Rheinberger: Organ Concertos Nos. 1 and 2
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Joseph Gabriel Rheinberger (1839-1901) Organ Concertos On the matter of combining organ and orchestra, experts have spoken in no uncertain terms. Hector...
Joseph Gabriel Rheinberger (1839-1901)
Organ Concertos
On the matter of combining organ and orchestra,
experts have spoken in no uncertain terms. Hector
Berlioz in his Treatise on Instrumentation from the
1850s stated that the resources of the organ "are so
numerous and diverse that no composer, in our opinion,
can understand them adequately unless he himself is an
accomplished organist". He also felt that "the even and
uniform tones of the organ can never fuse completely
with the extremely variable sounds of the orchestra;
there is a secret antipathy between these two musical
powers", which he likened to a pope and an emperor.
Berlioz, though, himself combined them, together with
voices, in his massive Te Deum, and Richard Strauss,
who updated the Treatise half a century later, and let the
foregoing remarks stand, called for the organ in such
scores as Also sprach Zarathustra and the Alpine
Symphony. Clearly, then, a successful combination is
possible, but it requires a composer with experience and
solid technique.
Few people could have been any more qualified
than Joseph Gabriel Rheinberger. He became organist
of his hometown parish in Liechtenstein at the age of
seven, entered the conservatory in Munich at twelve,
was offered a professorship in piano there at nineteen,
later acquired positions in organ and composition that
he held until shortly before he died, and was the director
of church music to the King of Bavaria from 1877 to
1894. Rheinberger is known today primarily for his
organ music, notably twenty sonatas, all in different
major or minor keys, and the two present concerti, and
yet the organ figures in only about one-sixth of his 197
published works. Certain convenient generalisations
about late-nineteenth-century German music do him
injustice, one being that Germany during this period
produced no historically significant Roman Catholic
composers, and the other being that most musicians
took sides between Johannes Brahms and Richard
Wagner and never set foot in the other camp once they
did so.
If German Catholics are under-represented in this
span of history, it may have something to do with the
Caecilian movement of the day. This well-meaning
retrenchment from opulent excesses sought to revive
Gregorian chant and sixteenth-century polyphony, but it
set some unhelpful boundaries and arguably lent a
certain stodginess to the works of its disciples. Pope
Leo XIII awarded Rheinberger the Knight's Cross of
the Order of St Gregory in 1879 for the Op. 109 Cantus
missae for double unaccompanied choir, which might
lead us to believe that this Mass setting is merely
another dry Caecilian work. Quite the contrary: If
anything, it is something of a guilty pleasure, with its
Liebeslieder-like Benedictus and overall melodic
profligacy. Clearly, as did Palestrina centuries earlier,
Rheinberger had found a way to reconcile liturgical
dignity with contemporaneous musical know-how.
Many writers on German music correctly describe
rancorous debates between partisans of Brahms and
Wagner, for whom these men embodied, respectively,
ideals of tradition and innovation. If Rheinberger's
outwardly conventional and conservative music would
seemingly consign him to the Brahmsian side of the
debate, his professional actions argue otherwise. Most
notably, he took up the Wagnerian cause to the extent
that he lent a hand in the first performances of both
Tristan und Isolde and Die Meistersinger, works that a
true reactionary classicist would have avoided like the
proverbial skunk in the road. Likewise, as a professor of
composition he appears not to have established any
lock-step conformity, turning out a diverse body of
musicians including Engelbert Humperdinck, Ermanno
Wolf-Ferrari, Wilhelm Furtwangler, and future
American luminaries George Chadwick and Horatio
Parker. The latter, incidentally, trained Charles Ives, the
American experimentalist. Rheinberger's early studies
with Franz Lachner, an associate of Schubert, thus make
him a key link in an otherwise improbable chain from
Schubert to Ives.
For his late-career organ concertos Rheinberger
chose a string orchestra with judicious touches of
colour, a trio of horns in the First Concerto and pairs of
trumpets and horns with timpani in the Second. In
choosing these accompanying forces, he thus walked a
fine line between the strings-only austerity of Handel
and Mozart and the full-orchestra tonal extravagance,
and perhaps redundancy, of certain French-school
composers, of whom Guilmant, Dupre, and Jongen
come to mind. The resulting works are appropriate
repertoire both for church performance with chamber
orchestras and for concert halls with symphonic organs
and room enough for a late-Romantic contingent of
strings.
Interestingly, Rheinberger composed his organ
music in the context of a constraint that many modern
organists would find troublesome: the instrument to
which he was accustomed could change degrees of
loudness only by the addition or reduction of stops, not
with the adjustable louvered panels, called swell shades,
that nowadays customarily enclose at least part of an
organ's pipework. In the sheet music for these works,
there are no crescendo or decrescendo markings in the
organ parts, only in the accompaniment. Rheinberger in
effect reverts in the solo part to the so-called "terraced
dynamics" of the pre-Classical repertoire, but his
moment-to-moment choices of instrumentation avoid
monotony. These involve everything from organ and
orchestra speaking separately in succession to the two
entities doubling one another for emphasis, with
countless gradations in between. Sometimes the organ
is meant to dominate, but some of the time it takes a
supporting rôle to the orchestra, an aspect that the
performers on this recording chose to make clear.
Rheinberger himself once advised that music
should not require a lot of explanation to be appreciated.
Indeed, neither the First Concerto nor the Second
require elaborate programme notes to help a first-time
listener to enjoy them, but there is probably no harm in
pointing out some attractive features in the music. As is
sometimes the case with a self-effacing careerist - that
is, one quick to lend a hand to worthy colleagues but not
inclined toward self-promotion - this composer
sometimes reveals less of himself in principal themes
and more in secondary themes. In the first movement of
the Concerto in G minor, the major-key subsidiary
theme threatens to modulate almost immediately to a
minor key but reassuringly finds its way back.
Similarly, the confident finale of the Concerto in F
major offers a particularly endearing second theme, and
the same movement offers a fugal passage with the
beneficial effects but without a fussily drawn-out
process. It is also the only movement in either work to
contain a significant solo cadenza.
Finally, it is a pleasure to report good news with
regard to dissemination of Rheinberger's largely
neglected music. Though the Rheinberger archives were
moved to his native Liechtenstein in 1944, the creation
of an official collected edition, with 48 volumes
planned, did not begin until nearly the sesquicentennial
of his birth, but thanks to funding from the principality,
this is currently well underway. The new millennium
also saw the formation of an institute for scholars and a
membership society for music-lovers. Rheinberger may
end up being better appreciated in the current century
than in the preceding one in which he appeared all too
briefly.
R. Gregory Capaldini
Organ Concerto No. 1 in F major, Op. 137 (more info)
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I. Maestoso - 8:35
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II. Andante - 9:17
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III. Con moto - 9:19
Organ Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Op. 177 (more info)
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I. Grave - 9:03
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II. Andante - 8:22
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III. Con moto - 7:28