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Franchomme/Chopin: Grand Duo Concertant, Etc / Bylsma, Orkis
Of the many new friendships enjoyed by the 21 year-old Chopin on his arrival in Paris, none proved more lasting than that with the distinguished cellist, August Franchomme (just two years his senior), for whom he eventually wrote his one and only cello sonata. It could well have been their first early collaboration in a commission for a Grand Duo on themes from Meyerbeer's Roberto le diable—so rightfully serving here, in a richly relished interpretation from Bylsma and Orkis, as centrepiece—that set the Frenchman atingle to provide his cello with more.
Not too many tears need be shed that all his other works included here have long disappeared from the repertory. Alone, on his own two feet, he was certainly no Chopin (who, incidentally, must have truly loved him to sanction the merging of two of his own truncated Nocturnes in the transcription for cello and piano in track 3). But there are attractive touches of local colour in the opening and closing sets of French and Russian variations, while the Grande va/se, Op. 34, shows how willingly Franchomme was prepared to let his cello just dance and sing. Enough enjoyment, in fact, for every collector to rejoice at such rarity enterprise.
I suspect that this music might have won Franchomme even more immediate friends if coming from a team less dedicated to matters of 'period' sonority and style than Bylsma and his colleagues have always been—and, incidentally, the Erard piano from which Orkis conjures so many arresting things was a present from Queen Victoria to her dear Albert, housed at Balmoral from 1855-1977. But don't be put off, as in this context I was, initially. Your ear soon tunes in. The recording itself very closely and vividly conveys these players' wide range of dynamics and colour as well as such extraneous proofs of musical involvement as Bylsma's gasping intakes of breath. The all-embracing insert-notes of the supporting cellist, Kenneth Slowik, are a true bonus.
-- JOC, Gramophone [4/1995]
Not too many tears need be shed that all his other works included here have long disappeared from the repertory. Alone, on his own two feet, he was certainly no Chopin (who, incidentally, must have truly loved him to sanction the merging of two of his own truncated Nocturnes in the transcription for cello and piano in track 3). But there are attractive touches of local colour in the opening and closing sets of French and Russian variations, while the Grande va/se, Op. 34, shows how willingly Franchomme was prepared to let his cello just dance and sing. Enough enjoyment, in fact, for every collector to rejoice at such rarity enterprise.
I suspect that this music might have won Franchomme even more immediate friends if coming from a team less dedicated to matters of 'period' sonority and style than Bylsma and his colleagues have always been—and, incidentally, the Erard piano from which Orkis conjures so many arresting things was a present from Queen Victoria to her dear Albert, housed at Balmoral from 1855-1977. But don't be put off, as in this context I was, initially. Your ear soon tunes in. The recording itself very closely and vividly conveys these players' wide range of dynamics and colour as well as such extraneous proofs of musical involvement as Bylsma's gasping intakes of breath. The all-embracing insert-notes of the supporting cellist, Kenneth Slowik, are a true bonus.
-- JOC, Gramophone [4/1995]
$4.90
Original: $13.99
-65%Franchomme/Chopin: Grand Duo Concertant, Etc / Bylsma, Orkis—
$13.99
$4.90Franchomme/Chopin: Grand Duo Concertant, Etc / Bylsma, Orkis
Of the many new friendships enjoyed by the 21 year-old Chopin on his arrival in Paris, none proved more lasting than that with the distinguished cellist, August Franchomme (just two years his senior), for whom he eventually wrote his one and only cello sonata. It could well have been their first early collaboration in a commission for a Grand Duo on themes from Meyerbeer's Roberto le diable—so rightfully serving here, in a richly relished interpretation from Bylsma and Orkis, as centrepiece—that set the Frenchman atingle to provide his cello with more.
Not too many tears need be shed that all his other works included here have long disappeared from the repertory. Alone, on his own two feet, he was certainly no Chopin (who, incidentally, must have truly loved him to sanction the merging of two of his own truncated Nocturnes in the transcription for cello and piano in track 3). But there are attractive touches of local colour in the opening and closing sets of French and Russian variations, while the Grande va/se, Op. 34, shows how willingly Franchomme was prepared to let his cello just dance and sing. Enough enjoyment, in fact, for every collector to rejoice at such rarity enterprise.
