SCHOENFIELD Six British Folksongs2. PAULUS Banchetto Musicale: A Suite for Violoncello and Piano1. Shall I Compare Thee (Benediction) (arr. Sewell)2. DAVID EVAN THOMAS From the Land of Song3 • Laura Sewell (vc); 1Ora Itkin, 2Ivan Konev, 3Sonja Thompson (pn) • INNOVA 033 (60:51)

It is interesting how some composers just pop up from time to time. Andreas Boyde’s performance of Schoenfield’s Piano Concerto on the Athene label was my first introduction to that composer’s music, and, like fellow Fanfare reviewer John Bauman in Fanfare 23:4, the piece left me cold. Fast-forward many years to just a week or so from the date of writing, and Patricia Kopatchinskaja played Schoenfield’s Trio for Clarinet, Violin and Piano (with Reto Bieri and Polina Leschenko) at London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall. Now comes this, his Six British Folksongs of 1985, actually commissioned for Laura Sewell in 1985 by her parents. Sewell gave the world premiere in Minneapolis, with the composer at the piano; the work is dedicated to Jacqueline du Pré (with whom Sewell studied in London); the use of English folk melodies refers to du Pré’s heritage.

There is a review in the Fanfare Archive of a performance of the Folksongs on Naxos, by James Tocco and with the composer on the piano (Fanfare 35:3). I am also aware of a disc dating back to around 2004 by cellist Fred Raimi and Jane Hawkins on the Gasparo label that includes this work; the composer also plays with Nathaniel Rosen on an all-Schoenfield Albany disc (TROY494, released 2001). Yet, it transpires, if anyone is to persuade me about the worth of this music, it is Laura Sewell. Her account is brilliantly secure; there are myriad technical challenges, especially for the cellist, in even the first few measures of the first piece, “Jack Tar.” The Innova recording is nicely present, too; it is also clinical, leaving Sewell in particular with nowhere to hide. She is slightly foregrounded, so we can hear absolutely everything. When it comes to the solo cello opening of “The Basket of Eggs,” Sewell is remarkably expressive, bringing to mind her great mentor. Interestingly, Sewell and Konev persuade me more of the validity of this music than Tocco and the composer. The former pair pinpoints the yearning at the heart of that second piece, and it grows in stature as a result. The Britten-ish overtones to “The Gypsy Laddie,” where suddenly the music bites, are well drawn out here. Konev is impressive too, although (not his fault) the recording does blunt the high treble somewhat. There is a helter-skelter passage for piano that sounds nicely unbuttoned; elsewhere, just a touch more abandon would have elevated this out of the studio. The emotional heart of the cycle is “The Parting Kiss,” and it is beautifully played. Sewell and Konev penetrate to the music’s heart, just as they do in the final “A Dream of Napoleon.” Here, Sewell’s high lines seem to stretch out to Shostakovich.

Another piece written for Sewell is Stephen Paulus’s Banchetto Musicale, a set of re-imagined Renaissance dances. After a light “Intrada,” it is a surprise to encounter a “Paduana” (Pavane) of deep introspection, with hints perhaps of Prokofiev here and there. It is the most extended section of the piece and makes quite an impression. When the cello plays seule, Sewell’s playing seems to gain extra levels of heart-based espressivo. This “pavane” is indeed coupled with a galliard (or as seen here, “Gagliarda”), rhythmically vital, jaunty, with some beautiful piano decorations from pianist Ora Itkin. The “Corrente” certainly runs, almost a cat-and-mouse game, while the “Air” begins full of beauty before it swells and retreats. Surely this is the highlight of the suite. The piece ends with an “Allemande/Tripla,” an allemande that moves into a fast triple-meter section. The movement requires keen reactions and strong articulation from both players, and Sewell and Itkin shine both individually and together. An unexpected piano glissando is part of the lead-in to the playful “Tripla,” with its waves of piano sound. A much shorter piece by Paulus ends the disc, Benediction, a transcription of a piece for voice and piano entitled Shall I Compare Thee. Decidedly hymnic, its new title in this guise (invented by Sewell) seems very appropriate. Sewell allows the music to breathe, always aware of the piece’s vocal origins, and the music benefits immensely.

