The Golden Hindemith – Chamber Music For Viola & Saxophone

THE GOLDEN HINDEMITH – CHAMBER MUSIK FOR VIOLA AND SAXOPHONE

Many regard Hindemith's music as rather inaccessible. Hindemith himself was impulsive, very much concerned with the emotional aspect of music, and tired of people who only thought of music in theoretical terms. The musicians on this recording from LAWO Classics have set themselves the task of showing the not so familiar, more playful Hindemith. The CD begins with a duet for viola and cello. That the work is seldom performed in concert and virtually impossible to find as a recording is due to its high degree of difficulty. The instrumental voices are interwoven in intricate parts in which the cello suddenly soars above the viola. The elaborate interplay is presented by Henninge Landaas on viola and Bjørg Lewis on cello. Also included is the familiar solo sonata for viola opus 25/1 in Henninge Landaas's sparkling interpretation.

The CD contains the complete chamber works for saxophone composed by Paul Hindemith. The saxophone duet in three movements was written for the legendary saxophonist Sigurd Racher, but it was never performed during the composer's lifetime. It is heard here in a delectable rendering by two of Norway's leading saxophonists, Rolf-Erik Nystrøm and Vegard Landaas. In the sonata for alto saxophone and piano there is a dualism that is especially evident in the last movement, where Landaas's saxophone represents that which is timeless, while the piano of Elzbieta Nawrocka stands for what is restless and modern. The main work featured on the CD is the Trio for Tenor Saxophone, Viola and Piano. One would have to search far and wide to find more closely interwoven parts than these!

In the CD booklet the listener will also find passages from a stage play entitled "Tre takter takk!" written by actor and author John Nyutstumo. It was commissioned by the musicians and especially adapted to the music on the CD.

**Paul Hindemith** *Passages from a stage play* "Tre takter takk!" *by John Nyutstumo, written to the music of this CD.*

I am Paul Hindemith.

I began studying music at the age of twelve. As violinist, violist, pianist and percussionist I have cultivated an intimate knowledge of the following musical genres: all styles of chamber music, film and theatre music, folk music, dance music, military music, operetta and jazz. And in 1916 I became concertmaster of the Frankfurt Opera orchestra.

By then I had already composed and published my own music. My former teachers said: "These are not 'typical' art songs! They are much too free in form!" And they were the modern musicians of our time! Music composed from the depth of one's soul, paying no heed to the form of the song and the like, music that strayed a bit from the norm — that made them nervous! I wanted to write music, not songs and sonatas!! Of course if I write logically and my ideas just happen to produce an "old" form, there is no harm in that. But for goodness' sake I am not compelled to think in the same old ways! It was high time for me to shake off this conservative rubbish.

What was it that bound me to these earlier teachers? Tradition. Habit. But when I really wanted to know something, there was no one who helped me, no one I could talk music with because none of them had held onto their ideals: The whole of their art had become the mere craft. Try to scribble the Muse's sweetest kiss on a simple piece of paper and — when you think you have conjured up a moment of eternal bliss — what do these blockheads hear? Not music, just notes, measures, dynamics, forms and other trivialities. The trouble with the music of that time was the music was missing! And all I wanted was to make music. I care not a whit if people like it or not — as long as it is genuine and real.

I was 27 years old and a lot was happening in my life. For one thing, I discovered a new sport. I played viola d'amore, a magnificent instrument which had not been in wide use for a long time. Very little music has been written for it. It has the most delightful sound, unimaginably sweet and soft. It is difficult to play, but I played with great enthusiasm to everyone's enjoyment.

As a youngster I had been inspired by Expressionism and had written a letter: "I have completed the third piano piece. It sounds dreadfully degenerate; has no rhythm, key, or familiar harmony of any kind. If I continue on this path I'll wind up in that realm beyond good and evil where it will be impossible to know whether I have written a higher kind of music or merely a substitute for music. But I derive great satisfaction from it. One of the pieces is nine measures in length. My burning ambition is to write a piece of only three measures: theme, development, and coda."

While serving as a soldier in the First World War, I was a member of a string quartet, which was for our commanding officer a means of escape from the horrors of war. He was a great lover of music and a connoisseur and admirer of French art. So it was no wonder that his most ardent wish was to hear Debussy's String Quartet. We rehearsed the work and played it for him with much feeling in a private concert. Right after we ended the slow movement, a signal officer burst in visibly upset and reported that he had just picked up news of Debussy's death on the radio. We did not continue the performance. It was as if the soul had been removed from our playing. Now we felt for the first time how much more music is than just style, technique, and personal expression. Here music had transcended all political barriers, national hatred, and the wretchedness of war. Never before or since have I sensed so keenly in which direction music must be taken.

Shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War my wife and I felt pressure to leave Germany, so we moved to Switzerland, where we spent several happy years. We often had visitors, and my wife warned in her invitations that musicians would not be allowed in our home unless they brought along an instrument they had never played before. Once a guest took along his son's recorder. His wife had along an alto recorder, and the pianist a silver trumpet that could only be played in the key of D major. I looked around and decided on a saxophone, and my wife a cello. I assessed the situation and furnished myself with a stack of music paper. Ignoring the conversation around me for the next half hour, I composed a quintet based on the incompetence of each one of us.

[The full text continues through Hindemith's confrontation with the student "Günther" who would not appear on a programme between two Jewish composers, his exchange with Richard Strauss, and his final meditation on the great harmony that is death.]

A person must above all be true to himself, and in the opera *Mathis the Painter* I let Mathis express my innermost convictions: "We cannot escape the surroundings in which we are born. It is here we move about in everything we do. Above us there is another province: the strength that keeps us upright. Whatever we labor on, we must maintain our integrity and direct our work towards both centres. Let us thank the earth. Let us praise heaven."

I love life. What was it that drove me to leave those dear to me, to wander further and further away, using as my excuses debt, research, and affairs of state? It was for just once to hear the pure, clear song of earthly harmony. I have never known it in my soul. And so I was driven to search for it where it did not exist, and in disbelief flee from those closest to me, to the place where it seemed most certain to provide a sign.

Now I see that the harmony I was looking for is death. To know it we must die. In life there is no room for it.

— *Notes: John Nyutstumo · English translation: Jim Skurdall*