Christopher Hinterhuber

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Christopher Hinterhuber press reviews

Here are the latest reviews of the recording of Ries, Piano ConcertosVol. III featuring Christopher Hinterhuber, the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra and conductor Uwe Grodd:

Jeremy Nicholas
Gramophone, September 2009
Entertaining visions of England from a pupil and friend of Beethoven

Ferdinand Ries (1784–1838), pupil, friend and biographer of Beethoven, made London his home from 1813 to 1824. The Piano Concerto No 7 was composed in 1823, the year before he returned to the Rhineland (its subtitle Farewell Concerto from England was added by the publisher); the Variations on Rule, Britannia were composed in Hastings in 1817…while the tune for the Variations, Op 170, though not identified as such in the score, turns out to be “Soldier, soldier will you marry me / With your musket, fife and drum”. In brief, a trio of England-related works that might have been specially written to fit neatly onto one CD.

Are they worth hearing? Not if you require spiritual nourishment or intellectual stimulation, but if you enjoy brilliant display pieces whose untroubled function is to dazzle and entertain, then Ries is your man. Hummel is the model for the piano-writing (with some fascinating passages prescient of Chopin and Mendelssohn), though the extended first movement of the Concerto, with its lengthy and quirky cadenza, is at times in danger of attempting a faux Beethovenian profundity. As on Volumes 1 and 2, the excellent Christopher Hinterhuber has his work cut out and delivers the goods in sparkling, empathetic fashion…he now has the benefit of the RLPO. The role allotted to them is, to be frank, not demanding. The booklet (Allan Bradley, also responsible for the performing editions) is first-rate, as is the recorded sound.
 
 
 
Gary Lemco
Audiophile Audition, July 2009
Composer Ferdinand Ries (1784–1838) wrote fourteen works for piano and orchestra, and I had remained unfamiliar with all of them until I auditioned this recording.  An associate of Beethoven, Ries enjoyed a concert platform career well into the 1830s. Having composed nine piano concertos, Ries inevitably suffers comparison with his more esteemed contemporary, whose influence can be felt in the flashy, martial, dotted rhythms that permeate his first offering here, the glittery 1823 Farewell to Britannia Concerto in A Major. But the harmonic functions in Ries differ decidedly in Ries, since he would rather rhapsodize than conform to any strictures about sonata-form. Cadenzas come and go, seemingly ad libitum; and the general, bombastic nature of the writing, its flamboyant fioritura, rather invites comparison with Weber’s Konzertstuck in F Minor more than with Beethoven, Hummel, Mendelssohn, or Chopin, though Ries’s rhetorical strategies borrow from them all.

The second movement, Larghetto—which opens by almost quoting verbatim Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto—becomes “bardic,” strumming the theme over soft, string chords. A march suddenly emerges, but it, too, seems derivative of Mozart’sRequiem. Once or twice, I hear other allusions to Mozart, especially the big Concerto in C, K. 503.  Then, Mendelssohn kicks in, particularly the Capriccio Brillante, Op. 22. When I become impatient with Ries and the constantly intertwining runs and roulades, I glibly note that the piece seems 10% inspiration and 90% “scintillation.” The use of repeated notes in the first movement sounds like a stuttering sequence from Chopin or a Liszt Rhapsody, often in parody. A contemporary critic of 1824 wrote of Ries having composed for “the Aeolian harp.” I find the strings of that harp rather acrobatically arranged, which aligns me with Clara Schumann’s assessment of Camille Saint-Saens. The last movement, a flurried, galloping Allegro whose main, tripping tunes “borrow” from the last movements of Mozart’s G Minor Symphony and Chopin‘s E Minor Concerto, cascades along with predictable, if quirkily eclectic, panache.

The second movement, Larghetto—which opens by almost quoting verbatim Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto—becomes “bardic,” strumming the theme over soft, string chords. A march suddenly emerges, but it, too, seems derivative of Mozart’sRequiem. Once or twice, I hear other allusions to Mozart, especially the big Concerto in C, K. 503.  Then, Mendelssohn kicks in, particularly the Capriccio Brillante, Op. 22. When I become impatient with Ries and the constantly intertwining runs and roulades, I glibly note that the piece seems 10% inspiration and 90% “scintillation.” The use of repeated notes in the first movement sounds like a stuttering sequence from Chopin or a Liszt Rhapsody, often in parody. A contemporary critic of 1824 wrote of Ries having composed for “the Aeolian harp.” I find the strings of that harp rather acrobatically arranged, which aligns me with Clara Schumann’s assessment of Camille Saint-Saens. The last movement, a flurried, galloping Allegro whose main, tripping tunes “borrow” from the last movements of Mozart’s G Minor Symphony and Chopin‘s E Minor Concerto, cascades along with predictable, if quirkily eclectic, panache.

The second work to mark Ries’s retirement from the London stage is his 1817 Grand Variations on ‘Rule Britannia.’ An E-flat, pomposo introduction leads to a fragment—seven notes in the horns—of the jingoistic tune, a cell that assume various characters and guises, after, of course, the keyboard has had its verbose statement—the verses of the text—if you will. Each of the succeeding tuttis—acting as a responsive chorus—is numbered in the Ries score. The model for all this I suspect is Beethoven’s Choral Fantasia, Op. 80, herein diluted with ornamental peppers and paprika of a distinctly Gordian nature. Four variations behave rather placidly, given Ries’s extroverted nature; then, he begins to flex his musical muscles, changing the duple meter to a swaggering 6/8 and the tonality to A-flat. Some counterpoint ensues, rather a “learned” treatment from Ries, who thenceforth shows us he can conform—albeit playfully—to classical procedures, if he wishes. Harmonically, Ries does catch my ear with the shift for his coda; if only he would ease up on the roulades, which by now, I find a peacock’s affectation.

Well, the sun never sets over…Ries. His Introduction et Variations Brillantes, oh so French, sets as a long introduction and four variants the tune, “Soldier, soldier, will you marry me?”  Its tripartite structure, with a long central Larghetto in A-flat Major and B Major, might just be distant antecedent for Franck’s Symphonic Variations. The dancing main air proves captivating, in a music-hall or shanty fashion, to the generous ear. The writing for flute, horns, and strings proves quite idiomatic, so let us not disparage Ries’ gifts for orchestration, keyboard facility, or stylistic variety. To wit, I grant Ries full credit for his musical mimicry of others’ styles, and concede that, were his talents in the visual arts, he might have enjoyed unqualified success as an art forger