Manfred Honeck conducts music by Dvořák and Carlos Simon

It’s always a pleasure when a recording comes along that has something new and interesting to say about a well-known piece, and that is a quality that has been a consistent hallmark of the partnership between Manfred Honeck and the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra (not least some splendid recent albums of symphonies by Tchaikovsky and Bruckner - all of which are currently on special offer as part of our promotion celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Reference Recordings). Their latest offering continues this trend with an illuminating account of Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9.

It’s clear from the first entry of the full string section that this is no run-of-the-mill reading, with an incisiveness to their rhythms that propels the piece into the main Allegro molto with tremendous excitement. I have heard many a recording where the initial phrase from third and fourth horns can sound somewhat shapeless, but Honeck is careful to observe the marked crescendo and diminuendo to great effect.

Another guiding principle for Honeck is flexibility of tempo when the music calls for it. This is most evident in the flute melody later in the movement, where after the aforementioned briskness Honeck relaxes the tempo in order to accentuate the contrasting warmth of the flute, allowing for a grace that would not have occurred had he merely pressed on at full speed. It was certainly unexpected (when the violins repeat the phrase he allows himself to hold back even more), but it makes sense in the context of the overall movement, and the way that he then negotiates a return to the livelier speed once the music becomes more urgent is thrillingly executed. This pattern is repeated in the fourth movement, with Honeck applying the brakes for the clarinet melody before picking up speed when needed to see the symphony through to a rousing, electrifying conclusion.

The famous cor anglais solo in the Largo is so full of tenderness (with exquisite support from clarinets and bassoons) that it imbues even this most familiar music with an invigorated sense of freshness. The subsequent passage for muted strings is remarkably hushed and yet still highly expressive, with Honeck making the most of Dvořák’s dynamic markings. This follows through equally beautifully when it is reprised later on, initially with four string players on each part, then two, and then just solo strings creating a mesmerisingly rapt atmosphere. I should also make special mention of the double basses, whose final four-part divisi D flat major chord is as satisfying and resonant as I think I have ever heard it.

If I were being picky I might humbly suggest that the outer sections of the third movement are perhaps a tad too driven and slightly sacrifice the perfect rhythmic precision that characterises the rest of the symphony, but this is more than compensated for by the central part, where Honeck allows more room to breathe by imparting a charming lilt and springiness to the woodwind figurations.

Moving from one of the most frequently performed works to one that has never previously been recorded, Honeck couples the Dvořák with the world premiere recording of Carlos Simon’s Four Black American Dances. This is an appropriate pairing given that Dvořák composed his symphony (which he himself titled “From the new world”) in 1893 during his extended stay in New York and was open about taking inspiration from African American spirituals and Indigenous musical traditions. 

Written in 2023 as a commission from the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Andris Nelsons, Simon’s piece is a collection of four dances that are, in the composer’s own words, “but a mere representation of the wide range of cultural and social difference within the Black American communities”. It’s full of imaginative orchestral effects, including the opening Ring Shout, which as part of its percussion section calls for a “Large Wood Stick on a Wooden Floor Board” whilst also requiring various players to engage in hand clapping.

After a graceful yet slightly unsettling Waltz (in which the Pittsburgh strings apply a lovely sheen to their sound), the remaining movements shift back to a more upbeat mood with Tap! and Holy Dance, where all of the rhythmic thrust that inhabited the Dvořák is similarly present, not least some boisterous trombones guiding us to the work’s conclusion. It’s a vital, energetic performance that makes a fantastic companion piece to a thought-provoking interpretation of Dvořák’s symphony.