Barber: Violin Concerto and Orchestral Works
Buswell, violin; Royal Scottish National Orchestra; Marin Alsop, conductor.
Naxos 8.559044.
The Barber Violin Concerto has accumulated barnacles over the decades—too many glib performances that coast on the work’s surface charms without excavating its peculiar emotional geology. James Buswell doesn’t entirely scrape them away, but he makes you hear things afresh, particularly in that sprawling first movement where the lyrical impulse keeps threatening to dissolve into sentiment and somehow never quite does.
His tone won’t please everyone. There’s an astringency to it, a slight acidic edge that some will find rebarbative. I found it oddly appropriate—this isn’t Stern’s plush romanticism (and I’m not abandoning that Sony recording either, with its ideal couplings of the Browning piano concerto and Yo-Yo Ma’s cello). Buswell’s approach is cooler, more analytical, yet somehow more emotionally honest. The long-breathed phrases in the "Andante" don’t wallow; they simply state their case with a kind of stoic dignity. Notice how he shapes the descending line at 3:12—there’s no portamento, no easy seduction, just the notes allowed to speak.
The RSNO strings sound thin in places. This is partly the acoustic of Henry Wood Hall, partly the character of this ensemble in the studio—they’ve never recorded with the kind of tonal heft you get from Philadelphia or Cleveland. But Alsop’s conducting is intelligent throughout, and that oboe solo opening the slow movement (principal’s name uncredited, alas) has exactly the right quality of exhausted lyricism, like someone too tired to dissemble.
The "finale"’s moto perpetuo receives crackling precision. Listen to the trumpet work at 2:55—discreet, perfectly coordinated chatter that adds just the right metallic glint without overwhelming the soloist. Buswell tosses off the perpetual motion with apparent ease, though I suspect considerable labor lies behind that effortlessness.
Souvenirs is the real treasure here. I’ve loved this ballet suite since hearing Ashley Lawrence conduct it with the BBC Concert Orchestra in 1977—one of those Radio 3 afternoon broadcasts that stick in memory for no explicable reason. The work is Barber at his most Gallic: Ravel’s La valse meets Poulenc’s Les biches at the Plaza Hotel in 1914, with perhaps a dash of Rossini’s champagne effervescence.
Alsop understands this music’s theatrical DNA. The “Two-Step” has exactly the right breathless quality—you can practically see the couples whirling across the parquet. But it’s the “Hesitation-Tango” (subtitled “A Bedroom Affair”) that reveals her interpretive sophistication. She builds to that climax at 2:21 with voluptuous inevitability, the French horns deserving special commendation for their contribution to what can only be described as—well, orgasmic. Then the music sinks back into the pillows, spent.
This performance surpasses both Serebrier and Slatkin. The pacing is more theatrical, the orchestral colors more varied, the whole conception more assured. If you know the piece only from those earlier recordings, prepare for revelation.
The coupling is less compelling. The Serenade for Strings has always struck me as Barber’s weakest opus—tenderly played here, yes, but vapid at its core, too indebted to models (Elgar? Tchaikovsky?) without achieving individual character. My prejudice showing, perhaps.
Music for a Scene from Shelley fares better. Written after Barber had been reading “Prometheus Unbound” (which Havergal Brian set on the largest scale imaginable, though the full score has vanished), it builds from shadowlands to Sibelian climaxes with admirable conviction. The orchestration suggests Barber knew his Hanson—those first two symphonies especially—and there’s a whiff of Rózsa’s Hollywood grandeur in the melodramatic sweep. Not profound, but effective on its own terms, and Alsop delivers the goods.
At Naxos price, this disc offers strong value. Souvenirs alone makes it essential for Barber enthusiasts and balletomanes. Buswell’s Violin Concerto, while not displacing established favorites, brings fresh perspective—and that acidic tone may actually suit the music’s emotional reticence better than we’ve acknowledged. The strings could use more body, the Serenade remains negligible, but these are quibbles.
One final thought: might Naxos persuade Buswell to explore those two Paul Creston violin concertos? Or the single concertos by Edward Burlinghame Hill and Leo Sowerby? American repertoire this accomplished deserves advocacy this committed.