In between those two Paulus pieces is From the Land of Song by David Evan Thomas, a tribute to Wales through five Welsh folksongs, “Let now the harp,” “Over the stone,” “The missing boat,” “All through the night,” and “Well I know this lovely place.” They appear as one string over the course of just under a quarter of an hour, and what a lovely 15 minutes it is. There is an artful simplicity to Thomas’s settings that immediately won over this listener, at least. Although the piece was recorded in 2010 by Christine Thomas Tsen and Narine Babadjanian, the concert premiere was given by the present performers, Sewell and Sonja Thompson, in St. Paul in 2019. The conclusion of the work was amended by the composer during the recording sessions for this disc, making what we hear here the final version of the work. Before that there are moments of rumination (the treatment of “All through the night”) and cheeky joy.

There is only one other work in the Fanfare Archive by Thomas at this time of writing: Many Happy Returns for clarinet, violin and piano, on a multi-composer CRI disc (reviewed by James H. North in 15:4). Although not enough music by Thomas is available as yet, a whole disc of his music has just been released on Centaur (played by the pianist here, Sonja Thompson) and awaits my review. Watch this space (although if you read Fanfare sequentially, you might well have read it by now).

This is a fascinating, well-recorded and often beautiful disc. There is so much to enjoy here, even if Sewell cannot quite convince me about Schoenfield. Colin Clarke

 

An Interview with Laura Sewell
By Hana Gubenko

In the classical music scene, we love to talk about “school.” For performers, we hear from our teachers about the “schools” where they taught; but, oftentimes, when we talk about one “school” or another, we also talk about heritage, traditions, and legacy, or even just about professional know-how. Even further than that, “school” represents a performer’s artistic identity, as well as his or her personal or national identity. Like any other term which seems to represent one’s identity, the relevance of “school” is strongly questionable. All too easily we might get into a dispute or even fight about our school as we might argue about all sorts of values. Jacqueline du Pré made lots of brave and independent moves. She brought together a traditional background and such a strong esprit of freedom that she gained renown not only for herself, but also, with trans-generative outreach, shared that freedom with her audiences, her students, and fellow performers. She asked essential questions, such as questioning the purpose of the musical edition in relation to the actual interpretation or how to play. In her Elgar Concerto edition, du Pré answered those questions, pioneering a different approach from the editorial concept, which was often common practice.

Laura Sewell’s artistic attitude and her latest album, Threescore, present an honorable answer to the question of why a “school” is such a necessity. To learn and teach is similar to one’s childhood upbringing; as children, we learn from our parents’ examples, but when we are grown, we pass on the lessons of our parents to our own children, improving on what we have learned from our parents. This applies to any sort of parenting, not only biological, but spiritual as well. With gratitude, we take the best from all that we received and after critical examination through life experiences, we pass it on in the hope of getting through it as best we can. This is exactly the case with Laura Sewell, who was taught by the most fascinating musicians of the 20th century. Leonard Rose and Jacqueline du Pré are like Zeus and Hera of the musical Olympus. In this album, Sewell took all her impressions from her teachers and made those impressions speak in a very authentic way. Threescore is not only a tribute to her mentors but also to her roots, to loving parents. She gives life to pieces that were written just for her with literal connections to her life. We hear a master speaking from the bottom of her heart, and at this point we do not want to think of any “school.” We have the chance to be her guest on this amazing trip through her entire life story.

Laura, I feel delighted to invite you to talk with me for Fanfare. You have such an inspiring path. Please tell me what it was like to be a student of Leonard Rose and Jacqueline du Pré. Did they differ from one another or were they like one voice from two speakers?

