SCHIFFMAN Symphony (1961); Concerto for Oboe damore and String Orchestra (1988); Concerto for Piano and Orchestra (1982)
Harold Schiffman (born 1928)
Julie Ann Giacobassi (oboe damore); Jane Perry-Camp (piano); Győr Philharmonic Orchestra; Hungarian Symphony Orchestra; Mátyás Antal
NORTH/SOUTH RECORDINGS R 1021 (75:08)
American Vernacular
Harold Schiffman belongs to that generation of American composers—born in the late 1920s—who studied with the titans, absorbed their lessons, and then quietly went about writing music that refuses to genuflect before the European avant-garde. A student of Roger Sessions at both Berkeley and Princeton, Schiffman took what he needed from that formidable pedagogue and left the rest. The result? A body of work that speaks American English, not some tortured Continental dialect.
The Symphony from 1961 opens this North/South disc, and it announces its intentions without apology. That Allegro appassionato bursts forth with a motto theme that returns throughout the movement—a structural device Sessions would have approved—but the harmonic language never strays into the thickets where his teacher sometimes lost the path. The writing is bold, yes, but also remarkably clear. You can follow the argument. The Adagietto grazioso that follows achieves genuine intimacy through lighter scoring, a welcome respite that doesn’t overstay. Then a Scherzo with burlesque tendencies (the liner notes’ phrase, and apt enough), before a finale that builds from a Largamente introduction into march-like variations. Traditional? Certainly. Moribund? Not at all.
Mátyás Antal and the Győr Philharmonic give this music the kind of straightforward, no-nonsense reading it deserves. I was struck by how well these Hungarian players navigate what must have been entirely unfamiliar terrain—the release dates from May 1998, and I doubt Schiffman’s name had crossed many Danube bridges before then. The Evangelical Church acoustic provides warmth, though the engineering leans toward brightness. Some will find it too bright. I didn’t mind.
The Concerto for Piano and Orchestra (1982) receives a committed interpretation from Jane Perry-Camp, for whom Schiffman wrote the piece. Cast in a single movement with clearly delineated sections, it develops its material organically from opening gestures—again, that Sessions training showing through in the structural logic. The piano writing exploits the instrument’s percussive and lyrical capacities without resorting to empty virtuosity. Perry-Camp navigates the technical demands with assurance, though I wished for more tonal color in the Adagio section. The brief cadenza near the end recalls earlier material effectively before the coda wraps things up with appropriate energy.
But it’s the Concerto for Oboe d’amore and String Orchestra (1988) that truly captivates. The final panel of a triptych exploring the oboe family—preceded by an Oboe Concertino (1977) and a Chamber Concerto for English horn (1986)—this work exploits the d’amore’s peculiar sweetness without sentimentality. Julie Ann Giacobassi plays with luminous tone throughout the instrument’s range, and Schiffman gives her genuinely singing lines to work with. The predominantly lyrical character never becomes cloying; there’s enough rhythmic vitality and harmonic astringency to keep things honest.
Schiffman’s orchestral writing shows real craft—the string textures support without smothering, and the spacing allows the solo voice to project naturally. This is music that understands the difference between accompaniment and partnership. The Hungarian Symphony Orchestra under Antal provides sensitive support, though ensemble precision occasionally wavers in the quicker passages. No matter. The overall effect remains convincing.
Where does Schiffman fit? The liner notes invoke Walter Piston, Paul Creston, Peter Mennin—reasonable enough comparisons, though I hear more Piston than the others. That same commitment to craft, that refusal to mistake obscurity for profundity. Schiffman writes tonal music that admits dissonance when the musical argument demands it, but never for shock value or academic credibility. In an era that worshipped at the altar of serialism, this required courage.
The recording quality varies slightly across the three sessions—the MATAV Music House in Budapest providing a drier acoustic than the Győr church—but nothing distracting. The performances throughout are more than serviceable, occasionally rising to genuine advocacy.
This disc won’t revolutionize anyone’s understanding of twentieth-century music. It doesn’t need to. Schiffman’s achievement lies elsewhere: in writing music that communicates directly, that respects both performer and listener, that reveals how tradition can be extended without being exhausted. The Oboe d’amore Concerto alone justifies the disc’s existence, but the other works hold their own. Well worth investigating, particularly for those who believe American music didn’t begin with Cage and end with Reich.
