Berlin Philharmonic – The Unsuk Chin Edition

Like many institutions, the Berlin Philharmonic set up their own record label some years ago, and for much of the last decade has been putting out lavish box sets, featuring not only audio recordings but also blu-rays drawn from their enormous video archive (accessible via the orchestra’s Digital Concert Hall). To date, all of their output has focused on standard repertoire – particularly symphony cycles, from the likes of Mahler, Bruckner and Sibelius – but their most recent box, released just last month, is a celebration of the Berlin-based, South Korean composer Unsuk Chin. There are lots of reasons to get excited about The Unsuk Chin Edition, not only because she is one of the most strikingly original composers of modern times. Considering the stature of her work, it’s somewhat surprising to note that there hasn’t been a release focusing on her music since 2014, when Deutsche Grammophon put out the 3 Concertos disc with the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Myung-Whun Chung. The Unsuk Chin Edition is therefore not merely timely but very long overdue.

The focus in The Unsuk Chin Edition is on orchestral music, and the Berlin Philharmonic has plundered everything they have from their archive (the only omission is a 2011 performance of Akrostichon-Wortspiel, which might have been nice to include for the sake of completeness), presented as audio on two CDs and video on blu-ray. The result has a distinct emphasis on concertante music, comprising three concertos, another work with soprano soloist, and two orchestral pieces. One of these works has never been recorded before, while the other five are presented here in recordings that either surpass or, in one case, equal the only other available recording. Apropos: i mentioned the 3 Concertos album, and two of those three are included here, the Piano Concerto composed in 1997 (the earliest piece in the box) and the Cello Concerto, completed in 2008 and revised in 2013. Furthermore, some of the performers are the same as on that earlier disc: Sunwook Kim is again the soloist in the Piano Concerto, while the Cello Concerto reunites both soloist Alban Gerhardt and conductor Myung-Whun Chung. This is something of a double-edged sword: on the one hand, these artists know the works well and offer long-established, deeply informed interpretations; on the other hand, it would be nice to hear some completely fresh takes on these pieces. (Beggars can’t be choosers, of course.)

In the case of the Piano Concerto, conducted by Sakari Oramo, the Berlin recording (as with all their recordings here) exposes a huge amount of inner detail, some of which was lost or attenuated in the clearly larger acoustic captured on the DG album. Furthermore, while it’s only 60 seconds shorter than the Seoul performance, it’s a great deal more tight and exhilarating. Something clarified by this box set is the extent to which Chin’s soloists come across as extroverts, never bogged down by navel-gazing or wistful brooding, but always driving onward (indeed, they’re almost never silent), breezily navigating their way through the volatile, capricious environments they inhabit. Perhaps nowhere is that more true than in the Piano Concerto, which Sunwook Kim clearly (and not inappropriately) regards as an extended exercise in free-wheeling textural decoration, one that never moves too far from playful momentum even while encountering massive swells, tempestuous passages and one or two moments of borderline aggression. While it could be argued that the work is a bit too textural for its own good, the sheer relentlessness of this performance is irresistible. Besides, for all its moto perpetuo character, Oramo and the Berlin Phil make the concerto easier to penetrate than in the earlier recording, particularly in the second movement, which Seoul presented as a mystery, and Berlin reveal to be a dream.

The Piano Concerto establishes an intense push-pull tension that has remained consistent in Chin’s music over the years. The Cello Concerto pushes this to even further dramatic extremes, to the extent that its music seems to arrive at numerous stalemates that everyone involved either needs to figure out or learn to live with. Alban Gerhardt (for whom the concerto was written) is mesmerising in his dogged commitment to continuity, even though the landscape continually seems to be breaking up around him. With extreme violence too: in contrast to his approach with Seoul, here Myung-Whun Chung allows the Berlin Phil to absolutely let rip, producing at the culmination of the first movement one of the most genuinely frightening, massive eruptions i’ve ever heard. In this piece, too, though the Seoul recording is impressive (with arguably more drama at times) there’s greater clarity here, with a concomitant sense that, while the piece takes some turns into marvellously strange territory (nowhere more so than the obliquely lyrical third movement), it nonetheless makes sense as part of a weird and fantastical soundworld.