Both teachers primarily focused on coaching the great standard cello repertoire. Lessons were spent discussing interpretations and how best to get musical ideas across to the listener. Technique was discussed only as a means of explaining how to successfully express those musical thoughts on the cello.

With Mr. Rose, though, a lot of lesson time was spent on actually playing the cello. When I first arrived at Juilliard, he had me completely change my bow arm and how I sat with the cello. The first few months of my freshman year I spent a lot of time just sitting in front of a full-length mirror watching myself play scales!

I had the pleasure of playing with the former student and assistant of Mr. Rose, Scott Ballantyne, who told me so many stories about Juilliard and the class, and the way of teaching which seemed sort of like parenting by Mr. Rose. How did you feel in his class, and do you have a favorite story from that time?

Mr. Rose was a very formal and somewhat old-fashioned sort of gentleman. He was very soft-spoken, extremely polite, and always kind. He was the sort of person who instantly commanded respect and I don’t know any Rose student who wasn’t nervous while waiting outside his studio for the lesson to begin. He was known for being meticulously prepared for all his performances, so a lack of preparation was definitely not what any of us wanted to present at our lessons! During the time that I studied with Mr. Rose, he was already suffering from the cancer that eventually took his life a few years later. He never let on that he was feeling ill, though, which I now look back on with immense admiration and amazement. He was the consummate professional.

How has Juilliard changed since then until now? Or did it change? Julliard was the Mecca of the Western musical establishment back in the 1970s and 1980s. What was it like to be there in the middle of that golden time? Did you feel privileged? And what were your other influences?

The Juilliard that I attended was quite different than Juilliard is now. For one thing, there were no dormitories for students when I was there. Everybody had to find a place to live in New York City (basically without any help from the school) and then live in an apartment with a roommate or two and go to Juilliard just to take classes, lessons, or to go to rehearsals. I was suddenly plunged into living as an adult in one of the largest cities in the world. There was nothing that resembled having a typical “college experience.” Some students hated that and sort of floundered, but I found it to be very exciting. I was fortunate to find a wonderful group of friends early on during my time there—and I am still friends with all of them! Now, when I hear about all the changes that have happened at Juilliard, such as providing dorms and a meal plan, and having school-sponsored social events and other outlets for students, I think it is probably a much more welcoming and nurturing environment overall.

The musical training that I received there during the late 1970s and early 1980s was fantastic, though! Besides my lessons with Mr. Rose, I was fortunate to have chamber music coaching with all four members of the Juilliard String Quartet, as well as with the legendary Felix Galimir. Forming friendships and making music with such talented musical peers was also hugely important to my development. Also, I can’t overstate the importance of having easy access to attend world-class performances in New York City on a regular basis.

The 1980s were a time of the Cold War, which used art quite strongly as a stage. Did you have an interest in the Russian “School”?

I must admit that no one ever really spoke to me about the “Russian School,” but I was somewhat aware of it. During the 1970s and 1980s everybody was absolutely enthralled with Mstislav Rostropovich. He was everybody’s “cello hero” at that time! So, without realizing it, I suppose we young cellists were all emulating that Russian style of playing to some degree or another during those decades.

What has been your strongest motivation to perform? What made you feel the urge to choose this bloody path? Did you ever have any doubts? If you had the chance to go back and start again, would you remain on the path you took or would you take another one?

My strongest motivation to perform and to study music has always been to be able to play the fantastic repertoire that exists for the cello. Our solo repertoire is quite wonderful, although not nearly as vast as what violinists have been blessed with, but the chamber music repertoire we have access to is absolutely fantastic! My greatest joy is playing chamber music with my colleagues.

When I was ten, I remember quite literally deciding that I wanted to become a professional cellist after only about a month of taking cello lessons! It just completely “clicked” with me, and I was hooked. My parents never had to ask me to practice. I am certain that I would do it all again if I had the chance.

Jacqueline du Pré was a sort of cello goddess. What did you feel at your very first class? Was there anything about her that was concealed among all the repeated stories?

