“Why do some innovators find fault with the past? Can you imagine a saint who would find fault with all the saints who came before him?” A rather pompous plea for musical conservatism from a composer who, on the evidence of these two CDs, spent his entire creative career turning a blind eye (or deaf ear) to virtually anything more innovative than early Strauss (not that reactionary principles necessarily preclude quality music). For me, the most enjoyable work on these two discs is the wartime Sinfonia brevis with its Wagnerian resonances and an Adagio non troppo third movement where a barcarolle-style principal theme alternates with various contrasting episodes, including a noble chorale (reminiscent of Schumann or Mendelssohn) and a Schubertian clarinet melody. You’ll notice my references to ‘saints of yore’, though the manner of their absorption is skilful in the extreme. The weakest of the four works is the early Serenade for Strings, a product of the composer’s youth; but even that is at least charming and tuneful, with a roll-call of influences that includes Dvorak and Beethoven.
The Violin Concerto is shrouded in mystery, though CPO’s cryptic annotation hardly helps to clarify matters. Musically, the style recalls the post-classicism of Saint-Saens, with boldly stated tuttis, cruelly demanding solo work (plenty of octaves and colourful double-stopping), good tunes and a huge last-movement cadenza that suggests parallels with Elgar. Only in the finale, where rhythmic invention skips momentarily up-to-date, is there any suggestion of the work’s twentieth-century provenance.
The concerto was actually written for the American violinist Guila Bustabo (or so Wolf-Ferrari said to the conductor Karl Elmendorff), who performed it and whose interpretation is preserved in the archives of Bavarian Radio. I would dearly love to hear that recording (Bustabo’s intense style of playing would certainly suit the work) but, in the meantime, Ulf Hoelscher’s passionate advocacy more than fits the bill. Likewise in the case of the Cello Concerto (1945), where Gustav Rivinius seems to relish its appealing melodic lines (the very opening is reminiscent of Liszt) and Alun Francis directs a warmly sympathetic accompaniment. Nice music, all of it – but notably unoriginal.'