The volatility of Chin’s musical narratives can be interpreted in different ways, and this is particularly interesting in Rocaná. This is a piece i briefly explored back in 2011, following the Barbican’s Total Immersion day devoted to her music. On that occasion the focus was on its continual shape-shifting character. In 2009 the Montreal Symphony Orchestra with Kent Nagano recorded the work, and clearly set out to take a more expansive and considered view. On the one hand, taking more time over its perpetual flux enables one to make out more of its internal intricacies, though the resulting relative gentleness detracts somewhat from the energy that drives its glinting metamorphoses. The Berlin recording, conducted by Daniel Harding, is a full three minutes shorter (around the same duration as the Total Immersion performance), resulting in a dazzling representation of the dancing light formations that inspired the piece (the Sanskrit title means ‘rooms of light’). From warm swells to fanfares and militaristic shoving, through remote lyricism, vague plunky pitches and angry buzzing, Rocaná‘s complex tapestry is breathlessly revealed here in all its dramatic, discombobulating glory.

The most recent work in the box is Chorós Chordón, which Chin completed in 2017, and which is included here in two different performances. The video is of the world première in Berlin, conducted by Simon Rattle, on 3 November 2017. The audio is of a performance that took place later that month, also conducted by Rattle, during the orchestra’s tour of Asia (and included in their The Asia Tour box released in 2018; furthermore the blu-ray of that box includes another performance of the piece recorded in Seoul). Chorós Chordón again features push-pull elasticity in its drama, maintaining not so much a tension as a relatively small-scale demonstration and dissipation of energies, which subtly becomes more and more tense, a slow-build that after a few minutes feels ripe to rupture. However, instead Chin redirects it all into a multi-layered music, filled with inner minutiae, pulling the ear all over the place. This kind of hyper-intense sustained accumulation is unique in the works in this box, and it’s not until over six minutes in (more than halfway through the work) that it finally bursts. Whereupon we’re back in familiar volatility, with filigree and muscle jostling in the midst of torrents, deep throbs, a climactic tutti and the possible trace of a melodic contour.

The entire Unsuk Chin Edition is a highlight in and of itself, but the standout performances are those of the Violin Concerto and Le silence des Sirènes. The concerto was previously included on the Kent Nagano / Montreal disc, with soloist Viviane Hagner; Simon Rattle conducts the Berlin recording with violinist Christian Tetzlaff. Once again, Berlin give a much quicker (2½ minutes shorter) performance, exhibiting some of the most wildly unchecked exuberance you’re ever likely to hear. The work displays a more nuanced, and more extensive, interplay of texture and melody, often moving far away from the momentum that tends to dominate her music. In the second movement this is presented as a powerful contrast of lyricism and noise, the violin somehow prevailing against huge dissonant raspberries from the orchestra. In essence, Tetzlaff, over time, seems to gain control over the unruly mob behind him, riding on top of their mayhem like a crazy skylark, spinning out line and decoration as if his life depended on it. Rattle, for his part, has clearly decided to make his life depend on it, eliciting from the Berlin Phil the most sensationally full-on performance, yet with all of its subtleties made perfectly transparent.

Soloist Barbara Hannigan takes the lead in Chin’s Le silence des Sirènes, again with Simon Rattle. On both CD and blu-ray, this performance is simply jaw-dropping, Hannigan not merely negotiating her way through both the verbal and musical gymnastics (the text uses a mixture of Homer and Joyce’s Ulysses) but actively embodying them in what practically amounts to a 16-minute solo opera. But it’s not simply the staggering levels of drama and beauty from Hannigan that makes this performance of Le silence des Sirènes so incredible, it’s the complete marriage of voice and orchestra. The communication (made more clear in the blu-ray) between them is subtle but absolute, such that Hannigan is able to flit, flirt, swoop, soar, punch and purr her way through Chin’s labyrinthine song while the Berlin Phil acts not just as support but as an equal partner, sometimes echoing or imitating, other times heralding with boisterous fanfares, or surrounding Hannigan with gorgeous swathes and streaks of colour. In terms of both composition and performance, it’s a complete and utter tour de force, perfectly aligning composer, voice, conductor and orchestra.

i said in my introduction that this was a long overdue contribution to Chin’s recorded legacy, but it’s more important than that: this is undoubtedly the most significant and spectacular overview of her music to date. The Unsuk Chin Edition is sumptuously housed in a large box containing the three discs and a book with extensive notes. The box is itself contained within a semi-transparent slipcase, designed to accentuate the moiré effects of the cover artwork, created by Takahiro Kurashima. In addition to the performances on the blu-ray (which unfortunately lacks video for the Violin Concerto), there’s also a fascinating, 40-minute film in which Chin talks at length, very openly and honestly, about her life and work, including a section about each of the compositions. The box also includes a code to download all the audio in high-res formats, and a 7-day pass for the Berlin Philharmonic Digital Concert Hall.

Both the complete physical edition, and an audio-only digital version, of The Unsuk Chin Edition can be bought direct from the Berlin Philharmonic (with free shipping available until next January).

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