Luciano Troja Revisits the Understatedly Gorgeous Piano Music of Earl Zindars

In 2010, Italian pianist Luciano Troja made an important contribution to the jazz canon with his album At Home with Zindars, a rare exploration of the music of Earl Zindars, from who Bill Evans drew for some of his more memorable material. Thirteen years later, Troja is back with an even more auspicious recording of even rarer numbers by the undeservedly obscure composer and pianist, whose connection to Evans makes sense in terms of sheer tunefulness. Troja recorded the first half solo, live in concert in 2018 at the Maybeck Recital Hall in Berkeley and finished the record a year later with a suite of his own in the studio in Italy. And the album, To New Life, is finally here for you to enjoy (you can hear parts at Bandcamp for the time being).

What’s most stunning here is how much of a Mompou-esque, eerie upper-register gleam there is in this music, often juxtaposed with moments of unselfconsciously rapt beauty, which Troja parses with care and a steady understatement. Zindars’ heritage was Armenian, and that influence comes through strongly here.

The opening track, Lullaby for Helene is a gorgeously otherworldly waltz, Troja slowly and elegantly moving from Messiaenic glimmer to a fond neoromantic ballad and back. The second number is a mashup of sorts, the ragtime-tinged Sareen Jurer into Zindars’ wife Annig’s Hokees Orrant Ee Var with its stark Armenian tinges.

Troja takes a matter-of-fact, unhurried approach to the subtly fugal tidal shifts in Dreams Are These, which perfectly capsulizes this music’s appeal. Likewise, Elsa, a waltz with some deliciously glistening, romping cadences, which could be retitled “My Favorite Uneasy Things.”

Troja makes a diptych out of Thoughts of Mine, an increasingly troubled, chromatically-fueled 1992 theme composition, and a restrained take of Mother of Earl, the swinging 1957 tune popularized by Evans.

Troja goes back to steady waltz time for Karen’s Mode with its interweave of attractive singalong balladry and thorny chromatics, with an unexpectedly scrambling midsection. Roses for Annig is kaleidoscopic, from wistful to joyously Chopinesque. The last of the concert tracks is the world premiere recording of Wissahickon Walk, a Pennsylvania tableau which Troja begins sparely and gingerly before expanding from wary rainy-day echo figures to a mysterious interlude which also features muted riq frame drum and then a rather stern, martially-tinged segment.

Troja winds up the record with his title suite, his own partita, inspired by a Zindars poem. The introduction, Rain makes an aptly picturesque segue with the Zindars material, followed by Silenced World, a return to solemn, enigmatic bell-like sonics. Part three, titled Wait has a plaintive Angelo Badalementi-esque minimalism, while the conclusion is guardedly celebratory. What an absolutely gorgeous album.

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Yannick Nezet-Seguin and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe’s Beethoven Cycle: Spinning New Tales, or Just Wheels?

Conductor Yannick Nezet-Seguin and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe have had a relatively intimate Beethoven symphonic cycle set out for awhile now and streaming at Spotify. How does it compare with the gold standard, Jordi Savall and Le Concert Des Nations’ revelatory recording of the first five symphonies?

This is like a missing puzzle piece. It literally fills in the gaps. Savall’s careening yet meticulously detailed (and often rowdy and hilarious) recordings of the core Third, Fourth and Fifth symphonies will have you literally hearing things in otherwise familiar old scores that you have never heard before. The rudimentary, boisterous percussion section in the Fifth is worth the price of the whole collection.

But where Savall goes for rustic – and sometimes the jugular – Nezet-Seguin excels especially with the later symphonies. Reducing them to more manageable proportions pays whopping dividends in terms of clarity and punch. Granted, listeners who think they’re getting any realistic approximation of what Beethoven’s audiences experienced are missing the point because those few who enjoyed that privilege did so as part of a concert audience, not on their own time with earbuds in. But as orchestral sprawl has grown over the last two centuries, details get subsumed in the ether and this cycle is a welcome antidote,

You might think that Beethoven Three, Four and Five would be Nezet-Seguin’s most central focus here, but strangely that isn’t the case. The temporal liberties he takes with Five are a head-scratcher: you simply don’t mess with the most iconic classical riff of alltime. Three and Four are perfectly enjoyable and have plenty of detail to recommend them, but none with the fire that Savall brings.

Instead, it’s Six through Nine where Nezet-Seguin and the orchestra provide a most welcome antidote to the contention that Beethoven was on autopilot by the time he wrote these, and that they’re mere plush entertainment for the era’s mercantile and financier classes. In the Sixth, Nezet-Seguin’s clarity and balance emphasizes a robust foundation of strings, keeping the high winds from floating away on a bubble. The carefree and unhurried courtly dance of a second movement gets a little airy angst to keep the focus sharp. The big shivery rainstorm toward the end of the third is a sudden and rewardingly jarring interlude in contrast to the warm sunset scenery on the way out.

A seriousness comes out in the striding opening movement in Seven, conspicuously absent from most other recordings of the symphony. To Nezet-Seguin’s infinite credit, he sticks with intensity that throughout a wary but insistent second movement. Conversationality typically comes into clearer focus in smaller-scale recordings like this, notably in the fourth movement, which echoes the vigor of the Savall recordings most strongly.

The version of the Eighth Symphony here harks back to the first two, emphasis on frequent individual voices popping up amid the comfortable, Haydnesque nocturnal lustre, with punchy winds in the second movement and momentary stormy shivers in the third as entertaining diversions.

The premise of a chamber orchestra version of Beethoven Nine may be a bit of a stretch: it’s hard to imagine the composer objecting to any attempt to further enrich the layers of this sonic mille-feuille. But Nezet-Seguin and the orchestra validate their choice with a particularly lithe, dynamically understated first movement, richly bracing baroque cadences in the second and vividly fond lyrical balladry in the third before the fireworks kick in.

Obviously, in nine symphonies worth of material from an acclaimed conductor and chamber orchestra, there are other levels of detail too innumerable to fit into a single digestible review. All this is meant to point you in the direction of the most noteworthy pieces of the puzzle, but there are so many more, and most of them are worth seeking out.