I suspect that this music might have won Franchomme even more immediate friends if coming from a team less dedicated to matters of 'period' sonority and style than Bylsma and his colleagues have always been—and, incidentally, the Erard piano from which Orkis conjures so many arresting things was a present from Queen Victoria to her dear Albert, housed at Balmoral from 1855-1977. But don't be put off, as in this context I was, initially. Your ear soon tunes in. The recording itself very closely and vividly conveys these players' wide range of dynamics and colour as well as such extraneous proofs of musical involvement as Bylsma's gasping intakes of breath. The all-embracing insert-notes of the supporting cellist, Kenneth Slowik, are a true bonus.
-- JOC, Gramophone [4/1995]
Not too many tears need be shed that all his other works included here have long disappeared from the repertory. Alone, on his own two feet, he was certainly no Chopin (who, incidentally, must have truly loved him to sanction the merging of two of his own truncated Nocturnes in the transcription for cello and piano in track 3). But there are attractive touches of local colour in the opening and closing sets of French and Russian variations, while the Grande va/se, Op. 34, shows how willingly Franchomme was prepared to let his cello just dance and sing. Enough enjoyment, in fact, for every collector to rejoice at such rarity enterprise.
I suspect that this music might have won Franchomme even more immediate friends if coming from a team less dedicated to matters of 'period' sonority and style than Bylsma and his colleagues have always been—and, incidentally, the Erard piano from which Orkis conjures so many arresting things was a present from Queen Victoria to her dear Albert, housed at Balmoral from 1855-1977. But don't be put off, as in this context I was, initially. Your ear soon tunes in. The recording itself very closely and vividly conveys these players' wide range of dynamics and colour as well as such extraneous proofs of musical involvement as Bylsma's gasping intakes of breath. The all-embracing insert-notes of the supporting cellist, Kenneth Slowik, are a true bonus.
-- JOC, Gramophone [4/1995]
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Of the many new friendships enjoyed by the 21 year-old Chopin on his arrival in Paris, none proved more lasting than that with the distinguished cellist, August Franchomme (just two years his senior), for whom he eventually wrote his one and only cello sonata. It could well have been their first early collaboration in a commission for a Grand Duo on themes from Meyerbeer's Roberto le diable—so rightfully serving here, in a richly relished interpretation from Bylsma and Orkis, as centrepiece—that set the Frenchman atingle to provide his cello with more.
Not too many tears need be shed that all his other works included here have long disappeared from the repertory. Alone, on his own two feet, he was certainly no Chopin (who, incidentally, must have truly loved him to sanction the merging of two of his own truncated Nocturnes in the transcription for cello and piano in track 3). But there are attractive touches of local colour in the opening and closing sets of French and Russian variations, while the Grande va/se, Op. 34, shows how willingly Franchomme was prepared to let his cello just dance and sing. Enough enjoyment, in fact, for every collector to rejoice at such rarity enterprise.
I suspect that this music might have won Franchomme even more immediate friends if coming from a team less dedicated to matters of 'period' sonority and style than Bylsma and his colleagues have always been—and, incidentally, the Erard piano from which Orkis conjures so many arresting things was a present from Queen Victoria to her dear Albert, housed at Balmoral from 1855-1977. But don't be put off, as in this context I was, initially. Your ear soon tunes in. The recording itself very closely and vividly conveys these players' wide range of dynamics and colour as well as such extraneous proofs of musical involvement as Bylsma's gasping intakes of breath. The all-embracing insert-notes of the supporting cellist, Kenneth Slowik, are a true bonus.
-- JOC, Gramophone [4/1995]
Not too many tears need be shed that all his other works included here have long disappeared from the repertory. Alone, on his own two feet, he was certainly no Chopin (who, incidentally, must have truly loved him to sanction the merging of two of his own truncated Nocturnes in the transcription for cello and piano in track 3). But there are attractive touches of local colour in the opening and closing sets of French and Russian variations, while the Grande va/se, Op. 34, shows how willingly Franchomme was prepared to let his cello just dance and sing. Enough enjoyment, in fact, for every collector to rejoice at such rarity enterprise.
I suspect that this music might have won Franchomme even more immediate friends if coming from a team less dedicated to matters of 'period' sonority and style than Bylsma and his colleagues have always been—and, incidentally, the Erard piano from which Orkis conjures so many arresting things was a present from Queen Victoria to her dear Albert, housed at Balmoral from 1855-1977. But don't be put off, as in this context I was, initially. Your ear soon tunes in. The recording itself very closely and vividly conveys these players' wide range of dynamics and colour as well as such extraneous proofs of musical involvement as Bylsma's gasping intakes of breath. The all-embracing insert-notes of the supporting cellist, Kenneth Slowik, are a true bonus.
-- JOC, Gramophone [4/1995]