From the very first lesson I had with her I was struck by her genuine kindness and approachability. Although I was quite nervous for my first lesson, she immediately put me at ease with her welcoming spirit and friendliness. She was delightful company, and often quite funny!

Please share your dearest story from your time in London. How did you feel as an American in England?

One thing I discovered while living in London during the late 1970s was how fiercely proud Londoners were of Jacqueline du Pré. I always got a sense that they loved claiming her as “one of their own.” Any time I mentioned to anyone (even strangers) that I was there to study with du Pré, there was always an outpouring of affection and then the person would proceed to tell me about the time they saw her perform at such and such a place. Even people you wouldn’t imagine to be classical music lovers knew who she was.

One time I was on a city bus with my cello on the way to a lesson with du Pré and a woman overheard me talking to someone about my reasons for being on the bus with my cello. She was about to exit the bus and happened to be holding a bouquet of flowers that she had just bought. She thrust them into my hand with tears in her eyes and said, “Please give these to her when you get to your lesson and tell her how much she is loved by all of us.”

How do you feel about your artistic identity, and do you feel a bridge between you as an artist and your national identity? Or is an artist a citizen of art?

I don’t really think of myself as being an “American artist,” but there is no mistaking the fact that I received nearly all my musical education in this country (aside from the half year I spent in London studying with du Pré, and another brief stint at the Aldeburgh Festival where I had the privilege of coaching with William Pleeth). I also spent quite a few summers studying at some of our wonderful American music festivals such as Tanglewood, Interlochen, Aspen, and Meadowmount. It’s important to remember that although the schools and festivals were in the United States, many of their distinguished teachers were European immigrants. My generation was very blessed with having relatively easy access to the many great artists who immigrated to this country in the middle of the 20th century.

So perhaps that means I am an American who was lucky to have been the recipient of a long and distinguished line of European musical tradition.

As a teacher, how much of you is just you and how much is mentors projected onto your work? What do you think about the relevance of “school” in music? How do you deal with the balance between tradition and improvement?

While I am certainly a product of what has been passed down to me, I developed a musical voice of my own. I am constantly struck by the fact that every single time I sit down to practice the cello I discover something new that I had never noticed before. Sometimes it’s something very tiny, such as how I can tweak what I am physically doing to make playing a bit easier or more effective. Or it might be a completely new thought about a phrase in a piece of music I have played for decades. Having the ability to play music is a great privilege and the gift of a lifetime.

You do a lot for youth and the musical establishment. How do you feel about the prospects of professional musical education nowadays, when classical music always seems to suffer quite a huge defeat? Is it still a worthy choice to send young people to study music? What professional prospects do they have after graduation?

I am very involved with the International Cello Institute, an intensive three-week program for serious young cellists that takes place in Minnesota every summer. I can assure you that there is no shortage of very talented young people who are studying the cello these days! The level of playing is extremely high, plus there are just many more people studying the instrument than there used to be.

I used to struggle with the ethics of encouraging so many kids to study music and learn an instrument because there simply aren’t nearly enough jobs available to employ all the qualified people who decide to major in music in college and to pursue a professional career. Now, however, I think about it a bit differently. It’s never a waste of time to have studied music in a meaningful way. There are so many skills a person learns by studying an instrument; patience, humility, critical thinking and creative thinking, poise under pressure, the ability to take criticism well, and the list goes on and on.

Some of those students will end up winning positions in orchestras or at universities, and many will find other meaningful and creative ways to forge interesting careers in music. Others will end up going in another career direction, but none of the hours and years spent studying music will have been a waste of their time, in my opinion. It will make them better audience members and possibly future arts supporters. It will also make them more interesting and well-rounded people.

While giving classes, do you have moments of inner discussion with one or several mentors that you’ve had?

Whenever I am stumped about what to say to a student, I try to remember what my own teachers would have said when faced with that particular teaching problem.

