unique Creston music actually is, and with no over-selling and exaggeration on his part. Gregory Fulkerson brings with him the added introspection and substance in the concerto (his cadenzas are wrought and never shallow or pretentious) while the recording is vibrant in sound. With the presentation as admirable as it is here, this albums signifies Albany Records' tireless yet courageous continuation in its promotion of neglected masterworks, American and otherwise.