And now to your album. While listening I felt like I was on a journey through your story, and the story of the musical evolution from the 1980s until now. How do you feel about it?

Making this CD was a “Bucket List” item for me for sure. I have been meaning to record the two pieces my parents commissioned for me (the Schoenfield and the Paulus) for decades! My final impetus was the fact that I was about to turn 60 (hence the name, “Threescore,” for the album).

I was in my 20s when these works were written, and although I was grateful and excited about the pieces, I don’t think I fully grasped how truly fortunate I was. The older I got the more I appreciated the fact that my parents had commissioned two wonderful works for me by prominent American composers. I’m thrilled that both of my parents are still alive and have been well aware of and interested in this long overdue recording project of mine.

Where did it start? What was relevant when Paul Schoenfield and Stephen Paulus were working on those pieces and what changed when Stephen Paulus wrote the “Benediction” in 2003?

It all started with my parents who are both trained musicians. My mother was a singer, and my father was a violinist who studied at the Curtis Institute of Music. They have been leaders in the Minneapolis/St. Paul (Twin Cities) arts community for decades and have commissioned many works over the years, besides the two pieces written for me. Paulus and Schoenfield were living in the Twin Cities during the 1980s, and both were amenable to the idea of writing a work for cello and piano.

At that time both composers were quite young. Stephen Paulus was only thirty years old when my parents approached him about writing a piece for me. In fact, it was one of his very first commissions! I think his piece, “Banchetto Musicale” is full of youthful exuberance and freshness. Considering it’s such an early work of his, it is remarkably well-written for the cello! By the time he wrote “Benediction” 22 years later, he had lived quite a full and interesting life. He was married with children by then and his career had had ups and downs like anyone else’s. He sounds much more reflective in “Benediction,” I think.

Paul Schoenfield was 38 years old when he wrote “Six British Folksongs” and was already an established composer. Paul was a very serious and introspective person—and still is. His music seems to encompass a huge range of human emotions and is deeply expressive. I think this piece is a major contribution to the cello/piano repertoire and deserves to be much better known than it currently is. It was a great privilege for me to work with him as a composer and then as a duo partner for the premiere of the work, and on two separate occasions after that.

The Six British Folksongs are personally related to your life, but on the other hand I hear different influences, like Paul Hindemith’s in “Jack Tar”; a folksy ricercare in “The Basket of Eggs”; a Spanish jota in “The Gypsy Laddie”; an elegy in “The Parting Kiss”; perhaps even a tarantella in “The Lousy Tailor.” And how did “A Dream of Napoleon” make it into this cycle?

The work closes with Schoenfield’s setting of the folk song “A Dream of Napoleon” and it is probably the most effective movement in the piece. It is a stunning ending. I feel that Schoenfield truly captures the essence of a dream as the movement unwinds with great simplicity and then eventually evaporates at the very end.

Banchetto Musicale by Stephen Paulus makes a sort of echo in my eyes to the Suite Italienne by Igor Stravinsky, but nonetheless even if I hear a parallel the piece is very authentic and independent. Would you agree on that? Couldn’t “Air” also be titled “Meditation”? And the “Allemande” is winning with the tempo you have chosen. Was this spontaneous or did you search for a while to find the right tempo?

Ora Itkin and I settled into the tempo of the Allemande because it just felt right for that movement. The mood is very boisterous and almost peasant-like. We were going for a sort of unsophisticated and swaggering quality.

The story “From the Land of Song” brings us here and now. We hear that longing for innovation among musical styles, which creates a place for seeking closeness. There is a wish to find a meeting point with the listener which has replaced the challenging approach. What would you say about it?

I love this piece! David Evan Thomas has taken five lovely Welsh songs and has set them in very innovative and sophisticated ways. It is extremely accessible and constantly surprising.

If you could choose a project completely free from any aspects, what would you like to record? What are your upcoming projects?

I am still mulling that over!

Many thanks for this and for your album. I can’t wait to see and listen to your next release.